The Scammer(52)

“I have a choice?”

“If you’re going to be here, we need to decide on a show together. The last thing I want to hear is you complaining about anything I’m watching.”

“Well in that case, can I have some tea too?”

“Tea?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I can’t sleep without it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll boil water, you find us a show.”

After about fifteen minutes, Nick returns with some Earl Grey and honey while I cue up Love Island.

“A reality show? I’d rather mop the ocean.”

I shrug. “The internet said it’s good and the internet is never wrong.”

He blows out some pent-up air. “Fine. Let’s give it a try.”

We’re about thirty minutes in when I huff.

“Okay, this is horrible,” I say, reaching for the remote. “Let’s find something else.”

He snatches it back. “No way. We’re not quitters, Bambi. We must persevere.”

And so we hate-watch three episodes, before falling asleep.





Eighteen




In the cold light of day, I can now see that the Kappa house is ancient. Old sticky mahogany floors, decrepit light fixtures and kitchen cabinets that hang off their rusted hinges, the furniture, most broken in some way, picked up off the corner or from a grandma’s thrift store, and the entire place smells like spilled beer.

But it’s not my dorm. And that strangely feels like both a good and a bad thing.

Nick’s already left for class, and it’s too awkward hanging at the frat house without him, so I dress quick and leave for the day.

With no morning classes, I head to the FUSA office, hoping I can hang there until lunch. But when I walk in, I see Mercy and Brianna at the front desk.

“Hey girl,” Brianna says.

“Hey,” I return weakly. I should abort my mission, but I don’t want them to think I’m scared of them. They aren’t the ones I should be scared of. I cross the room to the empty desk and lay out my notebook and iPad.

From the corner of my eye, I see Mercy nod over to me with a smirk and Brianna strolls my way.

“So you and Nick, huh,” she says, teasingly. “Heard you two made it official. I knew all that flirting was going to lead somewhere.”

“I wasn’t flirting with—I mean, yeah I guess,” I mumble, already hating the way this rumor has two left feet as it runs around campus.

“I can’t believe you got White Boy Nick to settle down.”

“Yeah girl, what kind of magic you put on him?” Mercy asks from her desk, her tone icy.

“I . . . guess the kind of magic he likes,” I say with a strained smile, hoping my subtle bashfulness will keep them from asking more questions.

Brianna giggles. “I knew those rumors about him were bullshit. Well, guess we’ll see you at the party!”

“Party?”

“Yeah, the Kappas’ party on Saturday,” Mercy says.

“Oh. Yeah. Right, I forgot!”

Mercy raises an eyebrow as if she wasn’t buying my act just as Brianna gasps.

“Oh shit,” she says, staring down at her phone, and begins reading. “‘DC police to be indicted in the shooting of an unarmed man.’”

“About fucking time,” Mercy grumbles.

I open my phone to the same alert. The autopsy report ruled his death a homicide. And though this is great news, the question becomes: Even if charged, will they actually be convicted? Will they actually spend any time in jail?

I watch Mercy and Brianna chat about it, Nick and my love affair quickly forgotten.

How many times have events like this happened and I had no one to talk to, no one to commiserate with, left holding my feelings in like a poorly made dam? Now all I want to do is be with the girls to talk about the news. I want the camaraderie, the sense of belonging in the midst of trials. I don’t want to be an outsider. I did that far too much in high school.

Well, at least when Kevin wasn’t around.



* * *




After forcing myself to eat some wheat crackers in the cafeteria for lunch, I sort through my Ethics notes, homeless in every way possible. No friends, no dorm-room family, and my real family is barely speaking to me. The only thing that I can claim is a fake boyfriend, and even that will eventually meet its expiration date. But I have to keep going. Even if I decide to leave at the end of the semester, my transcript will follow and haunt me. I need to keep up with my classes, bang out the perfect midterms and finals.

I look at the time, grab my notes, and head for the door. I have ten minutes to get to Constitution and Law. Grades are lowered with every absence, and I already have three.

As soon as I step outside and turn the corner, I see the girls, standing in front of the Malcolm Center. A burst of instant joy swells in my chest.

“Hey!” I shout, waving wildly. I can’t help myself.

Loren spots me first, but the brief expression of relief on her face is washed away with a scowl. All three of them are almost dressed identical—long corduroy skirts, bell sleeve shirts, makeup-less faces. But Loren has the most drastic of changes—her braids cut off almost to the scalp. I try to keep my mouth closed and not gawk.