Next Semester

by Cecil R. Cross

  But as gorgeous as she was, not even Leslie’s face could hold a candle to her body. She had the frame of a video vixen. Short in stature, but curvy like the letter S. She was rockin’ a white blouse and chocolate-colored wraparound skirt, leaving just enough of her thigh exposed to pique the imagination. I could tell her thighs were firm, just looking at ’em. I figured she was a former cheerleader. Either that, or definitely a track star in high school. And the ass…short yellow bus—retarded! So fat you could see it from the front. With the naked eye, one could easily assume that she’d paid for a Brazilian Butt-lift—booty implants. But I knew everything about her had to be authentic. That’s why I had to give it a second shot. As I intentionally walked directly in her path, impeding her progress, I just hoped she remembered me.

  “Excuse me!” she shouted. “Do I know you?”

  “As a matter of fact, you do,” I said, sounding as smooth as I possibly could. “The name is J.D.”

  “And I know you from…?” she said slowly, wrinkles forming in her forehead insinuating she had no idea who the hell I was.

  “I met you the other day in the parking lot near Marshall Hall,” I said.

  “Are you sure about that?” she asked. “I remember being in that area, but I don’t remember meeting a J.D.”

  “Well, that’s funny, because I distinctly remember meeting a Leslie,” I said. “A fine one who goes to Elman.”

  She blushed, smiling from ear to ear. The cut I’d noticed on her lip the first time we met was all cleared up. But this time, there was a new blemish—a slight bruise above her left eye. One that she tried to cover up with eye shadow. It wasn’t major, but it was noticeable. She didn’t look like much of a boxer, but I wondered if she did some sparring in her spare time or something.

  “That is my name,” she said. “Maybe we did meet. I apologize for not remembering, I’ve just been so busy registering for my classes, dealing with the people in the financial aid office and trying to get all of my textbooks, I haven’t even had time to think about much else.”

  “It’s all good, sweetheart,” I said. “As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, when we met, I told you my name was James.”

  “Oooooh,” she said. “Now I remember! Soooooo…you’re the guy all of the girls at Elman have been warned about?”

  “All the girls at Elman have been warned about?” I asked, repeating her question with my face scrunched up, as if she’d spoken in a different language. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Let’s just say I heard about you,” Leslie said, making a precarious facial gesture, as if she’d heard some kind of negative rumor.

  My mind raced. I wondered what she’d heard, who’d told her, and if all the girls at Elman were really privy to the details of the highly publicized love triangle I was a part of last semester.

  “Heard what?” I asked, sounding extremely insecure. “Good things or bad?”

  “That’s not all that important right now,” Leslie said. “Look, I hate to be rude, but I really have to get going. It was nice to meet you, James. I mean, J.D. I mean…Heck, with all your aliases, I don’t even know what to call you.”

  “Baby, you can call me whatever you want, whenever you want,” I said. “As long as I can call you, too.”

  “Well, I think I will call you…a freshman!” she said, laughing. “A charming one, though. I must admit. Very charming. You are a freshman, right?”

  “Second semester freshman.”

  “Ha! That’s so funny. Second semester freshman. Aaaaw, that’s real cute,” she said.

  “And what’s your classification?” I asked.

  “I’m a sophomore. A second semester sophomore, to be exact,” she said, giggling.

  “Real funny,” I said. “I like a girl with a sense of humor. Maybe we can exchange knock-knock jokes over the phone when I call you. You got a number I can reach you on?”

  “Charming and persistent,” she said. “Two thumbs up! Well, I’ve gotta be honest. I’m kinda seeing somebody right now. And I don’t usually give my number out to guys around here. Especially guys who aren’t Lighthouse men.”

  “What is it with you and Lighthouse men?”

  “No offense, but the guys over at Lighthouse just seem to have their stuff together,” she said.

  “Dang, that’s messed up,” I said. “So what you tryna say about brothas from U of A?”

