The Scammer(34)

“Some bullshit!” someone shouts.

“It is, brother. But just because we live in the system doesn’t mean we have to be another sheep in the system. There is another way.” He taps his temple. “Knowledge of self.”

He goes on, preaching from an invisible pulpit. Everyone is transfixed, eyes locked in rapture.

“What you got to remember is your roots! Your power. That’s how you separate yourself. Why would you tell a white man your plans when it’s in their DNA to sabotage you, conquer you, destroy you. Hell, why would you allow the white man into your sacred space, around your women? That’s like letting a wolf sleep in a hen house.”

The air in the room is electric as everyone whispers to one another. In the corner, Vanessa nods eagerly. I can’t tell if this is new to her or she’s resoaking it all up like a sponge.

Legacy whispers into my ear, “Isn’t this dope? Everyone’s waking up!”

I lean back against the sink full of dishes, listening as Devonte casts his magical spell, conjuring new admirers, controlling a room without ever raising his voice.





Eleven




Every time I’m about to walk back to the suite, I hold my breath for five seconds. The dread sinks and spreads to every part of my body, covering every organ in tar. One day, I’ll be too heavy to move. That’s when I’ll know it’s gone too far, I tell myself. But for now, I take another sip of fresh air, grip my keys, blades between my fingers, and softly step in.

Kammy is sitting on the sofa, peeling potatoes into a bowl. I don’t think much of it, in fact it’s normal for Kammy to cook. But something is off. Then I realize . . .

“Your hair!”

Kammy grins, patting the edges of her tight ’fro, somewhat lopsided and in desperate need of moisture.

“You like it?” she asks, a slight uncertainty in her eyes.

“I do,” I say with extra enthusiasm. “So . . . no more wigs?”

“No. It doesn’t feel natural. Wearing hair that’s been on someone else’s head. Gross. Do you know that they drug women and scalp them before they harvest their hair?”

“I . . . I didn’t know that.”

She shakes her head. “You have to do your research, girl. It’s a sick industry.”

Out the corner of my eye, Devonte watches proudly from Vanessa’s doorway.

“She’s right. Why would you abandon your culture, your beautiful features, to look like the ancestors of the people who kidnapped, raped, slaughtered our people?” he says, rubbing my arm. “Glad you’re home.”

A warmth builds in my chest, and I ignore it, wiggling away from his touch.

“So, Vanessa texted and said that you were making dinner?” I ask, trying to keep it casual.

He backs into the kitchen, and I join Kammy on the sofa.

“A while ago, I spent the summer in Cuba studying, learning about different healing herbs and foods we must eat to live. You must feed your mind and body with nutrients, only way the soul will grow.”

That makes a lot of sense.

“It’s time you stop eating the white man’s food and adopt a vegan diet. Strictly clean. The food you eat is filled with chemicals and pollutants that even affect your cycles. Think about all the toxins that you digest that line your uterus, swallowed by your unborn children. Then they come into the world, sickly, degenerates. Even years after you stop eating it.”

He walks out of the kitchen with a steaming pot.

“Every day you’re going to drink this tea. It’s not like the other tea. It’s a different type of detoxification.”

Devonte pours brown liquid out of the pot into our school mugs and passes one to each of us.

“This will replace two meals every day.”

The tea tastes exactly like dirt. Like he went to the backyard, dug up some roots, threw them in hot water with a splash of lemon.

“What kind of tea is this?” I ask.

He scoffs with a smirk. “You ask as if you don’t trust me. Have I steered you wrong yet?”

I remain silent. He gives me a look, shaking his head as if he finished scolding a silly child.

Loren sips the tea, trying to fight the bitterness, but Vanessa seems not to mind the taste at all.

Kammy stares into her cup with a frown. “Wait, so tonight, all we’re gonna have is tea?”

He nods.

Kammy’s face crumples. “But . . . I’m hungry.”

“There are other things to fill your appetite. Knowledge of self is first.”

“Can’t I just make some mashed potatoes or fries with this?” Kammy asks, almost begging.

“Fries huh? I bet you had lots of fries at that Rec Center, right? Hanging out with your friends.”

We nod, not wanting to lie.

“Well, all fries are dipped in oil made of pig sweat. Do you know what pigs are made out of? Pigs are made of rat, cat, and dog. It’s not a real animal. It was made in a lab, used with scraps they gave slaves. That’s why they tell the Black man not to eat pork. Swine is not for kings or queens.”

“They talk a lot about this in the Bible,” Vanessa confirms. “It’s the parts white Christians edit out. So they can keep feeding us bacon.”

Don’t white people eat bacon? I think, but don’t say it out loud.