The Scammer(40)

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“Where have you been?”

Devonte sounds more angry than concerned. The living room is once again filled with people. People I don’t know. The suite is burning hot. Too many bodies and smells makes my stomach cramp. Or maybe it’s the lack of food.

Kammy is passing around tea, wearing a long brown skirt, her hair wrapped in a cream scarf. She looks exhausted, aging overnight, her smile straining.

“Well,” Devonte snaps. “Where have you been?”

“The library,” I say meekly, checking the time. Still an hour before curfew.

“We need you here,” he spits, shaking a stack of papers in his hand. “I told you that.”

Loren and Vanessa are on the sofa, folding pamphlets, laughing with one another. They look so relaxed, natural, at ease. As if this all were completely normal. So why doesn’t it feel that way for me yet? When is the moment where it’ll finally sink in, like it sinks in for others enough that the lingering doubt will leave?

Because this isn’t normal. And you of all people know that.

I shake the thought, temporarily embolden. “I have a paper to finish.”

Devonte snarls in disgust. “How can you talk about papers when—”

There’s a knock on the door. Devonte rolls his eyes.

“Come in,” he barks.

The door opens and in walks Nick.

There’s a brief moment of stilted silence, where everyone freezes and my body goes numb. The room stares at him. He gives an awkward wave.

“Nick?” I gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey. You left this at the library.”

He hands me my iPad. In my rush to leave, I must have forgotten it.

“Oh. I . . . thanks,” I mumble, clutching it to my chest.

“No problem,” he says softly.

Nick takes a long look around the room. Everyone stares back, their eyes hard, cold, unwelcoming.

I want to shove him out of the suite, give him a running head start. The need to protect him returning with full force. But suddenly, shame blossoms. Here is my peer, seeing my suite, my chaotic living situation in full view that I didn’t realize until now, I didn’t want anyone to ever see. It’s like company popping over and finding out you’re a hoarder.

Nick is neither oblivious nor afraid. He stands tall. He locks eyes with Kareem in the corner of the room, his lips tightening.

“Y’all have a good night,” Nick mutters, gripping hold of the door.

He gives me a look before walking out that says one thing: he’s worried.

The door slams behind him. Devonte slowly rising to his feet. The unimaginable gall of Nick’s presence making his hands shake in rage.

“You see?” he hisses, pointing at the door. “You see how they think they own EVERYTHING, that they can walk into a Black man’s house without permission?!”

He takes two strides in my direction. Terror floods my body as I flinch, ducking, expecting his open hand to come down across my face.

Devonte snatches the iPad away, giving me a cold, unblinking glare. Then he straightens, pushing back his locs before rejoining the group in the living room. Vanessa and Kammy stare at me cowering on the floor, faces expressionless.

“Jordyn, I want those new pamphlets done tonight,” Devonte hisses without looking at me. “Now, where were we?”

Trembling, it takes me a few moments to move, realizing what I just did—I was bracing myself for a hit. And in some alternative universe, I would have said I deserved it. I deserved to be smacked because I was studying with my white classmate instead of focusing on the mission. I deserved it. . . . My mouth goes dry.

I walk into the bathroom and retch up the meager contents in my stomach.





Fourteen




Pigs in the blanket, bacon-wrapped shrimp . . . the ballroom smells like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I am both disgusted yet desperate as I add lemon to my water to keep me from fainting. I’m lightheaded, my stomach pinching from hunger.

FUSA is holding a small mixer in the Malcolm Center for Frazier board members. I volunteered to collect tickets while the executive board members float around the room, charming their members, encouraging involvement and promises of more donations.

The black cocktail dress is hanging off my shoulders, a bit wrinkled since I had to sneak it out in my book bag and change in the Rec Center bathroom. I’ve lost weight since I’ve been here. I also haven’t worn this dress since . . . Kevin. Just the thought of him in that casket makes the room spin.

I’m here, Kevin. Failing, but I’m here.

I haven’t turned in my paper and I more than likely will be on academic probation by the end of the semester. How could I waste time studying for school when I’m studying for life?

So, what keeps me coming back to student government? Probably because it’s all I have, separate from everyone else. It can’t be touched, and it keeps me somewhat grounded in reality.

In the ballroom, Nick is wooing a few men in power suits. He doesn’t look too bad in a white button-down and gray slacks. He even tied his hair back in a small man bun.

I sway on my feet, my belly howling.

“Girl, is that your stomach?” Brianna asks from the ticket table. “You can take a break and get something to eat. That thing is loud!”