Next Semester (9 page)

“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.”

“How?” Timothy asked. “You know we’re up against Howard Harrell.”

“That’s nothing, yo,” Dub-B said. “You know my dad is the mayor of our city back home. I grew up helping him with fund-raisers, listening to him practicing his speeches and watching him win elections. With my dad’s help, this is gonna be a piece of cake.”

At that moment, it was almost as if a halo appeared over Dub-B’s head, wings sprouted from his back and I could hear a choir singing, “Hallelujah!”

“That’s what’s up!” I said, smiling and slapping him five. “Where you headed?”

“Biology class,” he said.

“So are we!” I said, hoisting my jeans again, just before we walked into class.
I need to grab my belt from Lawry’s room,
I thought.

“Good,” he said. “Maybe we can study together. I know I’m gonna be struggling this semester, with basketball practice and games and all.”

I strategically took my seat, one row behind and Timothy, at an angle, to give myself an optimum view of his scantron on test days. Dub-B wisely did the same. Timothy looked back and flashed a smile, letting us know it was cool. A couple minutes after I heard the professor call my name on the roll, I dozed off.

OFF THE RECORD

I
like a little sag in my jeans, but stopping to pull them up every couple steps was getting annoying, so I decided to go to Lawry’s room to get my belt. Dub-B and Timothy tagged along. While we were walking, Timothy was looking at his phone, checking out new pictures his girl had just posted on Facebook.

“Check these out,” he said, showing them to us.

“You are all over it!” I said. “Couldn’t even wait ’til you got to your laptop to see her new pics. That’s borderline stalker status, blood.”

“She is pretty, though,” Dub-B said.

Dub-B had a point. In fact, Amy was so pretty I couldn’t help but wonder how a guy like Timothy wound up pulling her.
God really does work in mysterious ways,
I thought. Not to be outdone, Dub-B whipped his new digital camera
out of his backpack. He just had to show us the pictures he’d taken of his girlfriend Jasmine the night before.

“Shorty’s body is mad crazy, right?” he asked.

“What is this, show and tell?” I asked, laughing as I looked at the pictures while fishing through my back pocket for the key to Lawry’s room. “Baby is hella sexy, though.”

“I’ma catch up with you guys a little later,” Timothy said, walking into our room next door.

“I thought you said you had to get your belt,” Dub-B said. “Why are we standing in front of Lawry’s door? You know I can’t stand that dude, yo.”

“It’s in here,” I said, whipping out the key.

I probably should’ve knocked first. But since I still had Lawry’s room key, I didn’t exactly consider it barging in. Besides, it was the middle of the afternoon, so I expected Lawry to be in class. Instead, I was greeted by the unexpected. Lawry was sitting on the edge of the bed. Howard Harrell was ass out, standing directly in front of Lawry with one hand on the back of his head and his slacks bunched around his ankles.

My mouth dropped. I didn’t know what to say. Apparently, neither did Howard or Lawry. The two of them looked just as dumbfounded as I did. That’s when I saw the camera flash right over my shoulder. Dub-B had caught Lawry and Howard in the act on his digital camera. Lawry instantly jumped up, pushed Howard aside and rushed toward me trying to get to Dub-B’s camera. But by the time he reached the door, Dub-B had already tucked his camera and hit the stairs. With Dub-B’s long stride, there was no way Lawry would catch him. Everything had happened so fast, I was frozen solid. I just stood there, half in a daze, half-watching Howard Harrell scramble to pull his pants up. Howard exhaled angrily as he stuffed his dress shirt into his pants and tightened his belt. Then the door swung
wide open and Lawry stormed back in, huffing and puffing, placing his hands on his knees and folding over as he wheezed for air. Howard walked right up to Lawry, leaned over as if he was going to whisper in his ear, then spoke loud enough for the guys staying two doors down to hear him clearly.

“It seems we have a problem,” he said, his hand cupped over his mouth as if he was telling a secret. “Fix it!”

With that, Howard stood straight up, poked his chest out, stuck his nose in the air and waltzed out of the room without acknowledging my presence at all. Lawry immediately straightened up and began talking to me without looking me in the eye.

“Look, shawty…” he started, still out of breath, his tongue ring clanking against his gold fronts. “I know what it looks like.”

I abruptly cut him off.

“Look, man,” I said, grabbing my belt off of his desk, “I’ve seen enough. I don’t think I need to hear anything from you. I’m disgusted right now, dog. I don’t know what you and Howard got going on. I got my belt, I’ll leave your key right here on the desk.”

