The Scammer(8)

Begrudgingly, I follow. It’s my fault. Instead of partying and hanging with the girls, I should have been doing a practice run-through of my day. I should have looked up my professors, read their syllabuses, ordered their materials.

That’s what old Jordyn would do. Because old Jordyn couldn’t just be herself. She had to work ten times as hard to get half the recognition. New Jordyn can just . . . exist. At least without the same fire under her feet. A new drive is here.

Nick walks into class first, sitting in the back row, garnering stares from the other classmates. Wanting to create a canyon-size distance between us, I sit in the front but notice a few girls peek over their shoulders at him.

On second glance, Nick is cute, in a preppy white boy kind of way. Baby-faced, but his blue eyes twinkle with mischief, which only makes me wonder . . . why is he here?



* * *




The conversation around going to Frazier went a little something like this . . .

Dad: What kind of education are you going to get there? It’s not going to help you get a job! A Black school doesn’t even represent the real world. There’s no place in this country where the predominant is Black. Certainly not successful places.

Mom: Colleges like Yale can offer you better opportunities, guaranteed job security, and career prospects. True success can only be found at elite institutions. Not at a Black school.

Dad: How can you embarrass us like this? After everything we’ve been through!

Despite the resounding evidence that going to an HBCU has the opposite effect of their assumptions, it doesn’t matter. They’ve already been conditioned to think that white spaces equal white success.

But sitting here among my peers . . . it all feels so worth their belittling.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Kareem shouts, his arms around Vanessa’s shoulders. “You putting Lil Wayne in the same box as Lil Baby is wild crazy, bruh!”

“Baby, be easy on him,” Vanessa coos. “He don’t know no better.”

It’s been just a week, yet Vanessa and Kareem already look like the perfect couple. The two ooze chocolatey sex appeal. When they walk across campus, heads turn. They don’t even hold hands, but their energy speaks volumes. When they’re not in classes, Kareem just about lives on our love seat, staring at Vanessa.

Beside me, Loren is trying not to have a meltdown over a sophomore boy she met last week.

“But he said he’d call, then he just texted. Now I see him walking around with some other girl. I can’t believe he ghosted me like that.”

“Girl, he ain’t worth it.” That’s Kerry, Loren’s friend from her Intro to Comms class. Kerry is from Atlanta, with long golden locs and cute apple cheeks.

“Tell her!” That’s Legacy, Kareem’s old roommate. I think he has a bit of a crush on Loren, who pretends not to notice.

“Anyone need more ice?” Kammy asks from the stove, as she turns over some chicken legs with one hand, popping open the fridge with the other. She always flutters about like the perfect host. “You got ten more minutes until I finish this chicken. Corn bread almost done too.”

“Girl, I ain’t trying to gain that freshman fifteen in a month,” Loren chides with a grin. “But add some extra honey to my butter please!”

Loren is equal parts silly as she is no-nonsense. Kammy is a warm hug, a bowl full of southern sunshine. She feels like home, which, for a school full of homesick kids, makes her a beacon to our kitchen.

Almost every other day, Vanessa is inviting new friends to our suite. We’ve become the cool hangout spot, the place others in the dorm come to kick it.

There are always people around, but I don’t mind. I love that I’m friends with the popular girls. People want to talk to me and not in a perfunctory manner. For once in my life, I’m just Jordyn. Not “Jordyn, the Black girl in my AP Chem class.”

Some would also confuse me with Google, the way I’m used to fact-checking just about anything we talk about. That and tech support.

“Hey Jordyn, why can’t I send this file?” Kammy asks, tapping her laptop. “I swear. Oh! Now I’ve deleted it. Great.”

I laugh, pulling the computer onto my lap. “I keep telling you, you have to compress these big files before you try to send them. And it’s not deleted, it’s in your cloud. Kammy! How many files do you have in here? And have you ever emptied your trash?”

“Girl, you speaking French,” Kammy laughs.

I wave her off. “Just let me handle it.”

“Jordyn, could you clean up my computer too?” Vanessa asks. “It’s slow as hell. And I definitely can’t afford another.”

I grin. “Of course!”

I can’t believe it took leaving home to find friends like this. Ones who I’d do anything for and the same for me. As I look around the room, all I want to do is start taking pictures, so I never forget this feeling and post my new life for everyone back home to see and think, maybe I was wrong about her. My classes are great, my friends are amazing, I have a life worth being jealous of. Maybe I won’t need to transfer to Yale. Maybe I can really make it work here.

“My brother could tell you some stories about YG,” I hear Vanessa say and tune back in, straightening. “They used to party together. They’re still real tight. He’ll tell you all about him when you meet him.”