Upgrade U (4 page)

I’m all strung out …

—K
E$HA,
“Y
OUR
L
OVE
I
S
M
Y
D
RUG”

“W
aaaaaa! 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.

It’s my decision to love …

—J
AZMINE
S
ULLIVAN,
“S
EASON 2
L
OVE”

“S
hae,” 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.

And yeah, all of that is what impressed my parents, but as for me and my crew it was simply the place to be. Period. Dot. Dot. Dot. And yeah we wanted a good education of course, but college was also about evolving into adulthood, living life, making important decisions, partying, and of course being on your game at all times, which is why since all the Internet groupies were gunning for me, we made sure our appearance was hot.

I wore a well-fitted hot-pink tube dress that outlined my size-fourteen hips perfectly, with the hem of it stopping midway my thighs. The boldness of my outfit clearly said, “Yes, I’m reppin’ well for the big girls.”

Khya—who swore that voluptuousness was a gift—rocked a pair of leggings and a fitted tee that read:
it was

DEFINITELY ME WHO STOLE YOUR BOYFRIEND.

Shae threw on a pair of booty shorts and a white middriff halter.

Nevertheless, no matter how cute we looked it didn’t stop me from being nervous, especially since I hadn’t come clean with them about Josiah. After checking out the scene and nobody daring to step to us, we grabbed breakfast and found us a table near the door.

“Well, Seven,” Shae said, sipping a bottle of orange juice. “I’m glad you’re not sitting around crying over Josiah, looking like a sad puppy.”

“I’m telling you, girl, I can’t take a buncha crying and carrying on.” Khya took a bite of her buttered baguette. “I mean, I am considerate, I’ll slide you twenty-four hours to mourn. But after that, I’ma be like, oh, you ‘bout to shut the hell up, cuz.”

I laughed. “Are you serious?”

“It don’ matter dough.” Khya smacked her lips and took a sip of her iced coffee. “ ‘Cause you dusted your shoulders off in like five minutes. Please put me down on yo secret.”

I hesitated. “I just … ummm …” I paused. “You know … like I just figured that things happen.”

“Like what?” Khya pressed.

“I don’t know, it just works out. Now, would you two let it go?” I said, frustrated. “I really don’t even wanna think about Josiah. So let’s just hurry up and eat so we can leave. Matter fact,” I said, looking around as more people walked in, “let’s just go back to the dorm now.”

“Why?” Shae took a bite of her bagel. “We ain’t never scared.”

“Fa’sho'!” Khya spat. “What, you see somebody, Seven?” She looked wildly from left to right. “Is there a problem up in here?” Khya said, raising her voice and pointing at a few people who turned our way. “What you wanna know if this is Seven McKnight? Huh? Well, it is, so what—you tryna bring it?”

“Khya, stop it,” I said, tight-lipped. “Before something jumps off.”

“Oh, I ‘on’t care. ‘Cause I will handle er’body up in here!” She snapped her fingers in a Z motion. “Oh-kay.”

When the few people who were staring quickly turned away Khya said, “I ain’t think you wanted none.”

“Forget them,” Shae said. “Who we need to handle is Josiah.”

“Seriously,” I said, “we’re not going to talk about Josiah again.”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Khya said, completely
ignoring my last statement. “I think we might need to get a gris-gris for Meal Ticket, I mean Josiah. Do you have any strands of his hair?”

“Ill. No, I don’t have any strands of his hair.” I twisted my lips. “And put something on him like what?”

“Like what I put on Jamil. Girlie, I put something on Jamil so fierce that one day he was walking down the street and all of a sudden he broke out looking like Bobby Brown. Messed him up for months. I told him, ‘I ain’t the one, Jamil—messing with me ain’t for you.’ How he gon’ cheat on me with Shaka-Locka of all people, this chick look just like Precious. Do you know how much of an insult that was to me? I mean he just straight-up played me for crazy.” She pulled out her phone. “Know what, I need to check this mofo one mo’ time for that crap.”

“Girl, down,” Shae said, taking Khya’s phone. “Puhlease, let it go.”

“I’ve let it go,” Khya snapped. “And really, do I sound like I care what Jamil does? Not. I don’t care. But I tell you what, he bet’not”—she pointed her index finger—“be with Shaka-Locka or it’s gon’ be a problem. Other than that, I’m cool—plus that cutie I kicked it with last night just might be enough for me to forget Jamil and take back that gris-gris I had on ‘im.”

“A gris-who?” I asked.

“Gris-gris. Gun powder, red pepper, and a chicken bone. Blew it right in his face.”

What kinda?
“It’s official—I’m scared.” I threw my hands in the air. “Maybe, I need to see if there are any single rooms still available.”

“Nope,” Khya said with a mouth full of food. “That was the RA’s status update last night. But chill, Seven, we don’t
have to do any real damage to homie, I mean there’re different types of gris-gris.”

“What …” Shae said slowly. “… are … you talking about? And why can’t you ever speak in plain English.”

“Voodoo.” Khya nodded her head to the side for emphasis. “How’s that for plain English?”

“Voodoo?” me and Shae said simultaneously. “What kinda …?”

“Put a spell on him.” Khya twisted her lips. “That’s what we need to do for Josiah. I promise you, Seven, we can go and see my grandmama, Maw-Maw Baptiste, and Josiah won’t even know what hit ‘im. All of a sudden he’ll just be walking around and bust out looking like Lady Gaga or Gary Coleman reincarnated. Which one you want?”

“I’m ‘bout to throw up in my mouth!” I said, gagging.

“Why you always wanna commit a crime?” Shae shook her head and laughed. “Khya, tell us now, will we need to call your parents for bail money?”