  “Well, I try not to stereotype people. But it just seems like guys of U of A like to play games. And that’s not me. You seem pretty cool, though. Plus, you’re kinda cute. Anybody ever tell you that you look like…umm…” she said, snapping her finger, deep in thought. “What’s his name? He was in Dead Presidents, Love Jones…umm…I know you know who I’m talking about.”

  “Larenz Tate?” I asked, knowing good and well that’s who she was referring to.

  “Yeah!” she said. “That’s his name! It was right on the tip of my tongue. Man, you two look just alike. I know you get that all the time.”

  “Every now and then,” I said.

  “Well, look Larenz,” she said, laughing. “We can be friends. Just hit me up on Facebook sometime.”

  “That’s cool,” I said. “But Facebook is so impersonal. How ’bout I just call you?”

  “How ’bout you hit me on Facebook first and we’ll go from there,” she said.

  “I guess that’s cool,” I said, disheartened. “What’s your last name?”

  “Find me without it,” she said, smiling.

  “How am I gonna find you on Facebook, when I don’t even know your last name? There’s gotta be hundreds of girls named Leslie who go to Elman. It’ll take me forever to find your page.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll see how bad you really want to talk to me, now won’t we?”

  “And you said guys from U of A liked to play games,” I said sarcastically.

  Leslie hadn’t even taken ten steps before some upperclassmen wearing a red and white fraternity jacket swooped her into his arms like he’d known her for years. I took note of his line name, Wallstreet, etched across the back of his jacket in huge white letters. I watched on helplessly as the two of them walked off together in the opposite direction, seemingly enjoying each other’s company. I’ve never wished I was anyone else in my entire life. But at that moment, on that day, I envied him. I wished I could be in his shoes. Even though Leslie had just played me to the left with the whole “look me up on Facebook” spill, I still felt like I could have her. And the fact that she was making it a challenge made her even more intriguing to me.

  “Ain’t that the same girl who turned you down the other day?” Fresh asked, standing next to me holding a half-eaten box of pizza in one hand and a fresh slice in the other.

  “Yeah, that’s her,” I said.

  “See, look at her, walking off all playful with the dude in the Kappa jacket,” he said. “I’m tryna tell you. If you wanna pull a top-notch like her, you might wanna think about pledging Kappa.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re tryna recruit me into a fraternity that you’re not even in?” I asked, laughing.

  “Laugh now,” he said. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m on the next line coming out.”

  “You ain’t finna be on nobody’s line, blood,” I said. “Everybody knows freshmen can’t pledge.”

  “Neither can sophomores, juniors or seniors if they don’t get chosen to be on the line,” Fresh said. “That’s why I’ma start putting my work in this semester, so when sophomore year rolls around, I’ll be in the game.”

  “What you mean, ‘putting work in’?” I asked.

  “Never mind that,” Fresh said, his eyes still glued to Leslie’s fatty as it bounced down the strip. “Damn, she’s fine!”

  “Who you tellin’?”

  “That was the come up of the century! You got her number, right?”

  “Kind of,” I said.

  “What you mean, kind of? Either you got the digits or you didn’t. She gave you her dor
m extension or something?”

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  “Well, what did she give you, her e-mail address?” he said sarcastically, laughing.

  “She gave me her Facebook,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Her what? Did you just say she gave you her Facebook, G? That is hilarious!”

  “At least I got something,” I said.

  “Correction,” he said. “You got nothing. Man, anybody can look her up on Facebook.”

  “Whatever, blood,” I said. “Anyways. What kind of pizza did you get?”

  “Hawaiian.”

  “How much did you get approved for?” I asked.

  “Ten stacks!” Fresh said, proudly. “I had to gas my mom up a lil’ bit, though.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “I just told her that the interest on the card was a lot less than the interest on a student loan, so I would use the card to get my books and pay my tuition for next semester,” he said.

  “And she went for it?” I asked. “That’s what’s up! Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money, bro. Be careful.”

