College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500) (4 page)

“Yo, Pete, you want one, man?” James finally asked him. It was the moment Peter had feared.

“Well … ,” he said.

James interrupted him before he could finish.

“Come on, homes, this is college. You can't be acting like a mommy's boy up here.”

“Yeah, aw'ight, then. But I only want one,” Peter whined.

James grinned. “Shit, homes, that's all you was gon' get. I'm keepin' the rest for my damn self.”

Troy laughed and started on his second. And after they all got buzzed, they merrily traveled to the Student Activity Center, near Charleston Street. Black students had waited impatiently all week long for the occasion.

 

Arriving at the entrance, the three new friends spotted students getting their hands stamped as they went in.

“Yo, hold up, y'all,” Troy said. “Let's see what the mark is and do our own hands.” He pulled out a pocket full of colored markers. Peter and James chuckled.

“Yo, what's up, Troy?” Bruce hollered, running over to join them.

Troy copied the mark that a sister had showed him on each of his companions' right hand and on his own. They then started toward the doors. Troy led the pack, feeling confident as the others hurried behind, feeling unsure. They slipped into the party without suspicion as Troy had expected. Peter felt the most relieved. He thought getting caught at the doors would be a most embarrassing situation.

While wandering around the room, Peter stared at many of the sisters. Some stared back, believing he was attractive. He danced with as many women as the beer in his blood allowed him to successfully ask. Since he had not been to that many parties, he did not know any up-to-date dances. He looked rather uncoordinated. Yet, he had never drunk a beer before either. Alcohol had given him a feeling of total looseness.

Searching through the party while still dancing, Peter spotted Troy and James speaking to a pleasing pair of browns. He watched Troy's hand smoothly gliding across the one sister's backside. He suspected that his two friends were planning on taking care of their macho needs. Peter then decided that it was his night to get lucky, too. Or was it the beer that had decided for him?

 

Later that evening, Peter actually found himself inside his room accompanied by a curvaceous brown in a blue satin dress, not really knowing how she got there. The alcohol content in his blood had decreased. Whatever he had said or done was recent history. After he returned from the bathroom for about the sixth time in the past two hours, it was like baking a cake from scratch.

“So ahhh …,” Peter began, trying to recall her name.

She was tall and vivacious, with a beautiful pair of dimples. “Marsha,” she said, not appearing to be offended that he had forgotten.

“Oh, you didn't have to tell me. I was just about to say it,” he lied, smiling at her. She smiled back, and her dimples widened, making her appear even more attractive. It didn't matter, though. Peter didn't know what to say to her.

“You didn't tell me you had roommates,” she mentioned as she peered at the sleeping White students.

Peter stared out the window, trying to remember what-all he did tell her. He was mad at himself for not being able to get lucky. He figured he could try again another night.

“Well, make sure you leave your phone number so I can call you,” he said confidently. He didn't realize how declarative he sounded. Obviously a trace of the beer was still in his bloodstream.

 

Next morning at brunch, the entire freshman group of friends joined together to eat. They had all awakened at about the same time. All were restless, hungry, and filled with stories.

“What y'all do last night, troops?” Matthew asked, starting off the conversation. He was the only one who hadn't been at the party.

“Me and Troy got some ass together,” James answered with a grin. “Clay went to this babe's crib, and even Peter took a girl home. But what happened to you, Bruce? You, like, disappeared on us.”

Bruce grimaced. “That party was boring to me, mayn. I went back to the crib and chilled. But what do you mean, you and Troy ‘got some ass together'? Y'all had the same babe or something?” he asked.

“Naw, homes. Troy's roommate went home for the weekend, and me and the girl I was wit' went to Troy's room. So we was side by side and shit,” James responded, beaming.

Peter and Matthew remained quiet, since neither of them had any sexual stories to tell.

“So, Pete, did you jump in some flesh last night, homes?” James asked.

Peter knew it was coming. “I'd rather not comment on that,” he said, annoyed.

James started to laugh. “I'on know, homes. The way you talk about nice girls and all, you might never get no ass in college.”

Troy planned to put a stop to it all. “Leave him alone, cuz.”

“Aw, come on now, Troy. This brother is weak, man. I mean, he grew up in the damn woods, homes.”

Even Troy laughed before Peter could speak up and defend himself.

“You know what, Jay, it doesn't make you a better man than me just because you have sex a lot, 'cause when it comes down to the final chapter in the book, we'll see who's on top to get the last laugh,” Peter exclaimed. He gathered his tray and left for another table.

