The Scammer(33)

“Huh?”

“You keep looking at the clock. Got a hot date?”

I gulp. “No, just keeping track of the time. Don’t want to be out too late.”

“You got a curfew or something?”

Trying to keep it cool, I force a laugh. “Seriously? What’s with all the questions?”

“You don’t live with your parents anymore, Jordyn. You’re an adult. At college. You can stay out until the break of dawn if you wanted to.”

I shrug. “Well, I have . . . other obligations.”

Devonte made it clear that he expected us back in the suite by eight every night. Women shouldn’t be out after dark without a man supervising them. How do we expect to be wives if we can’t be ladies? How can we say we are committed to our community if we’re not serious about our studies and unlearning our ways?

Dedication. Discipline. That’s how you succeed in the world.

So why am I still going to FUSA?

Guess I’m still holding on to a small part of me that feels this will help in the future. The one place I have to breathe easy between classes and meals. Devonte is passionate but suffocating. Plus, his views on women seem a little archaic. Shouldn’t he be empowering us, not taking power away?

Nick runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, I want to talk . . . about the other night.”

My throat tightens. I’ve been dreading this. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want anyone else to know.

“What about it?” I say quickly. “Nothing happened. Let’s just call it a day.”

He blows out some nervous air. “I know nothing happened between us but . . . I think I was drugged.”

I purse my lips. “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

“Not on a college campus, no. But that’s not all. I don’t remember much, but the last thing I do remember is grabbing a cup from you.”

“So you think I drugged you?” I snap.

He blanches, holding up a hand. “No! I think that whatever I was drugged with was actually meant for you.”

I stop for a moment to think, retracing my steps. I poured myself some juice and never left it unattended.

But . . . Devonte did hold it for me for a brief few seconds.

No . . . he wouldn’t.

Suddenly, I feel faint. Across the table, Nick watches me then nods, resolve settling. “So . . . should I call campus police or go straight to the DC Police?”

The word police snaps me back to my senses. I sit up straight. “Do you have any idea what it’ll look like if the one lone white kid on a Black campus starts accusing people of drugging him?”

The fact is a slow sinking ship and Nick deflates.

“Shit,” he mumbles, tossing his pen on the table.

If he contacts the police, they will start asking questions, tracing last steps, and that will lead to Devonte, throwing him on their radar. It could be bad . . . for everyone.

“Just drop it,” I insist. “You don’t want that type of heat.”

He snarls in disgust. “Drop it? But what if it happens again? What if someone’s assaulted or taken advantage of?”

I shake my head. “I . . . I don’t know. But you need hard evidence before you start opening your mouth.”

“Maybe we should ask around,” he suggests. “See if anyone else had the same experience. Word of mouth, nothing official, will keep people on their toes.”

I chuckle. “Once again . . . just you asking these questions is asking for trouble.”

“I rather get in trouble than let anyone get hurt! I would think you’d want other girls on campus to stay safe too.”

I swallow hard but remain silent, Devonte’s voice echoing.

You’re not a good friend.

“Fine! Just . . . be careful,” Nick fumes, snatching up his pen. “And if I didn’t say it before, thanks. I owe you one.”

I bite my lip, the shame sticky on my skin. It couldn’t be Devonte, he has no reason to drug me, I would do anything he asks.

So why can’t I shake the feeling that that night he had so much more in store for me?



* * *




I fly through the lobby of the Rock, pushing the elevator button. I’m thirty minutes past curfew. I don’t want to make him mad again. Or not mad, maybe disappointed. And the looks of judgment from the other girls . . . I can’t go through that again.

Exhausted, I push open the door to the suite and the handle hits someone in the back, the door only opening a crack.

What the . . .

Legacy peers out, spots me, and nods, allowing me in, as if he was club security.

There are students, most I’ve never seen before, packed in the living room scattered about, leaning against the stove, one even sitting on the toilet. Maybe thirty people in total.

All there to listen to Devonte.

“I’m afraid to tell you the nasty truth,” Devonte says as he walks in a circle, hands behind his back. “That officer that killed that Black man in cold blood, he’ll be acquitted. They’re always acquitted. When the police police themselves, it’s always the same outcome.”

Murmurs erupt.

“See how they scooped up all those protesters? Sprayed them down like dogs!”