The Scammer(49)

“You should stay here tonight,” Nick says, as if trying the words out for the first time. “You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the floor. Tomorrow, you should report this to Housing.”

I blink up at the suggestion. “No! I mean, I don’t need to report it. I just need to wait until he . . . cools down.”

“Cools down? You need to get him out of your suite! Or move out!”

Everything he’s saying makes complete sense, but I still can’t bring myself to do it.

“Move out? But . . . I don’t want to leave my friends.”

He scoffs. “Some friends. They let him treat you like that?”

They were in shock, I tell myself. Like me.

I take a look at myself in the floor mirror near his closet. I walked out of the suite with nothing. No clothes, no books, not even my . . .

I shoot up to my feet, flying toward his door. “Oh God! I need to go back! My laptop!”

Nick stands in front of me. “Whoa, whoa! We can’t go back. Not right now. We almost didn’t walk out of there.”

I gnaw on my bottom lip. If they open that laptop . . . they’ll know everything. I can’t let that happen.

“Please, Nick! I really need it,” I beg. “My whole life is on it!”

He shakes his head. “If we go back there tonight . . . something is going to happen. Fighting on campus can lead to a whole slew of problems that we can’t have.” Nick studies my face and huffs. “Look, I’ll send someone with you tomorrow to grab some things but you’re not going anywhere tonight. Your room door is locked, right?”

I nod.

“So don’t worry about it. And if they break in and mess with your stuff, you can file a police report and sue. You have to start thinking like a lawyer, Bambi.”

I nod again, shuffling to the bed in a daze. It all happened so fast. One minute we were a happy family and the next . . . I’m talking of moving.

Not yet. I’m not ready to give up yet.

I need time to think, regroup, and plan. But I can’t do it in the suite. I look around Nick’s room as an idea pops into my head. An outrageously stupid idea. So mortifyingly ridiculous I have trouble saying it out loud.

“Um, can I stay here . . . for a little while?”

Nick blinks in surprise. “You mean . . . oh. Uhhhh . . .”

“I can’t go back there. Not right now. I need to talk to Housing first. See what they can do.”

“They’ll just kick him out.”

“But they would have to prove that he’s overstayed his welcome. Prove he is actually living there. That may take some time. And you know everything moves slow around here.”

Nick seems torn. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah but . . . don’t you know . . . anyone else? This isn’t exactly a Holiday Inn.”

That’s the worst part, I don’t know anyone else. And I definitely don’t have the funds for a hotel. It kills me to ask Nick this, but I really don’t have any other options.

“Please,” I beg. “I promise I won’t be any trouble. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Nick rakes his fingers through his hair, letting out a puff of wind. It wasn’t a hell no. He probably needs extra incentive.

“I promise to help you with your trustee campaign. Even be your campaign manager. Twenty-four-seven, whatever you need. And judging by who you’re going against, you can use all the help you can get, white boy.”

Nick stops fidgeting, letting my words sink in deeper. He knows a white student going against a Black student at an HBCU, the odds are stacked against him. He needs a solid team to help him rally the votes. And I’m willing to do it for free.

“Okay. You got a deal. But only for two weeks.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, the tension in my shoulders easing just a smidge.

He nods then walks over to his dresser. He tosses me a T-shirt and basketball shorts.

“Bathroom is down the hall on your right.”

I roll the clothes into a ball under my chin. They smell like him.

“Why did you come? I mean . . . how did you know something was wrong?”

Nick stares at me a moment then shifts away. “The look in your eye. It was . . . familiar.”

I swallow and turn on my heels. “I hate sparkling water, by the way.”



* * *




Despite being in a strange bed, I fall into a deep sleep within minutes of hitting his pillow. Until I hear shouting.

“NO! NO!”

My eyes crack open, zeroing in on the shadowy shapes the streetlights outside have cast on the ceiling of Nick’s room.

“NO!”

I roll over and see Nick on the floor, tossing, fighting the air, like he is clawing out of quicksand.

“Nick?” I jump out of bed and shake his shoulder. “Nick, wake up!”

Nick pops up, flinging his arms. I duck, for the second time in twenty-four hours, with a shriek and turn on the light.

Nick scans the room, looking for an assailant, his breath ragged, pupils dilated. Sweat trickles down his panicked stricken face.

“Whhh-what happened?” he rasps.

“You were dreaming. Or having a nightmare.”

“I . . . shit,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.