by M. J. Fields
She insists she can walk to the SUV by herself, but I still wait until I see her get inside. I was raised to watch my back when crazy is lurking. And, not to stereotype or play any race card, but white folk crazy is the craziest of all.
Proof? School shootings, mass shootings, and serial killers. Fifty-Eight-point six percent of all reported hate crimes are white people. Need more? Pedophiles and sex offenders are predominantly white. It’s right there for anyone to see if they do the research.
Walking down the hall, I keep my head up, shoulders back, and face in check when I walk by any of the girls or guys on my floor. I have nothing to hide, and I will give them nothing.
Inside the dorm, I allow the weight of last night to once again settle on my shoulders and allow myself to feel hurt and sad. I am human, after all.
Inside my room, I pull down the covers, crawl onto my bed, cover myself, and… I cry.
When I wake and look at the clock, it’s ten in the morning. I hear Christy and Lisa laughing and allow that emotion to spread inside me.
I am also well-aware of how lucky I am that, even though he’s a player, he never technically played me. My sincere hope is that he doesn’t feel I played him. And I really pray that, someday soon, I won’t wake up to him being the first thought in my head.
My obsession with football did not start with Mitchell Moore. My focus needs to be brought back into line now. That’s it, a quick alignment, and all will be straight again.
God, I hope so anyways.
When I walk out, I see the girls watching TV and eating cereal.
“Morning,” I say cheerfully, sitting in the chair.
They both look up, and Lisa asks, “You hungover?”
I laugh. “Slept through that part.”
Christy holds out a box of cereal. “Captain Munch?”
“Huh?” I ask because there’s no way I’m hearing things.
“Would you like some?” She shakes the box. “Captain Crunch?”
“Sure.”
I have to laugh at myself as I get up to grab the box from her.
There’s a knock on the door as I grab the cereal. I turn around to get it.
“I’ll get it,” Lisa says, pushing up off the couch. “Probably the delivery guy.”
“Better get some clothes on.” Christy hops up, too.
“Yeah, I’ll get my robe,” I say, walking back to my room with the box of Captain Crunch, not Munch.
“She’s not here,” Lisa yells from the living room.
Logan.
I hurry to the door and walk out.
“Where is she?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I snap, “but she went home for a couple of days.”
“Fuck. Right. Okay. Thank you.” He heads toward the door.
“Why don’t you just leave her alone?” I yell at his back.
He turns around and glares at me. “Why don’t you just suck a dick or put out already?”
“What?”
“He fucking likes you, Jamie. He likes you a lot, and you fuck with him. Do you not get that he has fucking feelings, too?”
I’m tempted to tell him that his boy ended things, but he slams the door behind him and I’m secretly glad I didn’t because now those hating hoes will be less hateful to me. They’ll wanna be me, or at least my friend, which is pathetic. I’ll slap them down like the blood-thirsty mosquitos they are.
Same “watchers,” different “church,” I think.
The door pops back open, and Logan looks in. “Don’t be a bitch to him.” Then he’s gone.
I set the Captain Crunch on the end table and point toward my room. “I’m going back to bed.”
Lisa and Christy nod slowly.
The last few days have been totally chill, which is fine by me. Elle and I have been working on dance and voice. She also had us all jog in the morning. And, by morning, I mean indecent hours. Two days in, and it’s just her and me freezing our asses off.
When we get back to our room, Lisa and Christy are awake-ish, lying on the couch, covered in a pile of blankets.
“You didn’t wake us,” Christy says on a yawn.
Elle smiles. “I didn’t wake Jamie, either; she was already up. I don’t want to cramp your styles. I can handle this.”
Truth be told, I haven’t slept well, and also … not gonna let that happen.
“Still doing Sound tonight, right?” Lisa asks.
I look at Elle, who says, “Sure.”
Lisa smiles. “Should we ask Fletcher?”
“He’s our friend, so of course,” Elle says as she turns around. “I call shower.”
“I call bed.” I sigh. “Wake me up in an hour.”
In leggings and one of what we Mississippians call a winter sweater, in red, comparable to what New Yorkers call summer sweaters—it’s cute, though, so I have that going for me—complemented with a pair of red boots, I walk back to the table.
“We’re up next,” I say before taking a drink of my draft beer.
“I thought we agreed to be spectators tonight?” Christy asks, nodding slightly toward Elle.
“Yeah, well, we look like a bunch of washed-up has-beens, and that isn’t happening.” I grab Elle’s hand and pull her off her stool. “Let’s go, ladies.”
“I love you, but right now, you’re making me feel white-girl-crazy,” Elle sneers at me, and I laugh out loud for the first time in a while.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
She laughs, a real laugh, too. “It’s scary.”
“Then don’t fight me on the whole jogging thing.” As a couple in their forties comes off the stage from singing “Islands In The Stream,” I look at Elle. “You sing that with your man in twenty years, and I will shank you. Now, let’s go.”
When the music starts, I grab the mic, and the girls laugh as they fall behind me.
“What you want, baby, I got it. What you need, do you know I got it? All I’m askin’ is for a little respect.”
