The Scammer(80)

“Yeah, I wanted you to go. But not like this,” he says, leaning back against the stove. “I wanted you to go so that for once, just once, you could experience what it’s like not being the other. Not always being the token Black girl in every class or activity. This might be the only chance in your life to experience that. I regret not taking my own chance. Regret not standing up to Mom and Dad like I should’ve.”

I tie my fingers in knots, holding my breath.

“You left me,” I mumble to the floor, tears swelling. “You were all I had.”

“I know,” he admits, sliding the mug across the counter. “But you have to let me go now. Or else.”

I shake my head and take a sip of tea.





Thirty-One




“Look at your face! Your hair! You’re not fucking staying here!”

The cops were called after I was found unconscious. Thankfully, security footage picked up the faces of every girl that entered the bathroom and they were immediately arrested.

I limp into my room and touch my laptop on the desk, just to ground myself. I hated leaving it, even for one night.

“I have to stay here. For now.”

Nick is furious. He hasn’t changed since leaving the hospital this morning. There are dried bloodstains on his button-down. My blood.

“You’re an adult. You don’t have to listen to your parents. They would understand that you decided to stay with your boyfriend after being viciously attacked.”

I laugh. “You don’t know my parents.”

At the hospital, I FaceTimed Mom. She stared at me for ten excruciating seconds before the tears started to flood, uttering, “My God, Jordyn. Your hair . . .”

Mom went into lawyer mode, pulling strings and having detectives move expeditiously to make the necessary arrests. Even at the height of their calls, I could hear my dad mumble in the background, “This wouldn’t have happened at Yale. Those are civilized people.”

What they weren’t aware of is that I’m still high on the person-of-interest list in connection with Kammy’s disappearance. Being jumped in the bathroom and losing all my hair didn’t win me any points or favors with the police.

Nick shakes his head. “Fuck a call. I’m going to Student Housing today! This has gone on long enough. I’m going to get you out of here.”

He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be back. Lock the door behind me, rest, and if anyone knocks, just call me. NO! Call 911. Just promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I promise.”

Nick hesitates, before running out the door, and I exhale, slinking down to my bed. On reflex, I touch my hair, forgetting most of it is gone, and it feels like I’ve gone with it.

This entire plan is off the rails. Devonte has so many people on campus in his pocket that I’m in serious danger. Anyone could throw me down the stairs, hit me with a car, or spread even more rumors that I can wind up in jail . . . it’s all too much.

Her door creaks as it swings open and every muscle in my body clenches at the sound.

Loren stands at my threshold, hands folded. She’s wearing a green head wrap, yellow top, and a long denim skirt. She takes in my injuries, my forced haircut, with dull lifeless eyes.

“I . . . came to see if you were alright,” she says softly.

“Do I look alright?” I snap, seething.

She shakes her head. “I tried to warn you. You can’t blame Devonte for this. You were running around saying he murdered some girl.”

“He IS a murderer!” I jump up, the movement so painful, black spots blind my vision, and I grip a chair for balance. “And you don’t see that him and his fucked-up sister are scamming you?”

Loren has a hard time facing me. “Devonte can be a little . . . extreme. Passionate. But he’s not all the way wrong about the facts he’s spitting.”

A wry laugh escapes me. “Get the hell out of here.”

Loren lunges forward.

“I’m serious,” she shouts. “You gonna look around and say he’s making up the statistic about the number of liquor stores we have in the hood compared to availability of fresh fruits and vegetables? Black maternal mortality rates? Police brutality? The damn cops who almost got us killed in that protest are already out on bail, still getting paid with our tax dollars!”

I don’t answer her. There’s no use in talking to her.

She sighs. “Girl, I know it’s easier for you to just follow along. But that’s not the life I want to live anymore. And you can’t make me live a life I don’t want to. People grow! People change! I’ve changed. I can’t just turn my back and party and drink knowing there’s innocent brothers in prison. Or that there’s a food industry literally poisoning our communities. After everything our ancestors have been through, I can’t sit and dishonor them by pretending I don’t see what I’m seeing. Our people are in mental bondage and don’t know it. If you want to pretend you don’t see that, that’s on you. But I ain’t you. So just . . . stop.”

She gives me a curt nod, storming out of the suite. And I don’t realize I’m crying until the door slams shut.



* * *




I stare out the window at the Quad, the view spectacular. Students flow in and out of different halls, gathering around benches, holding hands, laughing under a bright beautiful sky. Not a care in the world.