by Ni-Ni Simone
“Damn, Seven.” He sighed and pressed his forehead against mine. “I can’t do this with you. For the past few months I’ve had a million things go wrong—grades, practice, my coach is on me. For real, I’m tired and I’m not with anybody else but you. I didn’t know you were here, and if I did, you think I would’ve straight-up played you like that?” He kissed me gently on the lips. “I’m in love with you.” He kissed me again. “I wanna marry you someday. But if you feeling some kind of way”—he took a step back—“then I’ll step off.”
I was confused. My mind told me to cuss him out and tell him I really wasn’t buying this. But my heart wasn’t hearing it. “It’s not that I’m feeling some kinda way—”
“Then what is it? ‘Cause you slow walked to answer the door, so it’s looking like you tryna be out.”
“Excuse me for not being in a rush, especially since I’ve left you more than a thousand messages and you haven’t returned not even one of them!”
“I just told you what I’ve been going through!”
“You should’ve talked to me!”
“You know I’m not good with expressing myself, Seven. I had game after game, and I’ve been running around campus like—”
“A playboy.”
“You know what, Seven? I’m not about to beg you to be my girl.”
“Then step then, ‘cause I’m not about to beg you either.” That’s not what I meant to say. Really, it wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to be played like some lil high school dummy. Nah, he had me twisted.
“Are you serious?” he said as if he couldn’t believe I just bucked.
“Hmph, you must not know ‘bout me.” I wiggled my neck from left to right for emphasis.
“A’ight, I’ll step then,” he said as he turned away and walked swiftly down the hall.
“Whatever.” I flicked my hand as if I’d just performed a magic trick. I could feel tears rattling my throat. I walked into the room and slammed the door behind me.
I sat on the edge of my bed and just as I placed my face in the palm of my hands, my room door pushed open and, “You really weren’t going to stop me?” came from the doorway.
It was Josiah. I felt the tears that I was about to let fall from my eyes instantly dry. “Nope.” I gave him a could care-less, Kanye shrug. “I sure wasn’t.”
“So what’s really good—we’re done? That’s what you’re saying?”
I hesitated. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“So wassup, you don’t love me anymore?”
I felt unwanted tears bubbling in my eyes, forcing me to give in. “Yeah, I love you. But I’m not about to be some dumb chick chasing after you and playing games with you. If you don’t wanna be with me, then tell me. Trust me, I’ll live.”
“I never said that I didn’t wanna be with you.” He walked over to the edge of the bed and stood before me. “I love you.” He pulled my hand to his chest. “So, let’s just stop all this and chill like we used to.” He spoke against my lips. “I missed you, Seven, and I know that I owe you an apology for not calling like I should’ve. And I’m sorry. You’re my heart, Seven. Don’t ever doubt that. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here with me.”
“I just want you to keep it real with me.” I responded to his kisses.
“I’ve always kept it real with you. You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So chill.” He placed his hands on my waist and we began to kiss passionately. A few moments in and his hands were all over me. We fell onto the bed and he reached over my shoulder and flipped off the light switch that was closest to my headboard.
“You got condoms?” I said, flipping the lights back on.
“What?” He squinted, obviously caught off guard. “Condoms?”
“I can’t … not without a condom.”
“So, what are you saying? You don’t trust me?”
No, I don’t trust you. “Of course I trust you.” I hesitated. “It’s not about that. I just told you before I’m not going there without protection.”
“You trippin’ off that again?” he said, pissed. “You about to mess up the mood.”
I don’t care. “I’m not trying to mess up the mood, but I’m not about to be running scared because my period is late. I went through that already and you know how paranoid I was.”
He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a Trojan. “Now can we hit the lights?” He waved the condom pack in my face.
Why was I still reluctant? “Yeah.” I shot him a small smile. “Of course.”
