College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500) (9 page)

“Some of 'em,” Joe responded aloud. “Like, before I went to high school, I couldn't judge a White girl. I grew up in an all-Black neighborhood. But after I was around them and all, the ones I liked, the White boys called them fat.”

Troy laughed. “I know. They like real skinny women.”

“And another thing,” Joe went on, “I like the White girls that have tone, like Italian and Spanish women. But White boys said that they're boring. Blond hair and blue eyes are beauty, to them. I don't understand it,” he commented. “Like, a lot of White guys I know can't tell when a Black girl looks good. And I was like, ‘What?' They all seem to like Whitney Houston, though.”

 

Later that night, Troy spotted Clay studying inside the library. He began on the same topic, about White girls.

“Yo, what's up, Clay? You studying hard, hunh?” he asked. He scanned the area to see who was sitting near them.

“Yeah, man, I'm studying this algebra for the final comin' up,” Clay told him. “You, Mat, and Jay are lucky, man, 'cause this C.M.P. stuff is just gettin' in my way.” Clay wore the typical high Philadelphia haircut, and his mustache and beard were starting to thicken since enrolling in college.

“Yeah,” Troy said, still looking around. He spotted an Asian woman with jet black hair, all the way down her back. “Ay', Clay, you see that girl over there?” he asked, pointing to the nearby desk.

“That Chinese girl?” Clay said, making sure.

“Yeah. Do you like that hair she has?”

Clay's eyes lit up. “Aw, man, I wish I could find a Black girl like that, 'cause we'd get married. But you know what, though, Troy? White guys don't like that. It's this black-haired babe in my economics class, and White boys don't pay her no mind. They act like she got a disease,” Clay told him. “And don't let a brother try to talk to her. Her type don't seem to like us at all up here. It's like, when they come to college, everybody's looking for White boys,” he added. “It's like, if you're Black, you can't get nothin' but your own.”

Clay smiled and tossed a hand on Troy's shoulder. “But you're on the hoop team, Troy. You should be in good shape when the season starts.
You
can get whoever you want then.”

Troy smiled as James walked up to join them. He was passing out membership cards.

“What are these?” Troy asked after receiving one.

“They're for BAR, a Black activist group that fights racism on campuses across the country. I'm trying to get enough brothers to join so we can set up a chapter at State. It stands for ‘Brothers Against Racism,' and all we need is, like, twenty brothers to set up a chapter.”

Troy handed the membership application back to him. “Naw, man, I'm already playin' basketball and studyin'. I ain't got no time for that. Besides, what can that do for me?”

Clay wanted to hear an answer for that too.

James cleared his throat. “Look, homes, this college only has one group for Blacks, so we're trying to set up an alternative for students to have more functions on campus,” he answered. He was slightly angered by Troy's question. “Now look, all we have to do is give five dollars each for us to start a chapter. Then we'll have trips to other campuses, and we can start contacting more Black speakers through networking functions.”

Troy and Clay sat speechless, contemplating as James continued.

“Matter of fact, Troy, other than the parties, I haven't seen you at any Black functions. I've seen Clay, but not you.”

“Aw man, 'cause I've been runnin' ball and studying.”

James faced Clay and began to laugh. “That's just what we were talkin' about in a meeting last Thursday. It's too many Black athletes talkin' about they too busy to get involved. Y'all gotta understand that you are being used, like everybody else,” he said to Troy. “Intelligent brothers like you are sellin' out the race by not wanting to back anything or participate, homes.”

“I'm down,” Clay said, pulling a five-dollar bill out of his pocket.

Troy shook his head defiantly. “Y'all can have that shit, man. I never did like the NAACP and shit like that. They always looked like a bunch of rich niggas to me, fightin' against stupid shit like flags.”

“I don't think you see the importance of it yet,” James pressed. “A lot of Blacks need to be informed about these organizations, especially the youth.”

“OK then, Jay. How many other people joined this thing?” Troy quizzed. He challenged James to tell him something other than what he was thinking.

