The Scammer - 21

There’s lots of yelling coming from the first floor.

I pace in Nick’s room, turned inside out after the police investigation, resisting the urge to run downstairs after all the

times he’s saved me. But I don’t think my presence is going to ease tensions when I’m the one that’s started all this.

Of course, the police found drugs in the frat house, but just weed. Nothing as damning as what they expected or what was anonymously

reported. The police only arrested one person. But that’s enough to cause a fraternity uproar. The frat brothers are downstairs

shouting at one another. I listen for Nick’s voice in the fray, a voice of reason, but he’s silent.

Devonte did this. If not him directly, one of his people made the phony call. They know I’m here and are doing anything to

smoke me out until I come crawling back. But to bring Nick into this, his frat . . . I don’t want anyone else to be hurt because

of me. Enough is enough.

I whip out my phone.

Me: Kammy, we need to talk. Tomorrow.

I stuff the proof I need to show Kammy in my book bag. Pages of documents disproving about 90 percent of what Devonte has

told us. If this isn’t enough to make her come to her senses, I’ll pull out the big guns. Then I’ll head to Student Housing.

Nick enters the room, face blanched, shoulders sagging. I jump to my feet.

“Are you okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “Put on your shoes. We’re going out.”

“I ’ll have a cheeseburger deluxe, medium rare with sweet potato fries. And a Coke.”

Nick passes his sticky menu back to the waitress before she turns her attention to me. I lick my lips, sitting up straighter.

“I’ll, um, have the sprout salad. Water with lemon, no ice.”

The waitress seems unfazed by our polar-opposite orders, collecting my menu and heading back to the kitchen of a Georgetown

pub to rush in our orders before it closes at two a.m.

“Medium rare?” I gag, cleaning my utensils with a paper napkin. “Why don’t you just eat it raw out of the package, you animal.”

The corner of his lips pull up to a smirk. “This place has the best burgers in the city. I could’ve grabbed some grass outside

and thrown it on a plate if you wanted a salad.”

Nick and I sit in a booth in the far back of the pub, away from the sticky-surfaced bar full of drunken white college students. Frazier can make you forget that Washington, DC, is not only home to politics but at least four other universities. It’s like the whole world disappears the moment you step on campus, entering a Black utopia.

“So,” I say, rubbing my arms. “Your brothers are blaming you for the raid?”

He twists a straw wrapper between his fingers. “You and me both, yep.”

I wince. “Seriously?”

“Oh they know you’re the problem. No one would dare set up the frat except crazy people. And your bunch are the only crazy

people on campus.”

“So what happens now?”

He shrugs. “You’re my girlfriend, so they’re not gonna kick you out. They’re just . . . letting off some steam. I may get

my ass whooped later though.”

“Nick!”

He waves a hand. “It’s fine. I can take getting yelled at. I’ve been getting yelled at all my life.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You never told me . . . What did your parents think when you said you were going to Frazier U?”

He sighs. “They didn’t give a shit.”

My mouth forms an “oh” as I fidget with the silverware.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m what you call an ‘oops’ baby. My parents had me when they were just shy of fifty.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah. They were ready to enter that sweet empty-nester stage in their life. Then I come along and ruin their plans. Needless

to say, we are not close.”

“Empty nester? So they had kids before you?”

He nods. “Two boys and a girl. Then me.”

Interesting. I don’t imagine Nick with siblings. Then again, he doesn’t give me only-child vibes. More loner.

The waitress appears with two shots of brown-yellow liquor.

“Drinks on the house!”

I start to argue but Nick takes the shot and holds it up to me. “What are we toasting to?”

I join him. “I guess . . . to not having drugs in the frat house?”

Nick barks out a laugh.

We knock back our shots on three, the liquor smooth, tasting like honey.

“So other than you,” Nick says, “and your brother . . . did your parents have any more kids or plan to?”

“No. It was just us. A boy and a girl, that’s all they wanted.”

Nick folds his hands. “What . . . happened to your brother?”