The room filled with darkness and the only light that streamed in came from the flickering street lamp. Lingering chatter from the courtyard and a few musicians blow-ing their horns in the air was our backdrop. It was romantic really, a way for me to pretend that what we were sharing was beautiful. An escape from my thoughts; the very thoughts that had me convinced—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that Josiah’s being here with me … like this … had more to do with him wanting some becky than it had to do with him wanting to offer me an apology.
5
I’m all strung out …
—KE$HA, “YOUR LOVE IS MY DRUG”
“Waaaaaa! Snap-Snap, bey-be.” Khya stood over my bed and shouted, “Time na roll! It’s ‘bout to be on and crackin'!” She snatched the curtains back. “We have to get dressed and head to the cafeteria. ‘Cause according to some Twitter post, folks gon’ be showin’ dey azz!”
“For real, though?” Shae said, a little too excited.
I opened my eyes one at a time. The burning New Orleans sun gleamed through the window and blew into my face like a heat wave. Not to mention that Josiah didn’t leave until five this morning, and I just went to sleep a few hours ago.
I sat up in bed, tossed the few strands of hair that slipped out of my doubie pins away from my face, looked at my friends, and said, “You are so inconsiderate. Just because you two were out all night, and now you’re feeling all fresh and clean, doesn’t mean that I feel the same way—”
“It’s obvious you don’t feel like that,” Khya said. “You got cold all in your eyes—”
“Crust all around your mouth.” Shae laughed.
“And that hair.” Khya frowned. “Girl, you look like who shot Boom-Keke and left her body there.”
“Dead.” I fell back onto the bed.
“Would you get up!” Khya said, flipping through her phone. “Status alert!” she said, extremely hyped. “Groupie-4life just updated her status to say that the ballers will be arriving any minute.”
“First of all who is Groupie4life?” I asked.
“Lil fake-behind bougie trick, wears pearls all the time. Always screaming about Jesus. Her daddy’s a preacher. She’s a few rooms down from us. Met her yesterday at the party.”
“Oh no.” I laughed. “That’s a mess!”
“Now listen,” Khya continued, “she says that the ballers will be in the caf in a few minutes.”
“So what?” I said. “Who cares if the ballers are arriving at any minute? I’m so over athletes.”
“Yeah, really,” Shae interjected, “especially given what happened last night. If I see Josiah again, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
I stared at Shae, and as soon as we made eye contact I quickly turned away. For a split second, I forgot they didn’t know that Josiah and I had made up last night. It completely slipped my mind that they were still pissed with him while I was over it.
I thought about coming clean and telling them the truth. But then again, Shae wasn’t exactly the type to understand that sometimes a man … you know … does things that are crazy—or he may not always make the best decision—or like, hell, things just happen.
And yeah, I was mad with Josiah … but when all was said and done, we made up, and not because I’d exactly forgiven him—but more because I didn’t wanna be mad anymore. Plain and simple. I more or less wanted to make up for the sake of getting my life back on track �
�� or something like that.
I tried to think of a million ways to tell them Josiah was back in boo status, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I took the easy route. “Girl, please. I don’t even wanna talk about Josiah. I’m so over that. It’s not even worth the aggravation.”
“Oh really?” Shae arched her brow.
“Yeah, really,” I said. “He is the last thing on my mind.”
Shae gave me a suspicious look. But I ignored it.
“Sure.” Shae rolled her eyes. “If Josiah came knocking on that door right now, and said, ‘Seven, open up! I need to hollah at you for a minute,’ you know you would be like, ‘Okay, lil daddy.’ ”
“Whatever. You’re crazy,” I said, being a little too extra. I looked over at Khya, who’d been extremely quiet, and realized that she was sitting on the edge of her bed in shock. “What the heck … is wrong with you?” I asked.
“I’m scared for you,” she said, sounding concerned. “I mean, really, really scared.” She walked over to me and pressed the back of her hand over my forehead.
“What are you doing, and why are you scared for me?”
“'Cause you’re just as crazy as you wanna be!” She shook her head. “What do you mean you’re over athletes? Do you realize that Stiles U is a Division One school?”
