“Mr. Dawson,” he said, hulking over my desk in a gray cardigan sweater and checkered dress shirt. “Man, it’s great to see you back! How was your break?”
“It was cool,” I said.
“I’m looking forward to big things from you this semester,” he said, looking me in the eye as he handed me a copy of the course description. “Don’t let me down.”
After passing out the packets, careful to make sure everyone had a copy, Dr. J returned to the front of the class, picked up a marker and went to the board.
“Does everyone have a copy of the course syllabus?” he asked.
Everyone nodded in unison.
“Good. Have you had a chance to review it carefully?” he asked.
Confusion riddled the faces of nearly everyone in the class, each of us looking around at one another to see if anyone knew where he was coming from. I had no idea, but I sensed a curveball coming. Timothy hesitantly raised his hand.
“Yes, sir,” Dr. J said.
“Well, Dr. Johnson, I was just wondering what you meant by that, seeing that we just received our course descriptions less than five minutes ago,” Timothy said. “I’ve skimmed through the syllabus, but haven’t had time to review it in its entirety.”
“Yet another valid point. Thank you for raising your hand before making it. Well, as Mr…. What’s your name, son?”
“McGruden. Timothy McGruden.”
“As Mr. McGruden has noted, none of you have had time to review the syllabus. And none of you will need to. As a matter of fact, everybody grab the packet I distributed to you and hold it above your head.”
Here it comes, I thought as I hoisted mine high.
“Now, rip it in half,” he said.
The bewildered facial expressions returned. No one, including myself could fathom why Dr. J would take the time to pass out something he just wanted us to rip up.
“I’m serious!” he insisted. “Rip it up!”
“You don’t have to tell me again,” Fresh said, tearing his in half.
Everyone else followed suit.
“That syllabus outlined the items Professor Mitchell saw fit to focus on this semester in terms of government affairs. Her way of doing this is absolutely fine and by the book. It’s just not my preference. I am interested in taking a more practical approach to ensuring you all learn the inner workings of bureaucracy—the good, the bad and the ugly.”
The windup.
“How many of you all have already signed up to participate in the upcoming student body election?” he asked.
Of the thirty or so students in the class, only one hand was raised. It belonged to Howard Harrell—University of Atlanta’s version of Barack Obama. Howard was a man of the people. Class president for the past three years, he was a shoe-in for student body president and everybody knew it. Revered for his near-perfect GPA, notorious for wearing a suit and tie at all times and heralded for his ability to effectively convey the thoughts and ideologies of the student body to the administration, in essence, Howard Harrell was the man. A man many suspected to be on the DL, but the man, nonetheless. In fact, in the last election, he ran unopposed. No one dared contest Howard Harrell.
“No one other than Mr. Harrell, huh?” Dr. J prodded.
Looking around the room, Howard revealed a cocky half-smile, before straightening his tie.
“Well, don’t get too comfy, Mr. President,” Dr. J said, looking at Howard. “That will soon change. From this point forward you can forget anything you’ve ever heard about public policy class. Don’t worry about purchasing a textbook. You won’t need it. No more study guides or scantron tests. Too easy to cheat. And here’s the best part…no more homework! That’s so passé.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, yo!” Dub-B said as others applauded in celebration.
Knowing Dr. J, all of this was too good to be true. I knew there had to be a catch. I wisely decided to hold my applause ’til the end.
“However,” he said.
The delivery.
“All of you,” he said, “those of you who don’t chicken out and drop the class, that is, will be responsible for participating in the upcoming student government election in some way, shape or form. This class will involve interactive campaigning, speech writing and public speaking.”
“Oh, hell nah,” I mumbled under my breath, echoing the groans of my classmates.
This is what I get for listening to Fats, I thought. Easy A, my ass!
“You will be randomly selected to form groups,” Dr. J continued. “Each group will have at least one representative who must run for a position in student government. The rest of the members of the group will act as campaign managers, responsible for marketing, promoting and assisting the candidates in your group running for office.”
“Sounds like an easy A to me,” Dub-B said confidently.
I raised a brow out of suspicion. Did he know something I didn’t?
“What ever happened to Professor Mitchell?” Lawry grumbled.
“The way I see it,” Dr. J said, intentionally inflecting his voice to drown out the complainers, “why read about policies and procedures in some textbook when you can participate in enacting social change right here on campus for yourselves? So without any further ado, let the selection process begin.”
He grabbed his black fedora from the desk and held it in front of himself. “This is my hat,” he said. “In this hat, I have placed small pieces of paper with numbers on them. I am going to pass this hat around the class and each of you will take one piece of paper from the hat. On one side of the paper, you will find a number. That number will represent the group number you will belong to. It would behoove you to memorize that number, because the grade you receive in this class hinges entirely on the way you work alongside other students with that same number. On the flip side of that piece of paper, you will find a position on the class council. That position is what one member of your group will run for in the upcoming election. In the event someone in your group is already holding a post in student government, such as Mr. Harrell, that group member has free reign to run for reelection for that same position or any other position he or she chooses. Otherwise, one representative from the group you are a part of will be running for the position listed on the opposite side of the piece of paper that you select. The rest of you will support your candidate wholeheartedly, as if your grade in this class depended on it. Well, in all actuality…it does! The only way, and I repeat, the only way to get an A in this class, is for your candidate to win…and I repeat, win the election! Capiche?”
