The Scammer(53)

“Hey guys, what’s up?” I ask, hoping to start small.

The girls look at each other, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. My body tenses, the scene all too familiar, bringing me right back to high school. The cold shoulders, the awkward silence.

“You heard about those cops,” I say. “It’s all over the news.”

Kammy rolls her eyes. Her hair is wrapped in a purple scarf. Vanessa is glowing and gorgeous as usual.

Desperate, I try again. “Sooo . . . I heard about this party happening at the Kappa frat house this weekend. You should come!”

“I don’t want to be seen anywhere with you, Bed Wench,” Vanessa snaps, her voice so sharp it cuts.

“My sister is right,” Loren breathes, her face stoic. “It’s bad enough that white boy goes to this school, now he’s taking good-quality Black women away from our brothers.”

“You are a disgrace to your race,” Kammy hisses, visibly shaking in anger.

I dig my nails into my palms to keep from crying, their acid-covered words burning with each syllable.

Principle number ten: The only way to get the best of an argument is to avoid it.

I breathe through the pain. “I’m sorry . . . I just needed some time to think. Vanessa, honestly, your brother kind of scared me.”

She scoffs. “Of course. A Black man defends himself and all of a sudden, he’s scary. You weren’t shook when you were eating up all the food he cooked for us. So did you already run to Student Housing to snitch?”

“N-n-no! I would never. Like you said, he’s your brother.”

“He’s so much more than that,” Kammy corrects me. “He’s like . . . a prophet. He’s here to enlighten us. He’s done everything for us. Everything! And this is how you treat him?”

I’m almost too stunned to speak.

“He was going to hurt me! What was I supposed to do?”

“He didn’t touch you,” Vanessa snaps. “He helped you find your calling, to be a writer. And that ache of loneliness you always felt, he purged you of that.”

I reel back in shock. He told her. Of course he did.

The air begins to feel hot and suffocating, even with the fall breeze.

“Okay. I’m sorry. I was confused, I guess. But . . . we’re just college kids.”

Loren waves around at the Quad. “This college . . . none of this is real. All you’re doing is pouring money back into the white man’s pockets when you could be with us, helping to free our people. Really free.”

“If that’s the case, then why stay here on campus?” I shoot back. “Why keep going to classes?”

Loren opens her mouth then closes it. She doesn’t have an answer to that. Even as she processes the question, you can tell her resolve is faltering. Maybe she’s still in there, the real Loren. The one who can tread through the bullshit.

Vanessa quickly jumps in.

“We stay here so we can talk to as many of US as we can. At least we’re trying to make a change. Where is your loyalty to your own people? Your self-respect?”

“You know what I think,” Kammy says, crossing her arms. “I think Devonte is right about you. You and that white man are gonna try to get Devonte sent back to prison.”

“What? That’s . . . no, I wouldn’t.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “Come on, y’all. She chose her destiny, let her live it. With the pigs in toxic waste!”

Loren gives me one last long look and starts to walk away. One by one their backs turn. My heart starts racing. I want to cling to them, grasp hold and scream, Don’t go back to that room! I also don’t want to be alone again. Please don’t leave me, I’m ready to scream but instead blurt out something far worse.

“I still want to go to Emancipation with you!”

Loren and Kammy hit an invisible wall before spinning around, wide-eyed. I gasp, surprising my own self.

Vanessa frowns, seeming unconvinced. Desperate, I keep talking.

“Your brother is so smart, and I was just . . . scared. But I want to be with you guys. We were friends before your brother, right? Sisters. Family! I don’t want out of the family.”

Vanessa crosses her arms. “Yeah? Prove it.”

I swallow, thinking of the only thing that will get Devonte’s attention.

“I have some more money.”



* * *




Bargaining. It’s the most pathetic of the five stages of grief. It’s the stage that you will do anything, give anything, to have life back the way it was, if you’re not busy trying to find meaning for your pain. Screaming up to the sky with one question: Why? What did I do wrong to deserve this?

Nick texts to meet him in the lobby of the Malcolm Center at six p.m., directly in the middle of student rush hour. I stand by the statue of Malcolm X, overanalyzing every detail of the convo I had with the girls. Do I want to go to Emancipation? No! But do I still want to be with my friends? Absolutely. If telling them this lie will keep the lines of communication open, maybe I’ll have a chance at saving them.

That’s if I can. The way they looked and spoke, they seem to have changed overnight. How could so much happen while I’ve been gone?

Or maybe they’ve been doing a lot more without me that I don’t know about.