The expression on Lawry’s face was one of sheer disgrace. I backpedaled slowly toward his door, then spun around to open it. That’s when he spoke up.

“If that picture gets out, so does your little secret,” Lawry said. “Just so you know.”

“What secret?” I asked, playing dumb.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Lawry said. “I mean, I don’t want to go there, but I don’t think the Kappas will take too kindly to hearing about you telling people you are prepledging.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” I asked.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “Just make sure you get rid of that photo and we won’t have any problems.”

I slammed the door behind me. Under normal circumstances, keeping Lawry’s little secret would have been a lot easier. But everybody knew Dub-B couldn’t stand Lawry and vice versa. Ever since they met last semester, they bumped heads, almost coming to blows on a few occasions. Knowing Dub-B, he’d probably already started uploading the photo on his Facebook page.

I definitely didn’t want to replay that scene in my head any more times than I had to, but I couldn’t help it. Even as I climbed the stairs headed toward Dub-B’s room, the visual of Lawry’s head bobbing back and forth while Howard stood in front of him haunted my thoughts. I suspected something was going on with Lawry, but I never saw this coming. He was unequivocally one of the most out-spoken homophobes I’d ever met. He wore baggy jeans, walked straight up with his chest out, played Madden, had tattoos, gold teeth and a phone full of females’ phone numbers. Aside from that new tongue ring he had, nothing about his persona said “gay.” But Lawry’s tough exterior was all a facade. All of it was a front.

By the time I made it to Dub-B’s room, he’d already downloaded the photo from his camera to his computer and pulled up his Facebook home page.

“Don’t do it!” I said, rushing over to his computer.

“Why not?” Dub-B asked, laughing. “Yo, that shit was hilarious, B! Disgusting, but hilarious! I gotta put your boy on blast! I just have to. You know I can’t stand that punk anyway. He was tryna get at my girl all last semester. Even after he knew we were together.”

“I know,” I said. “I just think we should keep it on the back burner, though. Use it as a trump card, just in case the election gets dirty. Ya know?”

“Trump card, my ass!” he said, reaching for his laptop. “I’m putting that shit up right now, kid!”

“Trust me, blood,” I said. “I really need to pass this public policy class. It may be the difference between me going back home for good, or being able to finish college out here in the ATL. And as long as we’ve got that photo, we’ve got leverage for the election. They’ll do whatever we say.”

“Who will do whatever we say?” Dub-B asked. “Everybody knows Howard is gay. What’s he got to lose?”

“Well, I know Lawry doesn’t want that photo to hit the streets, so we’ll be able to keep him in our pocket. We can use him as our own little informant. A snitch on the inside of Howard’s campaign. He’ll do whatever we say as long as we keep that photo on the wraps. Trust me!”

“You sure, J?” he asked.

“C’mon, now,” I said. “You know I am!”

After he shook up with me and promised not to post that photo, I got outta there. The whole Lawry debacle, coupled with my impending decision whether or not to drop public policy class and the swirling rumors about my HIV status, was about to drive me over the edge. I had a migraine headache and was on the verge of losing my cool when I decided to call home. Typically, just hearing my mom’s voice made things better. She had a way of assuring me that everything would be okay. And she was doing just that until I slipped up and mentioned my assignment for public policy class. My mom was so excited about me participating in the upcoming student government election, she immediately started coming up with campaign slogans and reminiscing about her days running for office. In fact, I hadn’t heard her that happy since I told her I’d been accepted to college. The more she talked, the more it seemed she wanted to live out her student government ambitions
through me. Truth is, I should have never even brought it up. Now, deciding whether or not to drop my public policy class was that much harder.

My options were simple. I could either stay in the class, work closely with Kat on the election and run the risk of possibly subjecting my reputation to irreparable damage and an onslaught of rumors about us still dating. Or I could simply drop the class, which would only leave me with four classes. In order for me to make a 3.0 GPA, I’d need at least a B average. By staying in the public policy class, as long as our candidate won the election, I was guaranteed an A. And that grade would offset a poor grade in another class, if I got one. Or in my case, maybe two. With that in mind, public policy class was almost like a safety valve for me. With Timothy and Kat—two of the smartest, hardest-working students in our class—in my group, and Dub-B’s pops lending his expertise, public policy was the only class I was sure I could get an A in, as long as one of ’em could pull off an unlikely victory over Howard Harrell. Dropping the class for my reputation’s sake would leave me skating on very thin ice.

I had a decision to make. And less than ten hours to make it. With the deadline for dropping classes impending, I decided to stop by Dr. J’s office for advice. As usual, his door was propped wide open. He was sitting down, stirring a cup of Starbucks coffee, reading a book and listening to jazz music playing softly when I knocked on his door.

