The Scammer - 11

Every time I’m about to walk back to the suite, I hold my breath for five seconds. The dread sinks and spreads to every part

of my body, covering every organ in tar. One day, I’ll be too heavy to move. That’s when I’ll know it’s gone too far, I tell

myself. But for now, I take another sip of fresh air, grip my keys, blades between my fingers, and softly step in.

Kammy is sitting on the sofa, peeling potatoes into a bowl. I don’t think much of it, in fact it’s normal for Kammy to cook.

But something is off. Then I realize . . .

“Your hair!”

Kammy grins, patting the edges of her tight ’fro, somewhat lopsided and in desperate need of moisture.

“You like it?” she asks, a slight uncertainty in her eyes.

“I do,” I say with extra enthusiasm. “So . . . no more wigs?”

“No. It doesn’t feel natural. Wearing hair that’s been on someone else’s head. Gross. Do you know that they drug women and

scalp them before they harvest their hair?”

“I . . . I didn’t know that.”

She shakes her head. “You have to do your research, girl. It’s a sick industry.”

Out the corner of my eye, Devonte watches proudly from Vanessa’s doorway.

“She’s right. Why would you abandon your culture, your beautiful features, to look like the ancestors of the people who kidnapped,

raped, slaughtered our people?” he says, rubbing my arm. “Glad you’re home.”

A warmth builds in my chest, and I ignore it, wiggling away from his touch.

“So, Vanessa texted and said that you were making dinner?” I ask, trying to keep it casual.

He backs into the kitchen, and I join Kammy on the sofa.

“A while ago, I spent the summer in Cuba studying, learning about different healing herbs and foods we must eat to live. You

must feed your mind and body with nutrients, only way the soul will grow.”

That makes a lot of sense.

“It’s time you stop eating the white man’s food and adopt a vegan diet. Strictly clean. The food you eat is filled with chemicals

and pollutants that even affect your cycles. Think about all the toxins that you digest that line your uterus, swallowed by

your unborn children. Then they come into the world, sickly, degenerates. Even years after you stop eating it.”

He walks out of the kitchen with a steaming pot.

“Every day you’re going to drink this tea. It’s not like the other tea. It’s a different type of detoxification.”

Devonte pours brown liquid out of the pot into our school mugs and passes one to each of us.

“This will replace two meals every day.”

The tea tastes exactly like dirt. Like he went to the backyard, dug up some roots, threw them in hot water with a splash of

lemon.

“What kind of tea is this?” I ask.

He scoffs with a smirk. “You ask as if you don’t trust me. Have I steered you wrong yet?”

I remain silent. He gives me a look, shaking his head as if he finished scolding a silly child.

Loren sips the tea, trying to fight the bitterness, but Vanessa seems not to mind the taste at all.

Kammy stares into her cup with a frown. “Wait, so tonight, all we’re gonna have is tea?”

He nods.

Kammy’s face crumples. “But . . . I’m hungry.”

“There are other things to fill your appetite. Knowledge of self is first.”

“Can’t I just make some mashed potatoes or fries with this?” Kammy asks, almost begging.

“Fries huh? I bet you had lots of fries at that Rec Center, right? Hanging out with your friends.”

We nod, not wanting to lie.

“Well, all fries are dipped in oil made of pig sweat. Do you know what pigs are made out of? Pigs are made of rat, cat, and dog. It’s not a real animal. It was made in a lab, used with scraps they gave slaves. That’s why they tell the Black man not to eat pork. Swine is not for kings or queens.”

“They talk a lot about this in the Bible,” Vanessa confirms. “It’s the parts white Christians edit out. So they can keep feeding

us bacon.”

Don’t white people eat bacon? I think, but don’t say it out loud.

“Discipline today, harvest tomorrow,” Devonte says. “That’s the motto. If you don’t practice and focus on your health today,

you’ll regret it tomorrow. You’ll regret it today if you keep eating the crap the man serves you.”

I glance over at Loren.

“Hey, maybe you should be careful with this,” I whisper, trying not to draw too much attention.

Loren hesitates, eyes flickering over to Devonte. He waves a hand.

“I’ve taken her into account. Loren doesn’t have a disease. She has a DIS-ease. Meaning that her body is not at ease with

how she’s been treating it.”

I blink and look at Loren. Now is her chance to step up. She said she would keep on top of her health, so there would be no

more fainting spells.

But she only shrugs. “I think this could really help. I’ve heard of people going vegan and curing themselves of all kinds

of things, even cancer. It’s worth a try.”