  FIVE

  FOAM PARTY

  I couldn’t stop thinking about that comment Leslie made about me being the guy all of the Elman girls had been warned about. I wondered what she meant by that, and how many other students really thought I was HIV positive. And even if they did, how the news traveled from our campus all the way to Elman was beyond me. For the first time since I’d been in college, I felt insecure. I hadn’t even attempted to look for Leslie on Facebook yet. The mere thought of doing the research just to get in contact with her made me feel like a sucka. But I’d come to the conclusion that if looking her up on the computer was the only way I could stay in contact with her, I was willing to take my chances. Besides, I figured with her going to Elman and all, it would be a while before I bumped into her around the yard again. Little did I know, I wouldn’t have to wait that long.

  Less than ten minutes after Fresh and I stepped foot in the foam party, there she was again. Even half-drunk, in a club full of half-dressed, gorgeous women, she stood out like a searchlight. I was low on ends, so I watched from a distance as some other guy bought her a drink. Better him than me, I thought. But I kept my eye on her the entire time. Just as she brushed that guy off and headed to the dance floor, I made my way through the crowd toward her. As she danced in a group with her girls, I hesitated momentarily, not wanting to embarrass myself by getting turned down for a dance in front of her friends. Then I took a deep breath, said what the hell and crept up on her from behind. At first she stopped dancing and looked back at me like I was crazy. I hit her with a big grin and kept on grooving. The moment she recognized me, her poker face gave in to a smile, and she began swaying to the beat again. As I held her from behind I was entranced by the way her black tights clung to her curves, accentuating her juicy derriere. I couldn’t help being aroused just looking at the way she arched her lower back and moved her body. The way she effortlessly gyrated her hips in a circular motion as if she was hula-hooping, looking back and biting her lip ever so often to show me she was feeling me. With my hands placed firmly on her hips, I tuned everyone else out. It was as if we were the only two people on the dance floor. I leaned in, my lip gently caressing her ear as I spoke.

  “You are looking so damn fine in this outfit,” I whispered.

  If I could’ve thought of a better line to use, I would have. But at the time, I was so sprung, that was the best I could do. Judging by the grin that permeated her face, she knew it was genuine.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” she said, as she effortlessly rolled her hips back against my pelvis to the beat.

  I don’t know if it was the speed at which all of the blood in my body rushed to my genital area, the smell of her sweet perfume, or the look in her eye when she turned around to call me by a pet name for the first time, but right then and there, I knew she could be the one for me. We danced for a few more songs, then she spun around and pulled me close. I puckered up for a kiss, to no avail.

  “You’re a pretty good dancer for a second semester freshman,” she said. “I had fun.”

  “You leaving?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I got class in the morning. Can’t stay out too late. You got my number, though. Give me a call.”

  Now, I’m not sure if it was the liquor talking or she really didn’t remember blatantly telling me to contact her on Facebook, but since she was insinuating I already had the number, I rolled with it.

  “Actually, for some reason, it didn’t save in my phone when I tried to put it in,” I said, lying my butt off. “What is it again?”

  I laughed to myself as she recited her number in my ear as if she’d already given it to me. Once I had her number safely stored in my phone, Leslie flashed her pearly whites one last time, then disappeared into the crowd. She looked so good, I wanted to tag along and walk her to her dorm. When Leslie walked away from me, I felt like I was standing in the middle of a boxing ring in Caesar’s Palace with my hands raised and a referee had just strapped the heavyweight champion title belt around my waist. Of all the guys in the club, the few who weren’t looking at me in amazement had their eyes glued to Leslie’s booty as it bounced away to its own rhythm. I took one more look for myself. If I knew how to do a backflip without landing on my neck, I would’ve done one right then and there in the middle of the club. After looking around to make sure nobody was checking me out, I executed a discreet, Tiger Woods–inspired fist pump. If relationships were based on looks alone, I was convinced I could definitely settle down with Leslie. Now, I faced the daunting task of getting her to like me as much as I liked her. But until I did, I’d made up my mind I was going to have as much fun as I could. I’d chased Kat around so much last semester, I hadn’t really seen what else there was out there for me. I figured the foam party was as good a place as any to start looking.

