“Hello, Ailey.”
I looked down at my patent leather flats. “Hello.”
“Are you here with Dr. Hargrace?”
“Yes, and my parents. They flew in for Founder’s Day.”
“Oh, word? I’d love to finally meet them! Let’s walk over.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. We have a very full day before they fly back to the City tomorrow.” I turned to Mrs. Lindsay. I was standing so close to her, I bumped into her. “Excuse me! I’m so sorry.”
“That’s quite all right, darling,” she said. “It’s crowded in here.”
“Well . . . um . . . I should join my family,” I said. “I don’t want to be rude to them. It was so lovely to meet you. It’s been a sincere pleasure.”
Mrs. Lindsay patted my arm. “The pleasure is mine. I hope to see you again, very soon.”
*
Keisha tried to beg off from the spring step show, citing possible un-Christian behavior. Everybody knew the Gammas were going to show out, and anyway, she needed to study, but Roz dropped her tough pretenses. She tugged at our roommate’s sleeve. Come support her; she was going to be in the show.
Keisha folded her arms. “I don’t like the way them Betas did our girl. It wasn’t right. And you didn’t take up for her, neither.”
“But Ailey, you know I wouldn’t ever do you wrong on purpose, don’t you?” Roz turned to me, her eyebrows pleated. This was as close as she would come to an open apology, though she’d made a tacit statement of her solidarity. Since she was an official member of Beta, she no longer sat with her line sisters in the refectory. She sat with Keisha, Pat, and me at our regular table. When we encountered the Betas on the yard and they gave their shrill call, she answered with a brief wave and kept walking.
“No, I’m not mad,” I said. “It’s cool. We’re girls for life.”
In the gymnasium, Keisha and I sat on the front row; she didn’t care how much she loved Roz. If something happened that she didn’t like, she was leaving quick.
The Betas filed in daintily in their matching orange high heels and orange jumpsuits. The members of the step team were an array of skin tones, from chocolate to cream, but all of them were slender and nearly the same height. Every woman’s hair was at least shoulder length with an identical style: blow-dried flat with a part on the left side, and pulled back with a white satin ribbon.
Before the actual routine, a skit: Tiffany was the star of their show.
“Sorors?” she called.
“Yes?” The Betas answered.
“How hard did we work to become members of Beta Alpha Beta Sorority Incorporated?”
“We worked so hard!”
“And sorors?”
“Yes?”
“How much do we love Beta Alpha Beta Sorority Incorporated?”
“We love Beta so much!”
“I said, how much do we love Beta Alpha Beta Sorority Incorporated?”
“We love it! We love it! We love it!”
They began to hum, as Tiffany sang an a cappella cover of “Promise Me,” by Luther Vandross, the lyrics altered to allow for lines dedicated to their organization. After twenty minutes of pointless, ladylike prancing and a series of hand movements that always came back to the Beta sign, the routine was over. The steppers headed in the direction of their other sorors, who lauded them loudly, but Roz walked to where Keisha and I were, across the gymnasium.
Then, the MC announced, were we ready for the nasty Gammas?
Only the neophytes stepped that night, the thirteen who had joined the fraternity the previous semester. As the shortest, Abdul was in front of the line. Pat brought up the rear. They all wore silver boots with maroon pants and shirts, though Abdul wore his fraternity jacket, buttoned up the front. When the Gammas lined up, Abdul didn’t give the signal for the routine to start. He looked around the gym, and then walked toward where I sat. With each step, he unbuttoned his jacket, until he slipped it off. Underneath, he was bare-chested, and there were appreciative female shouts. When he stood in front of me, holding out the jacket, there was more noise. Roz poked me, take the jacket, people were looking, but on my other side, Keisha whispered, don’t do nothing I didn’t want to.
I reached out with both hands. Abdul gave me the jacket, then came in for a kiss. There were louder screams, and he walked back to his space, and the routine began. I clutched Abdul’s faintly funky jacket as the Gammas pumped groins and stomped in unison. In between nasty bedroom sounds, they chanted praises about Gammas and veiled insults about the other fraternities on campus.