“How can you be pure of heart if you are holding on to materialistic possessions. Things made by the white man.”

Loren watches Devonte comb through her closet taking designer items like belts and purses and throwing them into a black garbage

bag. I didn’t have items worth throwing away.

“What are you going to do with this stuff?” she asks, arms crossed.

“Sell them. Use the money to pay me back for all the training I’ve been giving you.”

Loren frowns. “But you said—”

Devonte stands tall, frustration bleeding through.

“I’ve been cooking and cleaning, and teaching you queens for weeks. Don’t you think you owe me something? People pay thousands

for my counsel. Nothing in this world is free. Haven’t you learned that? Don’t you want to work in entertainment? This is

how it works.”

Loren fidgets, biting her lip.

He sucks his teeth, stomping out of her room and into Kammy’s.

Kammy sits on her desk, holding a Gucci purse close to her chest. She takes a deep breath.

“It’s just . . . my dad gave me this bag,” she admits, sheepishly. “He saved up for it. It was a graduation gift.”

Devonte crosses the room. He cups her cheek with a soft smile.

“The same father who used to come into your room at night? The same father who let your pastor do the same?”

My mouth drops as Loren gasps.

Kammy’s face falls, looking around at us nervously.

“Ah, so Kammy hasn’t been telling you what we’ve been discovering during our sessions. The memories that I’ve helped unblock

because they were so traumatic.”

Kammy hiccups a small whimper, hands shaking as she clutches the bag tighter.

“But it’s my favorite bag,” she pleads.

Devonte narrows his eyes. His silence is distinctly loud, making everyone in the room afraid to move or breathe.

“Are you a sheep?” he asks.

Kammy shakes her head with a sniff. “No.”

“No? You sure about that? ’Cause if you want your purse, then you should be a sheep and follow behind everyone else.”

Kammy shuts her eyes tight, shaking her head.

“Well, if you want to be a sheep, then be a sheep!”

Devonte storms into the kitchen, snatches the fridge door, grabbing a half-open can of corn.

“Here! Eat like a sheep,” he barks, tossing the corn across the floor. “Get down there and eat like a sheep!”

We stand in silence. Devonte clicks his tongue. “Woman, don’t make me repeat myself. Get on the floor NOW!”

Kammy jumps, fresh tears springing. Then slowly, she sinks down to all fours, nibbling at the dirty corn-scattered on the

linoleum. I can’t remember the last time the floors had been washed. I hold back a gag.

Devonte steps over her like she is a dog in his way, snatches the purse, and drops it in his bag.

As dawn enters my room, I stare at the photo album on my computer, having more questions than answers. I slam the computer

shut, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall.

This isn’t what I thought it would be like at all, Kevin . . . .

In the five stages of grief, anger is the most destructive. Anger makes you take your pain out on anything moving, place blame

on anyone, even the person who’s gone. But everyone knows anger is just a mask over sharp sadness that makes you desperate

to hold on to things, people, friends. Memories of loss make you never want to experience them again.

It’s fascinating, the way grief lives in your body, like weeds planted in your lungs that keep growing back no matter how

many times you try ripping them out. You can taste the hint of it every time you take a deep breath.

I wonder what Mom is up to. I haven’t heard anything from my parents in weeks. Has their anger subsided? How could they just

cut off their only child? What would they think of Devonte? Would they understand?

Maybe I should call her? After a shower.

I walk out of the room and trip over the body lying across my door, landing hard on my knees with a yelp.

I roll over, as the body stirs. “What are you doing?”

Legacy jumps to his feet. “Oh, uh. Devonte said I should keep watch. Keep our women safe.”

I rub the tender spot on my hip, knowing I’ll be bruised by tomorrow.

“Fine, but you don’t have to sleep on the damn floor,” I snap.

Legacy looks sheepish. “Um, the couch is taken.”

I glance over and there’s Kareem lying across the love seat, his bare feet dangling, but his eyes are wide open, staring at

the ceiling.

Legacy helps me up.

“Please don’t tell him I fell asleep,” he begs. Him clearly being Devonte.

“I won’t. But Legacy, you should go home. Take a shower, change.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I . . . live here now.”

I shake myself awake. “What?”

“Yeah, me and Kareem. We’re gonna be a real family.”

After class, I head to the Malcolm Center for my Wednesday afternoon shift. I promised Nick I would help with the spring budget,

to see where money can be allocated for different programming.

I walk into the office and find Nick behind his desk, alone, hand gripping his hair.