We all take turns singing and, when Elle’s smile falters, I look out and see Logan and Mitch sitting at our table, with Fletcher.
I spin her toward me and start singing to her, with her, and so do the girls
The crowd applauds as we walk off stage.
“We should go,” Elle says.
“You’re right; we should go over there to our table and act like they aren’t even there, Elle. This is our place.”
She looks at me sternly, and I expect her to say fuck that, but she gives me a nod, and we head to our table just as Mitch and Logan get up and walk past us.
When Mitch walks by, our eyes meet. His are bloodshot. He’s drunk.
He leans down as he saunters past me and inhales. “I respect the hell out of you, Flower.”
I try to think of some quick comeback, but what falls out of my mouth? “You, too, player.”
He smirks, and I feel it immediately pull at my core.
When he walks up on stage, he stumbles a bit and chuckles as he grabs the mic.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Elle asks Fletcher. “Was he rude?”
Fletcher holds up a beer. “Didn’t say a thing. Handed me a beer and sat down.”
“What an asshole!” She stops and looks at him. “What?”
He shrugs.
“Hey, y’all,” Mitch says with a thick twang. “Hope you don’t mind a simple country boy coming up on this here stage.”
The crowd that seems to have doubled since last week starts cheering.
“Country music might be for the Midwestern, Trump-voting, cowboy-boot-wearing, simpleminded fucks, but a good song is a good song.” He looks toward me. “And I’m from fucking Ohio, not Nebraska.”
“That boy is so far from sober he’s—”
“So fucking hot,” I sigh out, cutting Lisa off.
Mitch
I’m pissed about the not knowing she was a virgin thing, but just watching her up there for three minutes was better than an hour of watchin
g Mya Mays or Chanell Heart get fucked doggy-style and seeing their round as fuck booties shake while getting slammed and begging for Moore. I mean, more.
I’m glad Links guilted me into being wingman, because the house will not be complaining about slow internet while I try to get off to the thought of something other than her. I’ll be stroking it to her for the foreseeable—entire next fucking semester.
I’m not a dick. I know I shouldn’t think like that, but fuck her if she thinks she’s going to forget about me when I can’t stop thinking about her.
“Country music might be for the Midwestern, Trump-voting, cowboy-boot-wearing, simpleminded fucks, but a good song is a good song.” I point at her. “I’m from fucking Ohio, not Nebraska.”
When the song starts, I want to laugh when she looks at her girls like she doesn’t know the song. Quite fucking frankly, as fucked up as I am, she probably won’t recognize it when I sing it even if she did. But again, fuck her.
“Got a girl from the south side, got braids in her hair. First time I seen her walk by, man, I ’bout fell up out my chair. Had to get her number. It took me like six weeks. Now me and her go way back, like Cadillac seats.”
Her eyes are on me, big as fucking saucers. I’m thinking she’s in shock, or maybe I’m that good. Probably the latter.
I sing the chorus, and Lisa and Christy start dancing and singing at the table. They know it, thank fuck.
“The way she fits in those yoga pants, she don’t need no belt. But I can turn them inside out, I don’t need no help. Got hips like honey, so thick and so sweet, man. It ain’t no curves like hers on these SU streets.”
She covers her mouth as she starts laughing then clapping.
Lisa and Christy pull her up, and they all start dancing together.
When I finish the song, and the place starts cheering, and yeah, laughing, I can’t help smiling as I jog off stage, handing the mic to Links.
“You sure about your song choice?”
He snags the mic. “Yes, I’m fucking sure.”
“All right, man. But you have one hell of an act to follow, you know.”
“Dude, just stay here; don’t move.” He walks past me to the stage. He pulls the stool over from the side stage, sits on it, adjusts the mic and wipes his palms on his pants.
Making a heart with my hands, I yell, “I heart you, Logan!”
He gives me crazy eyes, the kind that asks what the hell is your problem and tells you to shut the fuck up at the same time. I can’t help laughing at it.
When the song “You Can Count On Me” by Bruno Mars starts, I glance over to see Jamie look at Elle and pout out her lower lip. Elle crosses her arms in front of her.
Not a good sign.
I slowly look up at him, smile big, and give him two thumbs-up, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s looking at her.
When the song is over, it’s applause and awws. I don’t take offense that mine was laughter instead of awws, because, well, it made her smile.
Together, we walk over to the table, where Jamie smiles, shakes her head, and looks up.
“You prayin’, Flower?” I ask as I sit next to her.
She looks back down and rolls her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
I point toward the stage. “Did you not just see that? Clearly, I’m a regular here.”
When she laughs, it’s pretty much the best-sounding song in the place.
“I feel like I should be offended by you laughing at me, but I clearly just nailed it.”
“You did good.” She picks up her drink, takes a sip, and sets it down. “A few more years of practice, and I think maybe you could take the country music world by storm.”
“Perfect. Now I have a backup plan.”
I watch her eyes shift toward Elle, who is standing up and walking toward the bathroom. I see Logan pull his hat down and stand, too. Jamie sees it too and starts to get up.
