The Scammer - 7

The turkey and cheese sandwich sitting on my tray in the Malcolm Center looks disgusting. Last week, it was my favorite lunch.

Now, the sight of the white roll makes me queasy. I shouldn’t be surprised. My mom always said carbs are the devil. She put

me on a keto diet in the sixth grade. It took years to be able to nibble on a bagel without guilt.

You’re not fat, JoJo!

I toss the sandwich and walk outside to get some fresh air.

“Jordyn!” Kerry waves me down. “Hey girl! What’s up? Didn’t see you at homecoming.”

“Oh! I . . . came down with a bad cold. Couldn’t even get out of bed.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. It still feels as if all

the blood has been drained from my body and pumped back in slowly.

“Damnnn. You missed everything. It was our first homecoming. They had all these artists on the Quad. And the band went IN

during the halftime show!”

I shrug with a laugh. “Well! Maybe next year!”

“Aight. See you later. Tell Loren to hit me up! She left me on read.”

“Oh, I think her phone was broke. But I’ll tell her.”

“And is Vanessa’s brother still in town? He’s kinda creepy.”

I let out a weak laugh. “Yeah. But he’s not too bad.”

Kerry shrugs, walking toward the Fine Arts building.

I drop my fake smile, too exhausted to keep it up. While everyone else was out partying, Devonte had us doing practice drills

in our suite. Sit-ups, push-ups, planks. Kammy started crying. Loren threw up. I slipped her a granola bar, worried about

her blood sugar. But I do feel stronger. For a change, the walk up the hill to campus is a breeze.

Last night, when we finished our exercises, Devonte and I retired to my room, so I could transcribe his philosophies on life.

It’s amazing the way he leaned into my knowledge of memoirs and biographies. I could really see myself writing an entire novel,

imagining my name on the cover, next to Devonte’s, of course. I outlined several chapters before he came up with the brilliant

idea of creating pamphlets to pass out, subsequently testing my writing prowess on other people. Practice makes perfect and

I’m down for the challenge!

We didn’t finish brainstorming until close to four a.m. I could barely keep my eyes open in my ten o’clock class.

I stand at the top of the hill, looking at the Rock in the distance, and take a deep sigh. There’s no way I can make it through

this day without a nap.

Devonte asked us to stop locking the suite door, so he can have twenty-four-seven access to come and go as he pleases. I didn’t mind, since I only lock my room door. With a yawn, I slug down the hall, twist the handle and bust in, ready to kick off my shoes and crash for a few hours.

“Oh!” Kammy yelps, jumping out of Devonte’s arms on the sofa.

Devonte’s . . . arms?

The scene replays over and over. My feet can’t move from the spot by the door. Devonte looks at me, his arm draped over the

back of the sofa, unbothered and unfazed while Kammy yanks down her shirt.

“Uh . . . hey girl,” Kammy says, a quiver in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“I mean, so early,” she says with a sheepish smile, playing with her hair. “Don’t you have class right now?”

Devonte stares at me, holding in a laugh, as if amused by Kammy’s humiliation. In fact, it feels like he wanted me to see.

“Yeah,” I mumble and shuffle quickly into my room.

My pen bleeds through the page of my journal. I can’t take my eyes off the spot, the ink spreading away from the tip into swirling tentacles. As many times as I try to tell myself I was seeing things, I remember a new detail from the scene—his missing shirt, her hanging bra strap, his smug smile. . . .

Loren hit me up about going to the café a while ago, but I can’t possibly stomach food. Not after what I saw. I’m still trying

to erase the image of Kammy and Devonte out of my mind but there’s a pulse in my ear. All Kammy talks about is her boyfriend.

Their connection felt cemented. She couldn’t possibly . . .

“Hey girl. What cha doing?”

I jump at the sound of her voice and snap my notebook closed.

“Oh! Hey. Uh, just writing a story.”

Kammy walks in wearing her p.j.s, hair scooped up in a bonnet for the night.

“Story? I thought you wanted to be a lawyer.”

“I do! I do. It’s . . . just a hobby. That’s all.”

She plops on my bed. “What’s this story about?”

“Well . . . it’s about a girl and she’s like . . . a con artist, trying to play a prank on her classmates until one day she

meets her match.”

“Ha! That’s cool.” She glances around. “Your room is so . . . empty. You don’t have no pictures or nothing from back home?”

I shrug. “Maybe I’ll print some of us. My new family.”

In fact, that’s a great idea. I don’t have a slew of pictures from high school with a bevy of friends. I only appeared once in my senior yearbook for my graduation portrait. Now, I have tons of photos, ranging from silly to cute to hilarious, and find myself so eternally grateful for the way these girls have changed my life.

Kammy grins and clasps her hands together. “Soooo . . . about what you saw . . . with Devonte.”

“Saw? Oh, I saw nothing.”

Kammy rolls her eyes. “Girl, quit playing. I know you. And what you saw was totally natural. In fact, destined.”

Funny how a statement can sound so right yet surrounded by something so ridiculous.

“But . . . what about . . .”

“Micah? I broke up with him,” she says proudly. “We’re just going in two different paths. He wants to be a pastor and I’m . . .

not sure what I believe in right now. You wanna know the truth? I think he’s been brainwashing me, gaslighting me. Him and

his family. That’s why I’m so sexually suppressed, you know? I should be exploring more.”

A cold chill creeps up my arms.

“Are you . . . sure about that? Like, that’s what you really think?”

“Well, yeah. But my memories are all mixed up. I bet I’m not remembering everything exactly.”

I nod, feeling sick. “But . . . isn’t Devonte a little . . . old for you?”

“Not you trying to be my momma!” She laughs. “Age is just a number. It’s what you feel inside that makes you twin flames.

This was fate. I was meant to meet him. To learn about myself.”

Words fall dead in my mouth.

“But we’re not together like that, like that. He’s just helping me . . . process some things. And until I’m ready, I don’t think I should be open to exploring with other boys. Especially ones that I don’t trust, don’t you think?”

I swallow. “Yeah. That makes a lot of sense.”

Kammy smiles and jumps up, giving me the tightest hug. “Thanks, girl!”

I cough out a laugh. “For?”

“For not judging me. Duh!”