I looked around the classroom at the somber faces of my classmates, each of us nodding our heads in agony. At least, most of us were. The more Dr. J spoke, the wider Howard Harrell’s grin grew. Dub-B wore a sly smile the entire time, too.
“You all will be responsible for meeting independently with your group members, on your own time,” Dr. J continued. “From this point on, the time we spend in this classroom will be dedicated to you devising campaign strategy and breaking down the campaign practices of world leaders, both national and foreign, to give you an idea of what has been effective in the past and why. That being said, I will pass my hat to Mr. McGruden here in the front row and he will pass it around. And fellas, I know many of you wish you had a hat like this of your own, and you can, for the low price of $179.99, at any Gucci store. Don’t try to be slick. The hat I pass around is the one I want back! Thank you.”
Waiting for the hat to make it around to me was like waiting in line to get on the scariest, fastest ride at Disneyland as a kid. The closer it got, the more afraid I became. I wanted nothing to do with the upcoming student body election. I don’t even remember ever voting for anyone in high school, and my best friend, Todd, was student body pesident. Other than Obama, Clinton, Bush and the guys on the dollar bills, I couldn’t even name a U.S. President if I had to. Politics just wasn’t my thing. By the time it came around to me, my hands were actually trembling. I reached d
own and pulled out a piece of paper without looking in the hat, then passed it back. I waited until Dr. J had the hat back in his hands before looking down to see what number I’d picked.
I’ve always hated group projects. There were always one or two people who always did all of the work and carried the whole group. I was never either one of those people. Still, I figured if I was gonna flunk out of college because of a bad grade in a class, I’d rather do it on my own merit than entrust a group of total strangers with my fate. I immediately contemplated dropping the course.
“What number did you get, joe?” Fresh asked.
“Six,” I said.
“So did I!” he said. “We’re gonna be running for student body president! Can you believe that? I already know what suit I’m gonna wear when I give my acceptance speech!”
Strike one. Nothing about Fresh said student body president.
“I’m in group six too, yo!” Dub-B shouted.
Strike two. With the basketball season in full swing, there was no way Dub-B would be able to contribute to a project of this magnitude. Amid the chatter, I overheard Katrina’s petite, cute, sorority sister Destiny yell from across the room.
“I got number six!” she said. “What number did you get?”
With all of the commotion in the room, I couldn’t hear Kat’s answer. But I read her lips clear as day.
“I got six, too, girl,” she said.
Strike three. If Katrina is in, I’m out!
There is no way I’m working with Kat, I thought, slumping into my seat. Just last night, I’d dissed her so cold at the club, I’m sure she wasn’t too thrilled about working with me, either.
“What number did you get, kid?” Dub-B asked Timothy.
“Nine,” he said.
“There are only six numbers,” Dr. J interjected.
“Oh!” Timothy said. “I had mine upside down. I’m in group number six.”
That’s a relief, I thought, taking a deep breath. At least there was one person in the group who I was sure would really do some work. One person I wouldn’t mind working alongside, that is. My moment of comfort didn’t last long.
“This is gonna be a breeze,” Howard said, boasting that anyone in group number two was in for an easy A.
“With your track record, it would seem that way,” Dr. J said. “But well done is always better than well said.”
After meeting briefly with our groups to compare class schedules and find a time and place suitable for us to meet, the class was dismissed. Katrina and I had only exchanged eye contact once the entire time. An emotionless stare-down that was over in the blink of an eye. She tried to grab me by my arm as I walked out of the room, but I jerked away, giving her a dirty look. I wasn’t ready to talk to her yet. Only Atlanta’s brisk winter air was colder. Surprisingly cooler than it had been when I walked to class, I bundled up as I stood outside Washington Hall, checking my schedule to see where my next class was. The fellas huddled up around me.
“So what you gonna do, shawty?” Lawry asked, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “I saw how you just chumped Kat off back there in class.”
Immediately, my face frowned up. Lawry’s breath smelled like he’d just gargled with spoiled milk. Talking to him in such close proximity made it virtually impossible to hold a conversation and inhale at the same time. I swiftly disengaged and took a step away from him before answering.
“What am I gonna do about what?” I asked.
“What do you think?” Lawry asked. “About being in the same group as Katrina.”
“What kind of dumb-ass question is that?” Fresh asked. “He’s gonna drop the class. Right, J.D.?”
“To tell you the truth, blood, I can’t call it,” I said. “You know I’m on academic probation, so I really can’t afford to be dropping no classes. I gotta think about it. Why are you so worried about what I’ma do anyway? You need to be worried about what you’re gonna do about being in the same group as Howard Harrell.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m gonna do,” Lawry said. “I’m gonna get an easy A. That’s what I’ma do. Yeah, everybody knows he’s about as sweet as ten packs of Skittles. But he’s gonna win, hands-down and everybody knows that, too.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, conceding Howard’s victory. “I kinda wish I could switch groups with you, so I could get that easy A.”