I put my hand on her thigh, and she snaps her eyes to mine.
“Let him have a moment.”
“Um … fuck him.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“You’re basing that on misguided assumptions. Like I told you the other night, he’d never hurt her.”
“I’m basing it on the way he spoke to me after we did the walk of shame from your place the other day.”
“First, there was no shame on my part, so there shouldn’t be on yours; and second, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Your boy”—she looks over her shoulder, and I follow, seeing him and Elle talking—“told me, and I quote, ‘why don’t you just suck a dick or put out already?’”
I try to hide my grin while pointing to myself. “In regard to moi?”
“Well, who else, you fool?”
“I mean, I think you should maybe listen to him.”
“What?” she gasps and laughs uncomfortably.
“He’s smart as hell. Don’t take my word for it.” I look across the table. “Fletch.”
“You be nice to him,” she warns me.
The douchebag in the bow tie just looks at me.
“I know the other day when we broke bread”—she kicks me from under the table, and things stir in my pants. I smirk—“you mentioned knowing Links’ class-ranking when he was in high school. Can you remind me?”
“Valedictorian.”
“Thanks, man.”
I turn in my seat and smile at Flower. “See? He’s a borderline genius. So, what do you say?”
“What happened to your ‘girl like me’ theory?”
“I’m thinking a woman like you may have spent some time thinking she would rather have my tongue between her legs than some douchebag”—I nod slightly toward Fletcher—“blowing smoke up her ass.”
Her cheeks pinken.
“We’re college kids. Why not fucking enjoy life? Hell, you never know when or how it’s gonna end. But it will end, Flower. Everything does eventually.”
“So will my period … in about seven days.” She stands up and looks over at me like she expects that to waylay me. “So …”
“So what?” I shrug.
“So, give me a week to figure out if I’d rather have tongue or smoke.”
I feel a grin spread across my face, though she hides hers as she walks away. And then … then I see my boy Logan sulking toward me, and I do what boys do—we commiserate.
“No luck?” I ask as he flops down in the seat Flower just left.
He gives me a side glance. “You?”
I shrug. “Pretty sure it’s a waiting game.”
“Never had to work so hard in my life,” he grumbles.
“Same, man, same.”
Standing outside of Saddler, leaning against my new-to-me ride, I wait for her to walk in or out. I’m hoping, since I cashed in a major amount of Bitcoins today to buy this thing that she’ll let me take her on a date.
Links gave me shit because it doesn’t have four-wheel drive. I reminded him that his does.
When I see her and her girls walking toward Saddler, I can’t help laughing. She looks … different, but in a good way, really good.
When she walks by me, nose in the air, smirk playing on her pretty lips, I call after her, “You gonna play me like that?”
They all stop and look at me, except her. She gives me her back.
Christy nudges her and says something.
She talks to them for a minute, and then the other three walk toward the dining hall entrance. She turns, looks at me, shakes her head and her ass as she walks toward me.
I step away from the car, open the passenger door, and nod. “Get that fine ass in my ride.”
She pops her hip and puts her hand on it. “What makes you think I’m just gonna hop in your car?”
I tug on her braids. “You wanna ride; I know you do.”
She looks over the car. “It’s a nice ride.”
I can’t help smiling bigger. “It’s a hot ride. Now, let’s ro
ll. I wanna see how she drives.”
She hesitates, glances back, and sighs. “Just around the corner.”
I shut the door behind her and jog around the car. Sliding in, I whistle to the song I sang last night, the one I’m guessing inspired the look.
She smacks my chest.
“Cute braids, love the red flannel, but the boots—”
She smacks me again.
“Giddy-up, girl, giddy-up.” I start the car.
“Boots are Christy’s. Flannel is Elle’s,” she explains, as her blush spreads. “Haven’t had a chance to get to the mall.”
“Perfect.” I grab my phone and hit my music app, scroll to the song, and hit play. “Mall’s just around the corner.” I peel out, and she grabs the dash. “Buckle up, Flower.”
“I don’t have my wallet!” she squeals.
“I’m buying you dinner.”
I tap the volume button on the steering wheel as she begins clearly objecting.
Laughing, I start singing along.
“You’re so stupid!” she yells as she laughs.
Within just a couple of minutes, we’re rolling into the parking lot of Destiny. I tap the volume down on the country-music-a-thon playlist that I set up just to make her laugh.
Her laugh is fucking everything.
Jamie
When he kills the engine, I turn to look at him, narrowing my eyes, fully prepared to give him some sort of hell for basically kidnapping me.
He points out the window. “Flower, you’re going to love it here.”
I glance out of the corner of my eye and see a huge green sign with white letters spelling out DICK’s.
He grins. “I mean, I could always eat first.” He rubs his belly. “But eventually, we’re gonna have to get to Dick’s.”
I smack his arm. “You’re offensive, you know.”
He points at the sign. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Flower, but I can’t wait to offend you in every position possible.”
I look up at him, attempting to hide my amusement. “I asked for seven days, and you can’t wait one.”
“Gonna be gone for four, and I figured you’d miss me.”