“And?”
“Girl, listen at me: round here you gots to get it how you live—or in this case how you wanna live—do you think I’m majoring in sports medicine simply for the degree? Not. I don’t even like science and can’t stand the sight of blood. But you got to do what you got to do, ‘cause see, I need me a few thousand square feet in my mansion. The FEMA trailer never worked for me—that’s how we ended up in Houston. I don’t know about you, but when it gets cold I prefer blue sable furs to wool. And I may have a lil extra junk in my trunk, but I have no interest in cooking so I need a chef, a maid to clean, and a governess to keep er’body in check.”
This chick was a hot mess in the flesh.
“And what are you going to give him in exchange, Khya?” Shae asked.
“Some kids, and if he behaves I’ll name the oldest one after him. Ya heardz … me …?” Her voice drifted as she focused in on her phone. “That’s my alert.” She swiftly walked over and picked up her phone. “Honey, this chick is trippin’ on Twitter.” She jumped up and down like an excited five-year-old. “Dang, they goin’ in. They goin’ in! Would y’all put your clothes on?” Khya looked at us. “It’s about to go down!”
“Why? Who posted something now?” Shae asked.
“Golddigger2damax, just posted.” Khya read from her BlackBerry’s screen, “She says, ‘Josiah “Meal Ticket” Whitaker, number twenty-three, point guard on the basketball team, hood-rat-azz girlfriend has brought her big butt to campus and is a freshman here. Anybody know who this hoochie is?'” Khya screamed. “Oh, it’s ‘bout to be on and crackin’ up in here! Oh, I got to know what hoodrat has locked down … wait a minute.” Khya looked at me with one eye open and the other squinted. “Umm … hmmm … who was lil whoady that we were about to cut up last night? Was he, ahh—Meal Ticket?”
I arched my brow. “Yep, pretty much that’s him.”
“Oh, see”—Shae rolled her eyes and swerved her neck—“something tells me I’ma have to bring out the Newark ghetto-girl, you-don’t-know-me-like-that side of my personality.” She paced from one end of the room to the next, and if I’m not mistaken I think she was throwing up gang signs. “You got some Vaseline?” She turned to me.
“Shae,” I said, “wait a minute before you start spittin’ out blades.”
“Ah hell nawl, they talkin’ ‘bout you, Seven?” Khya said amped. “Let me shut this down real quick. ‘Cause I don’t appreciate them calling you a hoodrat. They could’ve at least called your name or said you had hoodrat tendencies. But to straight-out call you a hoodrat, that’s just wrong.”
She started typing on her phone and speaking aloud what she was posting. “Public service announcement: The hoodrat is my friend and roommate, Seven McKnight. And if any of you have a problem, we ‘bout to be in the cafeteria in the next twenty minutes, so if you got the balls bring ‘em! And anyway, she dumped him last night!”
“You have lost your … freaking … mind,” I said, tossing the sheet off of me and rising from the bed.
“So does this mean you’re not going to the cafeteria?” Khya twisted her finger in her cheek.
“Oh, she’s going,” Shae said, answering for me. “And I wish somebody would come crazy.”
This was nuts. Like, seriously I needed to tell the truth. Yeah, that’s it, be honest. “Shae, Khya, listen, about Josiah—”
“I know you’re hurt, Seven,” Shae interjected.
“No, that’s not it.” Would she just let me finish? This is hard enough.
“That’s called denial, Shae,” Khya said, looking at me as if she was a moment away from suggesting therapy. “Anybody can see that she’s about to lose her mind.”
“Would you two just let me finish? Dang!”
“You can calm down—” Khya said. “Wait a minute, is that my phone—” She paused and listened to the singing ring tone. “That’s not my phone.” As she said that I realized that it was my phone ringing.
“I got it.” I reached for my clutch purse and looked at my phone’s caller ID. Josiah. There was no way I could answer the phone here, but there was no way I could completely ignore his call either.