I don’t know why I tell him. Maybe the last week and the alcohol has made me weak to the point that I blurt out the truth.

“He killed himself.”

Nick straightens. I have his full attention.

“He was two years older than me,” I continue. “But we were best friends. Everyone loved him. Voted most likely to succeed in high school. Then he went to college and things . . . changed. College changed him. Which everyone said it would . . . but this was different. There were no warning signs that he was in trouble. It just didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t.”

I wait, expecting the typical “I’m so sorry” or “That must have been so hard, prayers to your family,” the regular clichéd

crap. Nick just listens. That leaves some space to be myself.

“He left a letter in his sloppy handwriting,” I say with a bitter laugh, wiping a betraying tear away. “Asking us to go on,

to live without him. God, suicide is so fucking selfish.”

Nick frowns. “Selfish?”

The waitress returns, refilling our waters. Once she’s gone, Nick shifts in his seat, leaning forward. He stares at my hand

on the table, as if considering reaching for it, then changes his mind.

“I don’t think the people who commit suicide are intentionally being selfish or thoughtless. I think they’re too blinded by

the pain of living to be rational and think things through. They don’t mean to hurt you. They don’t even mean to hurt themselves.”

You don’t understand, he left me! He didn’t think about what would happen to me! I want to scream back but don’t because I know it sounds ridiculous.

“When my parents went to get his body . . . and all his stuff from his dorm . . . it just sat in the garage for weeks, collecting dust. When I finally opened a box, I found a Frazier mug. He had gotten accepted for a transfer. The last time I saw him, he talked about wishing he had gone to an HBCU. Wishing that for once, he could just be free and accepted in a school without all the bullshit that comes with being a token Black guy.”

“So that’s the real reason why you came to Frazier, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “Something like that.”

“Damn,” he mumbles. “But also cool, that you’re honoring him this way.”

I wouldn’t use the words honoring him but I’ll take the compliment.

“He talked so much about how if we went to Frazier that we wouldn’t be the outsiders anymore. That we would belong. But our

parents were against it in every way possible. They weren’t big on Black history. My mom even found African art to be tacky.

So yeah, I guess I am honoring him. But I would’ve rather he be alive, so we could complain about our parents, school, and Mad Men again . . . together.”

The waitress appears with another two shots. “Looks like it’s your lucky night!”

I grab the shot, taking it back before Nick can even touch his. Nick sips his slow, eyes never leaving my face.

I click my tongue. “You lost someone, haven’t you?”

Nick stares at me but doesn’t say a word. Just like the last time I asked him. No response is response enough.

I lean forward. “You ever hear of the five stages of grief?”

He frowns. “Yeah. What is it, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance?”

“Yeah. But there’s one more I came up with. I call it the boomerang. Every time you go through the stages of grief, and you think you’re finally okay, something triggers a memory, and you go through those stages all over again.”

He lets out a laugh. “When does it end?”

“Honestly, you never stop grieving. You just learn to coexist with it. Some days grief is sitting in your kitchen in front

of the fridge looking for something to eat, then some days it’s sleeping in your bed, and other days it’s standing in your

backyard, waiting to be let in from the cold. It’s like living with a feral street cat. There some days, missing the next.”

He nods. “I hate cats. I’m a dog person.”

I laugh. “I’m not surprised. We all deal with our pets in our own ways.”

The waitress arrives with our food. I watch Nick grab his ketchup and drown his fries with a smile. It felt somewhat good

talking about Kevin. Mom and Dad never wanted to talk about him because his death meant a flaw in their parenting. And they

spent too much of their lives being perfect to be reminded of such a blemish on their record. They still haven’t called once.

Meanwhile, Nick has been walking through fire, all for me.

“Nick, I don’t want to get you in trouble with your brothers. I can figure something out.”

“You’re not moving back into that place,” he says without looking up. “Not until that guy is gone, and honestly, I don’t trust

you around the rest of those girls either.”

I watch him take a bite out of his burger and smile.