“You gon' start jerking off soon!” James shouted.

Troy made another attempt to spare Peter for the future. “Ay', Jay, you gots to stop messin' with him, man. That shit ain't cool no more.”

 

Time passed on. Peter continuously struck out sexually, as James made fun of him. Peter had nights of studying, only to not remember what he had read for two and three hours. He thought constantly about proving his manhood to James and to himself. Yet party after party he received the same excuses. “You're nice and all, but … and besides, I just met you.” He began to ask himself, Is getting drunk and acting vulgar and disrespectful the only way to get a woman? At the same time, he had turned down less attractive sisters who would have loved to establish a long-term relationship.

Several more weeks passed without Peter being able to pay full attention to his work schedule. Troy and James had slept with at least four girls apiece, while Peter could not score with one.

The first month of college was not at all what he had expected. It was troubling. And it had superficially caused him to fail his first exams.

Nevertheless, Peter refused to believe so. He'd rather believe that he was not dedicated enough to his studies. He did, however, have something to be pleased about after his first month and a half at State University; he had finally moved into his own, private room.

“I
N THE PAINT
, P
OTTER
. N
OW POP IT!
T
HAT ' S THE WAY
. N
OW
do it again and make sure you make it count every time.

“Bring it down and give it up. In the paint, Potter.
Quick! Pop It!

“Jesus Christ! That's the way you do it, young man! Now go ahead over and talk to Coach Smith.”

Troy walked over to the bleachers, after another hard day of practicing, to speak to one of the assistant coaches.

“Young man, I don't know how we missed you, but I think you have most definite talent. What high school are you from, kid?”

Troy stared into his pink face and his bald and shiny forehead. “Booker T. Washington,” he said. “Our basketball team wasn't all that good. We had a terrible record, so scouts didn't really look at us.”

“Yeah, yeah, well you have a hell of a chance to show your ability now, son. We get a lot of sorry walk-ons who think they're gonna be college stars, but it's very seldom that we get a guy with your potential, Potter. You've given one hundred and ten percent at each practice so far, son, and if you keep up that type of enthusiasm, you'll be a part of this ball club. Jesus Christ, you're a player! Hey, Mike, get me a team jersey for Potter,” Coach Smith said, signaling to an equipment manager.

Finally, after two weeks of practicing, Troy received a jersey. He was halfway through. He only wondered how long he would have to prove his abilities.

“Ay', Potts, is it hard playing ball on the East Coast?” a teammate asked, from the bench.

Troy nodded. “Yeah, man. Every brother in a pair of Jordans think they can run ball. Where you from, though, man?” he asked, sitting down next to his tall, dark teammate.

“I'm from California.”

“California? They got you from all the way out there?”

“Well, naw, really, I wanted to come here just to be on the East coast, since I live all the way west.”

“Yeah, you damn sure do,” Troy agreed with a laugh. “I've only been to North Carolina for a four-day family reunion. Other than that, I haven't been a damn place. But I could count Marsh now, since I don't live here.”

“Yeah, but the Black people in this place are kind of weird, man. They be wearing wet, drippy curls and calling soda ‘pop' and shit. I was up here in the summer, and they don't seem to be down with nothin' here,” the teammate said. The coaches called him Hecker. Troy didn't know his first name, nor did Hecker know his. They all were calling Troy “Potts,” his new basketball team nickname.

Troy grinned. “I'on know, man. I thought y'all wore curls out there in California too.”

He stopped and contemplated for a minute as Troy continued to listen. “Not my area,” Hecker said. “But yeah, a lot of people do relax their hair out in California. You know, a lot of people think that California is filled with nothin' but rich people. Man, them White people rich out there, 'cause we still got Blacks livin' in slums. Some of them get out, but you know how it is with niggas turning their backs and all.

“Anyway, at first, I was gon' go to this college out in Colorado,” Hecker alluded. “Brothers out there was like, ‘We don't listen to that rap music stuff.' I said, ‘Y'all never heard of Run-D.M.C.' They said ‘RunD. M. who?' Maann, I said I gots to get the hell outta dis place. So I came here, 'cause I know y'all down with the program on the East Coast.” They shared a laugh again while Mike, the team manager, gave Troy his jersey.

“You on the team now, hunh, Potts?” Mike asked.

“Not yet, but I'm working on it,” Troy told him. He sounded as though he doubted himself. He was only being humble.