“Mr. Dawson!” he said excitedly, turning down the volume on his speakers. “Come on in, sir. Have a seat.”

No matter what Dr. J was doing, he never seemed too busy to talk to me. That was one of the things I loved most about attending a historically Black college. I felt like most of my professors actually knew who I was and wanted to see me succeed. I assumed forging a personal relationship
with a professor would be much harder at a larger mainstream institution.

“Thanks,” I said. “What you listening to?”

“Miles Davis,” he said. “
Kind Of Blue.
A classic. That’s before your time. You wouldn’t know nothing about that.”

“You’re right about that!” I said. “What ya reading?”

“The autobiography of Assata Shakur,” he said.

“I didn’t know Tupac’s mom had a book out.”

Dr. J leaned back in his chair and held his stomach as he laughed loudly.

“Not quite,” he said. “You’re thinking about Afeni, my brotha. Assata is Tupac’s godmother. Surely you’ve heard of her.”

“Assata…Asssata…Assata,” I said, snapping my fingers, trying to think of where I’d heard of her. “Name sounds familiar.”

“She’s a political prisoner,” he said. “An integral member of the Black Panther Party convicted for
allegedly
taking out a New Jersey State Trooper back in ’73. Great read, man. It’s deep. You should check it out.”

“I’ll definitely have to do that,” I said. “You think they have it in Club Woody…I mean, the library?”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “So…to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Mr. Dawson? You don’t seem like the brownnosing type.”

“Nah,” I said, laughing. “Not at all. I just had some things on my mind. And I just thought since…well…you know…You told me if I ever needed to talk to someone about anything, I could come to you for advice.”

“And I am so glad you came, brotha,” he said as he got up and closed the door. “What’s on your mind?”

“Man, I’ve been dealing with so much lately, I don’t know where to start,” I said. “Before I even left home, I
find out my high school sweetheart, Keisha, was seeing some other guy. Then I sign up for a class that’s supposed to be an easy A and
you
show up!”

I intentionally left out the part about walking in on one of my best friends on campus giving another guy fellatio. I was still having trouble registering that in my own psyche. Dr. J chuckled, cheesing from ear to ear, shaking his head back and forth as he reclined in his chair.

“My apologies, Mr. Dawson,” he said, trying to compose himself. “You are something else. Carry on.”

“Well, now I’ve got a decision to make,” I continued. “I can either stay in your class and participate in this stupid student government election or drop your class and risk not making the 2.5 GPA I need in order to get off of academic probation and come back next year. Honestly, my head is all messed up right now. To tell you the truth, Dr. J, I really don’t know about this whole campaign thing. I mean, I’ve been a lot of things in my life, but a politician ain’t never been one of ’em.”

“Never mind the election, J.D.,” Dr. J said in a serious tone, looking me straight in the eye. “Where do you see yourself four years from now?”

I wondered what the hell that had to do with what I just said.
Nobody’d ever asked me to think that far out about my future before.

“That’s a tough one,” I said, taking a moment to think about it. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“You want to graduate, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”

“Okay, we’ll go with that,” Dr. J said. “Now, answer this one for me. How do you get back to your dorm from my office?”

Yet another question I had no idea why he’d asked.

“Go upstairs, out the main doors, take a right, walk
halfway down the strip then take another right on Marshall Road. Marshall Hall is the first dorm on the right.”

“You see the point I’m trying to make?” he asked.

“No.”

“You see, when I asked you where you wanted to be in four years, you had no idea. But when I asked you how to get from my office to your dorm, you gave me precise directions. The point is, if you don’t know where you’re going, how will you ever get there?”

“Great point,” I said.

“The tragedy of life doesn’t lie in not reaching your goal, Mr. Dawson,” he continued. “The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach.”

“I feel where you’re coming from,” I said.

“Hey, you know me,” he said. “You know I’m going to hear you out and I’m gonna keep it real with you. I sat back and listened to you talk about things that were bothering you, and granted, some of those things are important. But when it comes to you graduating from college, how many of those things are you going to let stop you?”

“None of ’em,” I said.

“And that is why you mustn’t let trivial matters clutter your brain or cause you to deviate from the goals you have set for your life. If Keisha is meant for you, I’m sure the two of you will reconcile some time down the line. But the fact of the matter is, at this point in your life, you have got to prioritize and really start putting things in perspective. You have got to keep your eye on the prize. And for you, that means focusing on your education. You feel me?”