The Scammer(3)

“Um, no.” In fact, nothing in my closet would match their vibe of tight dresses, skirts, and crop tops, their faces painted, lips juicy like models, hair styled to perfection.

In an instant, my face flushes and I’m ready to crawl under the carpet. Why didn’t I think of outfits when I packed? Probably because I never go out at home.

Vanessa waves a hand. “Y’all, it’s fine! You just gotta . . . lose the blazer. And you can borrow a pair of my hoops!”

“Dang! We don’t have shot glasses. But we DO have mugs!”

As Vanessa runs in her room, Kammy pours vodka shots in each of our mugs. I gulp, slipping off my blazer, plopping down next to Loren. She digs into her bag and taps my shoulder.

“Ooooo, girls would kill for these lips, boo,” she says, gripping my chin and staining my lips red.

Kammy passes around our drinks. “Yas! That color is perfect on you. Alright! Cheers, y’all! To the suite!”

I grip the mug with a nervous smile. My first drink. Of course, I can’t admit that. This is my opportunity for a fresh start. A whole new me. And a new me would have friends, people who like her, a life. A new me would drink, responsibly of course.

Act normal, act chill, I coach myself before taking it to the head, letting the liquor burn down my throat, holding back a cough as my eyes water.

“Okay, I have a confession to make,” Loren says, smirking. “I looked y’all up. You know, I had to check on who I was gonna be rooming with. Can’t be stuck with no nut jobs. I’ve heard too many horror stories.” She turns to me. “But there’s, like, no pics on your Insta. You don’t even have a Snapchat. What’s up with that?”

The girls turn with curious stares, and I shrug.

“Guess I’m kinda private,” I say, not wanting to admit that there is nothing in my life worth posting.

“Okay, back up. Can we go through the basics. You know, to catch Jordyn up to speed,” Kammy giggles, with a happy clap. “State your name, your sign, where you from, your major and why. Then a little about your family.”

“Okay. I’ll start. Hi, I’m Loren. Cancer, from Harlem, some call me Lo. Public relations major. I want to do PR for artists and movie stars. I have six brothers and sisters that all still live at home with my moms but I’m the first one to go to college.”

Vanessa’s mouth drops. “Wait, did you say six?”

“Yep. And one damn bathroom,” she says, pouring herself another shot.

Kammy cackles. “Okay, guess I’m next! Hi, Kamara, but everyone calls me Kammy. I’m from St. Louis, Missouri. Pisces. I’m a psychology major. I’m going to be a child therapist. I got three older sisters, five aunties, and dozens of cousins. My boyfriend still lives back home. He’s studying to be a pastor so he can take over his father’s church. I’ve been going there all my life.”

“You plan on staying with him?” Loren chides, bumping her shoulder.

“Of course! Once I graduate, we’re getting married. I’m going to have like eight bridesmaids. Maybe nine, if my cousin Shay-Shay act right.”

Loren raises a mischievous eyebrow at Vanessa while sipping her drink, as if to say, “We’ll see about that.”

“My turn. Hi, I’m Vanessa, some call me Ness. From Oakland, California. Accounting major, planning to own my own firm. No man, but they say college is the best place to meet your husband. Parents are dead, long story, been living with my grandma. Outside of that, it’s just me and my brother. Well, will be . . . once he gets out of prison.”

I notice the ache of longing in her voice, so similar to my own that my breath catches.

“Prison? What he do?” Kammy winces, covering her mouth with her hands. “Shit, can I ask that?”

Vanessa laughs with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine. He was framed for some credit card fraud bullshit. I haven’t seen him in two years. But he’s getting out real soon then he promises to visit.”

A sting of jealousy rips through me. At least he can still visit. So caught up in my thoughts I almost miss the question thrown at me.

“Helloooo? What about you,” Kammy says.

“Oh, yeah, right. Hi! I’m Jordyn. Most call me . . . well, Jordyn. I’m a Virgo from Westport, Connecticut. Poli-sci major on the prelaw track.”

“And family?” Loren asks.

I shrug. “Uh, small. Just me and my parents. With three bathrooms.”

The girls laugh as I take a relieving sigh. I want them to like me, not pity me. I want them to be my friends. I don’t want them to know about Kevin. I want to leave my past buried under the fresh dirt I swept over it.

“So where’s this party anyways,” I say, desperate to take the focus off me. “Should we call an Uber?”

“Nope.” Vanessa jingles a set of keys. “I have a car!”





Two




Vanessa parked down the block from a dark red row house on the corner in the Adams Morgan section of DC. The overflow of partygoers hang outside, cups in hands. Music thumps out of the open windows.

Not many freshmen brought their cars to campus. Student Housing all but banned them, claiming there wasn’t much space in their lots. So just like high school, having your own car wins instant popularity. And having a roommate with her own car is a major plus.