I pressed the talk button on the receiver but didn’t say anything into it. I looked at Shae and Khya and said, “It’s my dad and you know how he is. I’ma just take this in the bathroom and afterward I’ll shower, and then we can leave.”
“Okay,” Shae said.
“All right,” Khya remarked, “and hurry up, ‘cause I don’t wanna miss any of the action.”
I walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and leaned against it. “Hello?” I said, placing the phone to my ear.
“Seven,” Josiah said, “what took you so long to say something?”
“No reason … I just, you know,” I said, looking for an excuse, “couldn’t get the phone to work right.” Whatever the heck that means.
“A’ight,” he said. His voice was soothing to my ears. “Listen, ma, I called you because I felt like last night was one of the worst nights we’ve ever had since we’ve been together and I just wanted to apologize for my part. Had I known that you had arrived earlier you know I would’ve been with you every step of the way.”
“I know.”
“You know I love you, Seven, no matter what.”
“I know. I love you too.”
“A’ight.” I could hear him smiling. “I’ma catch up with you later today, okay?”
“What time?” I know it was a nagging question, but I needed to know.
“Around two-thirty, I’ll come check you.”
I looked at the clock: 9 a.m. “Why so late? Can’t we hook up before then?”
“Nah, I have practice.”
I wanted to ask him more questions and demand that he explain what million things he really had to do, but there was no way I could risk him getting upset, so I simply said, “A’ight. I’ll see you then.”
“Love you,” he said and then he hung up.
Instantly I felt high and confused at the same time. But I really couldn’t deal with the confusion at this point, so I focused on being in love.
I turned on the shower, imagined my baby’s face as I stepped in, and sang my heart out.
6
It’s my decision to love …
—JAZMINE SULLIVAN, “SEASON 2 LOVE”
“Shae,” I said as gently as possible, “you may not realize this, but you’re not going to grow anymore and five-foot-three is very short. So please stop ice grillin’ every chick you see.”
“Whatever, as long as they understand that we came ready to roll, it won’t be a problem.”
“And I got my nunchucks today,” Khya said as we walked into
the caf. “So if they bring it”—she rolled her eyes wildly around the room—“we gon’ swing it.”
“Would y’all stop? We are too cute for drama,” I said as we walked into Famous Amos’s Café also known as the caf—or better known as the campus hot spot—which, according to Khya, was nothing more than a crunked club that served three meals a day.
It was set up like a mom-and-pop diner, with framed black-and-white posters of accomplished and well-known African Americans along the walls, and a jukebox that belted nothing but old-school jazz and blues. The lone cashier, a heavyset black woman with coffee-colored skin and peeks of auburn hair beneath a black hairnet, rolled her neck and popped out food totals like an auctioneer with an attitude.
An L-shaped food court lined the walls along the right side of the double entrance/exit doors, and sporadically placed along the floor were soda machines. An even mixture of tables and booths were everywhere; and much like high school, cliques were definitely in the building.
Mostly everyone who sat in here and hung out had a clique; and those who were solo grabbed their grub and hurried on their way.
The Greeks were represented like crazy, making catcalls, shout-outs, waging battles, and some of them were straight-up showing off their newest steppin’ routines in the middle of the floor.
The groupie chicks were planted by the door, making it obvious what they were here for; the athletes had a corner locked down—and no, Josiah wasn’t there—with chicks all around them like the paparazzi.
And oh yes, since this was the south, the hand-clappin', foot-stompin', and award-winning band was in full effect.
Already, with the exception of what happened this morning, I was lovin’ Stiles U. It was the embodiment of what the black college experience was all about. It had been in existence since 1910, started by Ernest Stiles, a farmer and musician, and his wife in an effort to teach blacks how to read, write, play music, and run their own businesses. The school began with nine students, seven of them the Stileses’ children, and a hundred years later Stiles U had evolved into one of the finest higher-educational in- stitutions with hundreds of disciples and thousands of students.