“Thanks, Nick. I really don’t know what I would have done without you.”

He places a handful of fries on my plate.

“Tell me one thing. That night you took me home from the party . . . why’d you do it?”

“Honestly,” I say with a wince. “Someone wanted you to give the girls a peep show.”

He laughs and when I don’t join him his smile drops.

“No. NOO! Are you . . . Damn! No way!”

The waitress appears with another two shots of brown liquor.

“Bartender said you make a cute couple,” she says, placing them on the table. “Drinks on the house.”

We glance over at the bartender, a pale woman with long black hair.

“We are a cute couple,” I agree, holding up the shot.

Nick stares at me, a glint in his eyes. He chuckles to himself, twirling the shot glass around.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Cheers. To us. The cute couple.”

The lights are still on in the frat house and we walk back close to four in the morning, freezing in our too-thin jackets.

We sat in that booth talking for hours about randomness, and, if I’m honest, I could have sat there until daylight.

“So you really think I should run for treasurer? Seriously?”

“Absolutely! You got all the chops. You caught things our current treasurer couldn’t. We need people like you in office.”

I smile up at him. It’s nice feeling needed, being seen.

Nick opens the door for me and we step straight into an ambush.

“So what’s this I’m hearing about you’re fucking some guy in your dorm?” Kent shouts, stalking up to me.

I reel back. “Huh?”

The room is full of Kappas, most that don’t even live in the house. Nick looks around, clearly stunned by their presence.

“Bitch, is you cheating on our boy?” he shouts louder.

Nick steps in front of me. “Whoa whoa whoa. You need to fall back, right now! Where is this coming from?”

“Word is your girl likes having trains run on her by them hotep bros!”

“Where’d you get that from?” I snap.

“I ain’t revealing my sources,” he says, cockily. “But she’s been seen sneaking back into her dorm. I’m just saying, if she’s

for the streets, she should be in the streets and not up in our spot. And I’m not trying to hear some shit about her cheating

on you and we take all this heat!”

“I’m not cheating on him. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. I can’t believe I have to defend such a stupid lie.

“Oh for real? Tell me you weren’t in the Rock two days ago? Don’t make me break out the pictures.”

Pictures? Of what?

My mouth opens and closes. “I . . . I went there to get my mail. That’s it!”

Nick looks at me but stays silent.

“So are y’all really a couple or nah?” someone asks.

“What kind of question is that?” Nick snaps. “She’s my girlfriend! We’re in a relationship. She’s even coming home with me

for Thanksgiving to meet my parents. This is the real deal.”

The men whisper to one another.

“All I’m saying, dawg, is that if she’s in some trouble, you could just tell us. But she can’t hide out here and fuck our

shit up.”

“Hey man,” Nick shouts. “If you want US to go, then just say that.”

The brothers stand quiet. Kent ice grills them all.

“Bitch better be worth it,” he snaps, knocking over a lamp.

Nick grabs my hand, leading me up to the room, shutting the door behind us. He rips off his coat, throwing it at the wall,

and runs both hands through his hair, panting. I watch the torn look on his face, the encounter cracking him open and feel

a twinge of guilt. Because if he knew the real me, I can’t imagine him keeping up with this lie.

Heart racing, I walk over and tackle him with a hug.

“Nick, I . . . I don’t want you lying for me,” I whisper.

Nick’s hug is stiff at first, but then he melts, his arms scooping under my armpits, chin resting on my head. His cool silky fingers glide up my forearm, twisting into my fallen spaghetti strap. He slides the strap up slow, returning it to my shoulder. His dark pink lips part as if he wants to say something, but he just stares without even a hint of a smile.

Heatstroke, I reason to myself. The shots mixed with this boiling room. Because the thoughts racing through my head feel almost

like lust.

And I like it.

He pulls away slightly, running his fingers through my hair, pinky grazing my neck. Then he blinks, collecting himself, and

clears his throat.

“I’m . . . gonna go make you some tea.”

He rushes out of the room, leaving me aching for his warmth in the blazing hot room.