“Nawl, long as don’t nobody bring it, they don’t get it.”

No matter how I’d felt, Khya definitely made me laugh. I was laughing so hard that tears poured from my eyes and the only thing that made me stop was this dude walking up to our table and smacking Doublemint gum, like he was popping hard plastic bubbles. “Pardon me,” he said with a twang. “Ah’cuse me.”

I blinked my eyes twice, because for a moment I thought I was seeing things. Why did this dude have green sponge rollers in his hair and a canary yellow boa wrapped around his neck? He slid his starch white oval shades off and said, “Two snaps up and a fruit loop. Honey, are you Seven?”

“Ummm,” I stammered. “Yes, I’m Seven and you are?”

“Courtney, your fierce, fly, and fabulous, neighbor.”

“Oule,” Khya said, “aren’t you lively?”

“And you know this.” Courtney snapped his fingers. “But listen, girlfriend, I just came to thank you”—he shook my hand—“for keeping me entertained last night.”

Entertained?
I pointed to my chest. “Huh? Me? I kept you entertained? I didn’t do anything.”

“Girl, bye.” He pulled up a seat. “You need to stop being shy, cause for-real, for-real if you’re not majoring in theater, you’re missing your calling.”

Khya looked at me. “What did you do last night?”

“Nothing.” Don’t ask me why, but my heart was thundering in my chest.

“Well something went down,” Shae said with a look of confusion.

“Maybe he was there when I went off on Josiah at the party.”

“Oh, that was lil daddy’s name?” Courtney said. “Josigh-ya.” He enunciated every syllable. “That’s kinda hot.”

This cat was working my last nerve. “I umm … really think you have the wrong person, sir,” I said sarcastically.

“Something told me I shoulda recorded you and posted everything on YouTube.”

Recorded me? YouTube? Oh, I might be punching him in the face.

“You made sure your neighbor knew your name,” he carried on. “And I really appreciate that, ‘cause my first night on campus I thought I was gon’ die from boredom and this roommate they have dumped on me—oh, honey.” He wiped his brow as if he were due to faint. “Say this with me: nasty! I swear all this fool does is pass gas. Air bubbles fallin’ all out his behind.”

“Oh my …” Khya said, sounding like a southern belle. “You gon’ make me clutch my pearls.”

“Clutch ‘em, honey, clutch ‘em. ‘Cause I got right down in his face, and said, ‘Let me tell you something, I will fight you. Fart again! Please, fart … again!”

“Well, it’s official,” I said, throwing a napkin over my food. “Breakfast is over.”

“Don’t let me stop you from eating your food,” Courtney said. “It’s cool. Plus, you probably need to eat. I’m surprised you have any energy. Being as though, you didn’t get to sleep until about six this morning.”

“What?” Shae said, shocked. “Okay, please just tell us what you’re talking about.”

How in the heck does he know what time I went to bed?
“Am I the only one who finds this a little freaky?” I looked at Shae and Khya, who paid me absolutely no attention.

“We think just alike, Seven,” Courtney said, “ ‘cause that’s the same thing I said about you last night.”

“Excuse me?”

“Check it,” Courtney said, extremely animated. “Picture this. I was talking to my friend, Asha, on the phone telling her how glad I am that I graduated early and was able to come to Stiles U. Because, you know, this is the place to be. And I spoke to her for a long time until she tried to explain to me—why she had a boyfriend and I … well, was the king of single … so I ended up getting off the phone with that heifer.”

“Where are we going with this?” I spat. “Really.”

“Baby slow down,” he said. “Bring it back, Seven, I’m getting to the point. Now listen: last night about three I
was lying in my bed and all of a sudden I heard, BOOM! BOOM!” He pounded on the table. “Well, you know me; I walked over to my room door, blocked it, and said to my roommate, ‘If an odor floats across this room get ready to die!’

“After ten minutes passed I ended up not smelling anything so I unblocked the door and laid back on the bed, but I kept hearing this pounding.” Courtney slammed his fist onto the table again. “BOOM! BOOM! That’s when I got up, opened the door, and saw our boo—I mean your boo—standing there begging you through the door crack to open up.”

What?

“Oh really?” Shae said, twisting her lips. “Okay, and what else happened?”

Khya’s mouth dropped open. “O … M … G!”

“Look, Shae,” I said, “I was going to tell you and Khya, but I just couldn’t—”

“No, it’s cool,” Shae said. “I’m glad you didn’t tell us, because I’m sure his version is much more detailed than yours would’ve been. So what else happened, Courtney?”

“Okay, so”—Courtney popped his gum—“he pounded and he pounded, and he screamed, ‘Seven, I love you! Help me, Seven! Help me to love you!’ ”

“He didn’t do that!” I snapped.

“You were caught up in the moment, honey, you don’t know. Now let me finish—after he begged and pleaded for me—I mean for Seven—to come save his life, she came out in the hallway and cried, ‘Why-why-why?’ ”

“That is not the way it happened.”

“Chile,” Courtney continued on, “I thought fa’sho’ you
were going to send cuteness away or bust out screaming, ‘Don’t make me cut you!’ But you didn’t, girl. You were on your grind. You killed that scene.”

“That is soooo not true!” I chuckled in disbelief. “I swear none of that happened.”

“Ain’t no need to lie, Seven. If I can room with the connoisseur of farts certainly you can be honest.”

“Look,” I snapped, “what happened is that Josiah came by to apologize, we talked, he said he didn’t know I was going to be here this week … and we … you know … made up.”

“You certainly made up,” Courtney carried on. “I mean I missed out on when exactly you two walked into the room because I went to make some popcorn—”