“Well, a lot of people are involved in other things and—”

Troy cut him off. “See, man, ain't nobody down to join that shit. We already have too much to worry about, just gettin' grades and finances.”

In defeat, James left Troy and Clay to finish their discussion. He couldn't understand why Troy would turn him down on joining a Black campus organization. He didn't know that Troy had gotten to college by deviating from groups. His individualism had allowed him to become strong-minded. James also didn't know that Troy feared groups. He had learned to survive as an individual.

The following weeks of school were filled with finals. Again, Troy missed the importance of togetherness. He studied hard and long for his test while other students studied in groups, having an easier time at scoring good grades. Troy didn't care. As long as I got mine, he insisted.

 

“All right guys, it's the first game of the season. You guys have worked your tails off, now we start the fun part. I want quick, good shots and boxing out under the boards. Their guys are quick, but small, so I want to use our height advantage. And remember, the key to winning the game is to have few turnovers and to execute. Now let's get out there and do the job. Talk is cheap,” the coach said.

“HOORAY! YEAH! WHISSWEEERRR! COME ON!

YEAH!”

The students, alumni, and local fans yelled and whistled as the band played in the stands. Troy felt a surge of pride, practicing in the team warm-up. His shots were crisp and accurate, missing only three out of twelve. He felt that, surely, he would get some time in the game.

The tip-off was swiped by Georgia Tech. They scored immediately. Troy had a bad feeling about the game already. Things never looked up. The guards were nervous, appearing unprepared. Troy eyed the coach several times, dying to get his chance. Yet the coach never looked his way. He continued to watch the incompetent guards, who supposedly represented the best of the team. Troy realized that they were not as skilled as he was, but
they
had scholarships.

At halftime, State U was down 47-38. The head coach was furious.

“
God damn it!
No one's doing anything that was planned for this game! No one's boxing out, so there's no rebounds! You're not getting back on defense, so we're getting killed on fast breaks! And how the hell do you guys think you're gonna win a ball game if you're missing open shots? We're lucky that we're only down by nine, I'm telling ya. The way you guys are playing is truly pitiful, like we haven't even practiced.”

He continued his reprimand throughout halftime, only to return and lose the first game of the season by twenty-one points. The first home game, lost, without Troy seeing a second of playing time.

 

“I'on know now about this basketball team. Did you see how the guards were messin' up? And the coach
still
wouldn't put me in the game. It don't make no sense, Simon.” Troy sulked while pacing in his room. “I'm the better man, but I can't get a chance 'cause they all got scholarships.”

Simon frowned. “I mean, Troy, come on, this was only the first game,” he told his moping roommate.

Troy let out a deep breath. “Yeah, you're right. I gotta learn to hang in there. But I can't stand waiting to show what I already have. That don't make no sense. I'm qualified now, so why the hell do I have to wait while those scholarship dudes make us look bad?”

“Look, Troy, a lot of guys would kill just to be on the team. You made the team, so now you just have to stick it out and see what happens.”

“Yeah, aw'ight, Sime. I'on know if I can take too much of this, though. I feel like I'm being cheated out of my time.”

 

Basketball practice was harder and longer than before. Stress began to rise as Troy found his dream to play in the NBA fading. The next couple of games were replays of the first. He and the coach began to have arguments when Troy pressed to be utilized. Sitting on the bench and losing every game didn't settle well with his friends back at home either. They watched the first televised game, only to see their neighborhood partner being sold out to a team of sloppy scholarship players who were not getting the job done.

“I told you they was gon' jerk Troy around. Walk-ons never get no time. And this team has
a bunch
of scrubs,” Raheem said disappointedly. “I'm tellin' you, man. Walk-ons go out for the team, make it with talent, and get jerked. It happens all the time.”

“It looks like the team is the only Black people in the college,” Blue said. “All you see is White people in the stands and shit. I wonder if Troy screwed a White girl yet,” he pondered, watching the all-White cheer-leaders at halftime.

