The Scammer(63)

Mom and Dad share a nervous look, the first time they almost seem human, before slowly stepping into my room.

The room is back in order. The bed is even made.

Mom looks around and I sense the judgment leaking out of her. Or maybe it’s disappointment, knowing that this was supposed to be our interior design moment together.

We catch eyes and she sighs before turning away.

“It’s small in here,” Dad notes. “And it smells.”



* * *




Out in the courtyard, Dad finally loses his composure. “Do you know what you look like? What people are saying about you? Living with some horny frat boys, being passed around like a whore!”

“Troy, lower your voice,” Mom growls, glancing around. She’s not disagreeing with him. She’s more worried about appearances.

Dad points in my face. “You may have swindled your way into this ridiculous plan of yours . . . rejecting YALE for this ghetto mess. But I’ll be damned if you sully our name, our reputation, being some slut about campus.”

I bite my lips to keep myself from crying but the tears are too strong. An ocean of shame and frustration falls out my eyes.

“Now, you are going to stay in this dorm. I don’t want to hear one word about you sleeping anywhere else but the bed we’re paying for. Do I make myself clear? If not, no more Frazier. Got it?”

I nod, keeping my eyes to the ground.

Dad looks at Mom then storms back to the car without even saying goodbye.

Mom lingers, taking me in, eyes stuck on my hair, now a frizzy mess.

“You look too thin,” she says, softly. “We are paying for a meal plan, you know.”

I sigh. “I know.”

“And . . . there are counselors here. Mental health professionals. The agreement with Dr. Burke was that if you feel—”

“I know, Mom! Please.” I beg for her silence. I don’t want to hear any more about doctors.

She eyes me down. “Whatever this is, Jordyn . . . I hope it’s worth it. Because I don’t understand this one bit.”

It is, I want to tell her but stay silent.

She huffs, digging in her bag, taking out a wad of money and slipping it into my hand. “Just . . . at least buy yourself some curtains, for God’s sake.”



* * *




Back in the suite, Vanessa and Loren are sitting on the sofa, drinking tea and chatting as if they didn’t shatter my world. I walk in, my movements stiff, and face them. Deep, guttural rage wraps around my bones like a candy cane.

“Why?” It’s all I can muster.

Vanessa sighs as if to say, “Silly child.” Just like her brother would.

“Because we’re your sisters,” she says, a smile spreading across her face.

“We did it to save you from yourself,” Loren adds. “That white boy has been brainwashing you.”

I chuckle, pointing at my chest. “I’m not the one being brainwashed!”

“Devonte said you would say that,” Vanessa says. “We all told him to give up on you. That you don’t want to be saved. But he said he could never give up on a Black woman. So he’s saving you once again.”

“I don’t owe him shit,” I snap. “Where is he anyway? And where’s Kammy?”

“Where they need to be,” Loren says.

“Fuck you,” I say, seething as I head for the suite door.

Vanessa frowns. “I know you’re mad but . . . this was the only way! Just . . . don’t make me have to call your mother again. Please. This is for your own good.”

I blink before giving her a nasty glare, changing directions, and storm into my room.





Twenty-Four




I hover over the toilet with a finger down my throat but nothing comes up. Didn’t I eat today? What if I can’t make it come back up? What if it’s already a part of me?

What would Dr. Bunch say about these thoughts?

The question around my nutritionist makes me pause. I swallow down the panic, staring into the mirror.

“Pull it together,” I berate myself with a slap, wiping the drool off my chin and slipping on Nick’s sweatshirt. It still smells like him.

Tea, then bed.

I yank the bathroom door open to a room full of people, Devonte at the center of it all.

“Time is a construct. It has no meaning in this world until humans gave it a meaning.”

The crowd grunts in response, girls snapping their fingers.

We catch eyes, his face poised. I haven’t seen him since the last time I was here. The night of my intended consequence. His voice is so smooth and hypnotizing. My body floods with emotions, starved for his attention, his reverence, yet equally terrified and disoriented and filled with rage by his presence. Killing him would be too easy.

I walk toward the kitchen, but Kerry is in the threshold, blocking my path, pretending she doesn’t see me.

I sigh. “Excuse me, I need to get to the sink.”

“Kitchen’s closed,” she says, checking her nails.

“What?”

“You want to use the kitchen? You have to ask for permission.”

“This is my suite!” I snap.

Kerry raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”