  It wasn’t even midnight and the club was already packed. The Greeks were doing their thing—lined up from shortest to tallest, strolling with their signature moves, calling out their unique chants and dissing rival frats and sororities. The Kappas were the cleanest, dressed in preppy gear from head to toe, the pretty boys arrogantly shimmied through the crowd while the ladies gawked. The Q’s apparently missed the memo that it was freezing outside. Dressed in cut-off purple-and-gold tees, army fatigue pants and tattered Timbs, they were jumping around like madmen, stomping and clapping in unison. When I saw Timothy lined up with the Alphas mimicking gorillas as they strolled in their suits and loafers, I couldn’t help but laugh. In one semester, he’d gone from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajama-wearing bookworm to an uncoordinated Stomp the Yard extra. The sorority chicks immediately changed my focus. The Deltas were deepest in number. They ranged from drop-dead gorgeous to “She must have a high GPA,” enormous to petite, caramel-skinned to coal-complexioned. They stepped with distinction—all of them overdressed, wearing heels way too expensive and fancy for the club. The APAs weren’t far behind. The storm of pink-and-green jackets came through strolling with their noses to the sky, their freshly pressed perms swinging from side to side as they pretended to adore themselves in invisible mirrors.

  At first, moving out of the way so the Greeks could make their way through the crowd was cool, but after a while, it became annoying. I felt like I was stuck on the set of Drumline. Dub-B, apparently clueless to the well-known fact that nobody is to step through a line while they are strolling, had little regard for the unwritten rule. When he nudged me and pointed out his girlfriend, Jasmine, on the other side of the club, I had no idea he was about to risk life and limb to speak to her. Without hesitation, Dub-B darted in between the line of APAs, in the middle of their coordinated routine.

  Bad decision.

  In a heartbeat, Dub-B was surrounded by the entire line, being pushed and shoved by an angry mob of no less than thirty sets of freshly manicured nails. In a matter of seconds, the expression on his face turned from “Oops,
my bad” to sheer terror. Dub-B’s lanky white frame bounced around like a bowling pin before being hurled away from them in a heap. His Yankees hat flew off his head and was trampled by the second half of the APA line, who picked up where they left off. Fresh and I were cracking up as we watched Dub-B pick up his mangled fitted cap from the floor, attempting to dust it off.

  “What the hell was he thinking, joe?” Fresh asked. “Your boy was tweeking!”

  “What’s crackin’, lil’ homies?” Fats asked, dapping us up with a huge grin on his face. “Did y’all just see your boy Dub-B get manhandled by them APAs? That fool was rattled, cuz! When them girls crowded around him, he looked like he was about to shit his draws!”

  “I know,” I said, laughing. “That was the first time I’ve ever seen Dub-B actually look white. His face started turning red and all that! Man, that was hilarious!”

  “Pure comedy, fam-o,” Fresh added.

  All jokes subsided and laughter ceased immediately when Katrina popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, in front of me. For a few seconds, she just stood there, staring into my eyes, inaudibly asking, once more, for forgiveness. She opened her arms wide and smiled gingerly, gesturing for me to embrace her. Lord knows I wanted to. With no sign of Leslie in sight, Kat was hands-down the finest girl in the club. With her beauty, body and swag, there wasn’t even a close second. Even in the club, I could smell her sweet perfume from where I stood, entrancing me like a fish to a lure. I wanted to let bygones be bygones and move on, but my pride wouldn’t let me. Not in front of my boys. I had a reputation to consider. Hugging Kat in the middle of the club like that, with everybody watching, could have ignited a whole ’nother slew of rumors that I didn’t want to have to deal with. So instead of stepping into her open arms or acknowledging her at all, I just tapped Fresh and nodded toward the other side of the club, signaling him to keep it moving. I left Kat standing there with her arms open.