Scooter shook his head in disgust. “Man, you know Troy's mad as hell right now, cuz. He don't like riding nobody's bench. Even if it's a championship team, he wants to at least get in. Some walk-ons do get time, though. Troy just has to hang in there.”

After the fifth game, however, Troy's confidence was sinking. Hard work had gotten him on the team, but economics and politics kept the others playing.

Troy felt like quitting. The coach had misled him. A scholarship was far-fetched, at best. How could he show his prowess and be awarded a scholarship if he didn't even receive a chance to play?

The first school term had ended. Troy called home only on Christmas and New Year's. The team had had games and practices during the vacation, only to start a season of misery. Troy did happen to make the acquaintance of a handful of White girls. But it was simply from being on the team, as everyone had foretold.

 

“So you met a few white chicks, hunh, Troy?” Simon asked, smiling.

Troy sat in a usual studying position at his desk. “I met some goofy ones, but I'm not really worried about that now. I'm thinking about quitting the team and concentrating on my studies.”

Simon shrugged. “If that's what will make you happy, then do it. But don't start crying when you realize that you blew your chance.”

“What chance, Simon? Most Black athletes come out to these big White colleges to be used, and then end up being a street cleaner or something,” Troy argued. “Shit! My boy Jay was right. I have a good head on my shoulders, so I should put it to work.

But, ummm … I'on know, man. I'on care about nothin' no more. I like playin' ball, but
everything
seems like its falling apart now because the basket ball team was a flop. I wonder what they wanted me there for,” he pondered, tapping a pencil against his book cover.

“Damn, Simon. Life is a hard thing to get through,” Troy commented. “All kinds of little stuff can get to you. Especially when you want it all.” He stood up, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out on his unmade bed to stare up at the ceiling.

“Well, stop wanting so much,” Simon suggested.

“That's easier said than done. I don't think there would be half as much depression in the world today if people didn't want stuff. Like, if you could cut off that portion of your brain, then everyone would fall into a long span of happiness. And there would be nothin' to make you sad.

“Like us, Simon. We sittin' in here every night, bustin' our brains out for the future, because we don't have any choice, if we wanna live good. Then again,
you
have a choice. It's easier for White people, you always got something to fall back on. And sometimes, man, I just feel like throwing up my hands and quittin', like, ‘Fuck it all!'”

“Yeah, well I got news for you, Troy. You may not believe it, but even us ‘rich' White people feel like that sometimes. And what about poor White people? They don't have anything to fall back on,” Simon said.

Troy sucked his teeth. “Man, the only thing poor White people need is money. Now shut up and listen to your music.”

 

Troy's desperation for happiness was not in a vacuum. It seemed everyone around him was having tough times. In fact, most of his peers figured he was doing well.

“Troy, you got a three-point-seven G.P.A., you're on the basketball team,
and
you get all the girls you want. I wish I was in your shoes, homes,” James mentioned while getting his hair cut. “My grades were terrible, man. I feel like I might as well start over. I wanted to cry when I saw my grades, homes. They were the worst grades I've ever gotten in my life.”

James tried to will away his sorrow but couldn't. “I was thinking about becoming a lawyer. But after my grades, I don't know what I'm gonna do. It just makes you feel like dropping out of school.”

All week long, Troy heard more of the same sob stories. Even when he went to shoot the breeze with the counselors at Pratt Hall, he walked into more bad breaks.

 

“I'm telling you, Paul, I can't take it no more. I've been in this system for twelve years, and ain't got a promotion the first,” Max was saying when Troy eased into his office. “I could work for the public school system and make more than I could
ever
get here. Unless this university starts paying us what we're worth, I'm out of this C.M.P. shit.”

“Max, you always saying that same stuff, day in and day out. You ain't never gon' leave this place, man. I mean, yeah, you probably could make more money working for the public school system, but you can't be sure that you gonna get the position you're asking for. Besides, Max, you love this place,” Paul said. They then recognized Troy, who sat quietly in a chair near the door.