“Boy you’sa fool!” Lawry said. “You need to switch groups with anybody who’ll let you. Ain’t no way I’d stay in a group with a girl who has HIV, when everybody knows I was dating her last semester. The way people around this campus talk…please! No way in hell, shawty! Speaking of which, is it just me, or was your girl Katrina looking a little thinner?”
“For one, that ain’t my girl,” I said sharply. “And for two, I wasn’t even looking at her like that.”
“Yeah, right!” Fresh said. “Everybody was checking her out. And now that you mention it, her ass ain’t looking as plump as it was last semester.”
“Y’all trippin’,” I said. “She looked fine to me.”
“I thought you wasn’t looking at her like that,” Lawry said.
“I wasn’t, nigga!” I blurted aggressively.
I couldn’t help it. We’d just started the semester, and already I’d grown sick and tired of everyone implicating me with Kat at every opportunity. Already I was tired of defending myself.
“Whoa!” Lawry said. “You getting kinda defensive, ain’t ya? Don’t tell me you’re still hitting that.”
“Hitting what?” I asked. “Man, hell nah! You got me twisted, homie!”
“Y’all tweaking,” Fresh said, throwing his arm around my neck. “Why would he still be hitting that knowing she got the package? Especially not after he’s been tested and he knows he ain’t got it.”
There was a brief moment of silence, Lawry looking at me, waiting for me to speak up in my defense.
“You did get tested for that, right?” Lawry badgered.
“You need to clean the Tootsie Rolls out of your ears, man,” Fresh said. “I just told you he knows he ain’t got it!”
“Of course I got tested,” I said. “C’mon, now! You think I’m stupid? I am HIV negative, homie.”
“They didn’t give you any paperwork or test results or anything to prove it?” Lawry asked. “Not that I don’t believe you. I’m just curious.”
“Not that I know of,” I said. “I took the blood test and they said they would call me back to let me know my results.”
“You sure about that?”
“What you mean, am I sure? Of course I’m sure! What about you? While you’re all up in my business, when is the last time you got tested?”
Another awkward moment of silence commenced. Lawry’s silence all but assured his guilt. He just kind of stood there trying to conjure up some clever way of admitting he hadn’t been tested.
“To be honest with you folk,” Lawry said, “I don’t be out here taking chances like that, so I haven’t had to get tested.”
“Well, you may not need to get tested for HIV, but I strongly suggest you consult with your local dentist about treatment for halitosis because your breath is kicking like David Beckham!”
Fresh busted out laughing so hard, he became teary-eyed. Lawry blurted a sarcastic laugh, then chunked the deuces.
“I got a class to get to,” he said. “I’m outta here.”
“Hey, you still got my belt I let you wear to the foam party last night?”
“Yeah, it’s on my bed,” Lawry said. “I meant to get that back to you this morning, shawty. My bad.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “I need that back, though. It’s the only belt I got.”
“You tryna go back to the dorm and grab it now?”
“I need to, but I got a class,” I said.
“Well, I’m not gonna be back in Marshall until later on tonight.”
“Let me hold your key then,” I said. “I’ll leave it in my room, just in case I’m not there when you get b
ack. You know my roommate will be up in there.”
“I guess that’ll work,” he said, removing his key from the keychain. “Just leave the key on your nightstand, shawty.”
“I got you, homie,” I said.
“Now, let me get outta here before I’m late for my Spanish class,” Lawry said. “Hopefully there are some cute mamacitas up in there! I’ll meet up with you in the caf around lunch.”
I was walking with Timothy, headed over to Wells Hall on the opposite side of campus for biology class, when I heard someone behind me call my name.
“Yo, J.D! Slow up!” Dub-B yelled, jogging across the street toward us. “Yo, why do you be playing Katrina like that, son? I know about what happened between y’all last semester or whatever, but she’s mad cool, B. I was just talking to her after class, and she really wants y’all to be cordial again. Especially since we all gotta work together on this student government project for Dr. J’s class.”
“Oh, yeah, you are in my group, huh?” I asked, totally ignoring his plea for peace.
“Duh,” he said. “We just met for like five minutes in class. Weren’t you there? I coulda sworn you were.”
“He was,” Timothy said.
“All I know is I’m gonna need an A in that class to make sure I keep my GPA above a 3.0, so I can get off academic probation.”
“I thought you said you only needed a 2.5,” Timothy said.
I damn sure told Timothy that. Now, I struggled to find an explanation for why I’d hiked the academic requirements.
“I know what J.D.’s doing,” Dub-B said. “He’s raising his own expectations, so even if he falls short of his own personal goal, his grades will still surpass what the university requires. Right?”
I couldn’t have made up a lie any better than that sounded.
“You already know, homie,” I said.
“Well, don’t worry about public policy,” Dub-B said. “I got that on lock. I know how we’re gonna win.”
Next Semester Page 9