“Did you know about this?” he snaps, eyes blazing.

I stop in my tracks. “Huh?”

Nick swats at his laptop in my direction. On the screen is an email. . . .

Open letter to the Kappa Fraternity:

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Kareem X, as my slave name is no longer valid. I am a junior at Frazier University, and I am writing this letter

to inform you that I am renouncing and denouncing my membership with Kappa Kappa Psi.

This organization is practicing occult witchcraft in the form of Christianity, which is exactly how slave masters controlled

our enslaved ancestors. Through idolatry, manipulation, and mandatory worshiping of white gods at satanic shrines, when we

all know God is a Black man. I refuse to bow to anything but our true king.

Further, I must also highlight the white infiltration that has also taken place. For a Black organization to allow our enemy

to be a part of our society is a disgrace that I can no longer ignore. The enemy is clearly working among and through our

sacred societies. You must stay woke and vigilant, brothers. . . .

Nick yanks back his laptop, stabbing the screen. “He goes on to write in DETAIL about our sacred rituals and ceremonies. Things

no one outside of a Kappa man should know! Everyone has seen it!”

The letter was from Kareem but it screams Devonte.

My stomach grows tight. “I swear, I didn’t know anything about this.”

“Kareem moved out in the middle of the night. No one has seen him.”

I think of him on the sofa. The haunted look in his eyes, as if he was lost in his own head, searching for an exit.

“I’ve seen him hanging out with your roommate a lot. Vanessa?”

“Uh, yes. He is her boyfriend.”

“So who’s that other guy?” he asks. “The one with the locs?”

I swallow. “That’s . . . her brother.”

Nick bristles. “Her brother? Does he go here? He looks kinda old.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. He’s the healthiest man I know!”

I hear myself say the words, but I still can’t believe they came out of my mouth. Nick’s eyes widen.

“He’s family,” I go on to explain, trying to clean up my mess. “He’s just visiting. Doesn’t your family visit you?”

Nick blanches, neck growing red. “That’s not the point! Jordyn, reading this letter . . . this doesn’t sound like Kareem at

all. It sounds like he’s been brainwashed. And I have a feeling that brother of Vanessa is up to it. Look at the way he lurks

around campus, around you.”

“He’s not lurking. He’s welcomed. And it’s fine, I—”

“He’s a grown man hanging around campus with a bunch of college students! Doesn’t he have a job? A home? Women his own age

to be with!”

“What, are you jealous that someone of his stature would want to spend his time with us?”

“Stature? I don’t even know the guy. And you don’t either!”

That’s not true, I want to scream in his face. Instead, I rub my throbbing temple.

“Look, can we focus and get back to work. I don’t know anything about Kareem or your organization, but I guess he had his

reasons.”

“Fine. Sure thing,” he snaps. “Wouldn’t want you to miss curfew.”

Is he really taking his anger out on me?

He pushes the computer my way, inadvertently opening a page he was clearly reading on the university website.

“Trustee? You want to be a student trustee?”

Nick closes the page quick and clears his throat, avoiding my gaze.

I nod, impressed. “Nick, that’s actually a perfect position for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You really think so?”

“Yeah! All your programming is geared toward making positive change for students. Look how you’re obsessing over this budget,

trying to squeeze water from a rock. And the town halls after the riots. You could really be a voice for students in a major

way. It’s a good look.”

Nick stares at me blankly for a long moment then clears his throat. “Let’s . . . get back to work.”

I roll my eyes and slump into my seat. We work for about two hours in silence before Nick stands, stretches, and heads for the kitchenette. He returns with a small bowl that smells like heaven.

“What’s that?” I gasp, nearly drooling.

Nick glances at his hands, walks back to the kitchen, and grabs another spoon.

“Here. Eat.”

I stare down into what looks like a stew with sausages, shrimp, kidney beans mixed in a red sauce on top of a bed of fluffy

white rice. My stomach cries out but I still hesitate.

“Um, no thanks.”

“Look, just take a bite. It’s fine.”

“No.”

“You’ll like it. Just try it.”

“No thanks.”

“Just a little taste.”

“I said no! And what is that, pork sausage? Rat, cat, and dog. And white rice is full of toxins! Shrimp are nothing but bottom

feeders. Don’t you know that!”

The words come tumbling out before I can stop them.

Nick blinks, shell-shocked. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I . . . I . . .” I’m about to lie when my phone pings.

Vanessa: Come home now. Devonte has an idea!