Hecker frowned at him. “Yo, Potts, I've been watching you. The only thing they got on you is height. You on the team, man, just keep comin' to practice. We need an extra point guard anyway.”

Troy smiled with confidence. “Yeah, I know. But I'll check y'all out later. I got work to do,” he said, slapping hands and gathering his things.

“Hey, Potter, keep working hard, you hear!” the coach yelled, noticing Troy leaving.

 

Back at his room, Troy walked in on Simon listening to his earphones. The room was a total mess, with Simon's clothing and books all over the floor, the dresser, and the closet.

“Damn, Simon, this room is trashed, man! Why don't you clean it up sometimes?”

“Why don't you?” Simon asked, taking off his earphones with a grin.

“Because all of this ain't my shit,” Troy snapped.

“All right, maybe I'll clean it up tomorrow.”

“No, you gon' clean this shit up
tonight
!” Troy boldly exclaimed before grinning. “You's a crazy dude, cuz. I thought Jewish people were supposed to be smart. But you don't study for shit, Simon. You keep a sloppy room
and
you get all C's.”

“Yeah, I guess I didn't get it. My older brother got it, though,” Simon said seriously. “Troy, my older brother has this company that's paying his way through college. Then he has an automatic job when he gets out. Aw man, that makes me mad as hell.”

Simon shook his head, disgusted. “I mean, Troy, it's not like I didn't try, you know. I used to bust my ass in high school, but all I got was C's and B's, so now I'm like, ‘Ta hell with it.'”

Simon then remembered a message he took for Troy. “You got a few phone calls,” he said. “A girl named Tanya Moore and Lisa called.” He had written the names down in his notebook. “Oh yeah, Troy, some kid named Mat called for you, too. I told him you were at basketball practice.”

Troy grimaced. “You told him I was goin' out for the basketball team? You stupid, man!” he hollered.

Simon smiled in confusion. “What, you don't want people to know?”

“Fuck no, man!” Troy shouted, shaking his head. “Simon, cuz, let me tell you something about my people, man. I hate to say it, but it's the truth. We have very limited minds, man. If I tell a black dude I'm gon' try to make a Division 1 basketball team, unless they know I'm a star, they'll laugh at me. We don't believe that we can do a damn thing, Simon. My friends didn't think I could make it to college. Period. But I'm here. And all I've gotten on my first three tests is A's. And if I tell them that, they still gon' doubt me.

“And see, you White boys, if y'all say, ‘I wanna be the fuckin' president,' it's cool,” Troy added. “But me, being Black, I can't even say I'm gon' make it through college without gettin' those skeptics and shit. That don't make no sense, but that's how a lot of us think.”

“Well, just don't listen to 'em,” Simon suggested.

Troy smiled and left for Matthew's room.

 

Bloomp bloomp bloomp.

“Yo, come in,” Matthew said through the door.

“What's up, Mat?” Troy asked, entering his neat room.

“Yo, troop, your roommate said you was on the hoop team.”

“Naw, I ain't on there yet, I'm just trying out,” Troy responded. “That's why I didn't tell anybody about it. I hate failing. And I hate losing.”

“Everybody hates to lose, man,” Matthew commented. He turned from his work and got up to brush his hair and look over his waves in the mirror.

“Yeah, but not like me, cuz. So what you been up to, Mat?” Troy asked again, attempting to change the subject.

Matthew shrugged. “I've just been in here studying.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I study all the time myself. I don't have time to bullshit around like all them hip-hop dudes hangin' out in the lobby.”

“Word, right. 'Cause, like, them dudes act like college is a big party. You can't hang in the lobby every day and expect to get your work done,” Matthew agreed. “Them dudes get all drugged up and party like it's going out of style. Them White boys can do that and still pass the tests. But if one of us tries that—yo, man, you know what's gon' happen,” he said. He shook his head and pointed his thumb toward the floor.

“Like Peter, man,” he continued. “He claims he studies all the time, right. But I got him in two classes and he's flunked both his tests already. Now, Troy, if you know from high school, man, you can't scuff the first test up and hope to get a good grade. You gotta ace the first one to get a good start.”

“Yeah, I know. As a matter of fact, me and Pete got a psychology test tomorrow,” Troy remembered. “I gotta study for that after dinner.”

Brrrloop brrrloop.

“You want me to get it?” Troy asked, already walking toward the telephone.

“Yeah,” Matthew said, realizing that Troy was closer.

“Hello … Yo, what's up, Pete? We was just talkin' about you.”

“Speak of the devil,” said Matthew as he neared the phone. “Yo, what's up?” he asked Peter. “Aw'ight, troop, I'll be down.”

“He wants you to sign him in?” Troy asked.

“Yeah, I'll be back.”

Matthew returned with Peter in five minutes.

“So, Pete, did you start studying for that test tomorrow?” Troy probed anxiously.

“I'm gon' try to bust it out tonight.”

“What? You just gon' start studying tonight?”

“Well, I basically know it a little bit. You wanna quiz me?” Peter suggested, smiling.

“OK, then, what is cognition?” Troy asked, starting up the quiz.

“Oh, that's when you, aah, make a guess at what an answer will be.”

Troy started to laugh, falling on Matthew's bed and grabbing a pillow over his mouth. “Hold up,” he said, regaining his composure. Matthew continued to chuckle.

“Naw, man, cognition is the basic concept of thinking, not guessing what something is. See, you have to get this college stuff in detail, or the test questions will kill you,” Troy explained. “We all should know by now that they don't put no easy questions on the tests. Most of them damn questions are just to fool you. But anyway, what is the bystander effect?” he asked.

“That's when you stand by and watch something,” Peter answered.

Troy tried not to laugh. Matthew held in his laughter as well.

“You almost have it,” Troy told Peter. “The bystander effect is the tendency of a person to help someone in need less, if someone else is present that doesn't help. What's an attitude?” he asked, continuing.

“Oh, I know this one. That's an easy one. It's when you make certain assumptions about something,” Peter answered.

Troy no longer found it amusing. “No, that's when you have a personal like or dislike reasoning for a certain stimulus. What is a conditioned response?”

“That's when you do something without knowing.”

“No, it's a trained response to a given stimulus.”

Matthew began to chuckle again as it neared time for dinner. “Ay', Peter, it doesn't sound like you know anything, man,” he said.

“It's not that I don't know it. I just have to get it in detail.”

Troy frowned. “Ay', look, Pete, after dinner I'm gon' come to your crib so we can study together, 'cause you need help, cuz. Now it's getting late, so let's roll out to dinner.”

Peter hesitated. “Aah, I'm gon' get with you later, Troy. I still gotta read three chapters.”

Matthew cracked up, but Troy was angered.

“You haven't read the chapters yet?” Troy shouted. “Man, this test is on nine chapters. You gon' tell me the night before the test that you still gotta read three? What the fuck you been doin', man? What you think college is, a joke or some shit?”

Matthew stopped laughing. “Yo, Troy, you act like you're the one in trouble,” he said with a smile, trying to lighten things up.

“Yeah, well, you call me up as soon as you finish those chapters,” Troy said to Peter, almost ignoring Matthew's comment.

“Yeah, OK, then. I only have three more chapters to go.”

 

After dinner, Troy eyed Doc standing next to the the soda machine in the lobby again. He noticed that Doc was an expensive dresser—brand-name clothing. He wore a red Polo jacket, a Gucci hat, Timberland shoes, and blue Calvin Klein jeans.

“Yo, Troy. Come here, man,” Doc called, motioning with his hand.

Troy walked over to him. “What's up with that voice? That shit gives me the chills every time I hear it,” he said. “But what's going on with you, cuz?”

They sat on a nearby bench. Doc smiled and stared into Troy's smooth, brown face. “Remember that girl in the party with the blue leather jacket that I was talking to?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“She said she likes you. She wants to go to the theater with you this weekend.”

“The what?” Troy responded.

“The the—,” Doc repeated, stopping himself before he finished. “The movies, man.”

“Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?” Troy teased. “ ‘The theater'. Ha ha ha. What's wrong with y'all in this city?”

“So what's up, man?” Doc asked, pressing the issue. “You want me to hook it up, or what?”

“Yeah, hook it up, cuz. That babe was a freak.”

Doc was confused. “She's not nasty, man. She's a nice girl,” he said.

“What?” Troy asked, smiling. “I meant that she looks good, not that she's nasty.”

“Oh, OK. I'll hook it up, then,” Doc assured him.

“Her girlfriend gon' be down here for me, too.”

“Cool, Doc. But we gots to separate when they get here, though, 'cause I'm not into that double-date shit.”

“Oh, I know, man. Me neither.”

They separated after shaking hands. Troy was obligated to study with Peter. While riding the elevator back to his room, he thought about hanging out with Doc, a native of Penn City, who knew a lot of pretty girls. The possibilities were endless. Doc wanted to hang out with Troy, too. Nevertheless, it was time to get back to studying.