The Scammer - 8

“No, I don’t think you get it. They were . . . kissing kissing! His hands were all over her!”

Vanessa laughs as we jump out of her car. “You were probably seeing things. You know Kammy, she’s all touchy-feely. She gives

crazy long hugs to everybody!”

Loren throws me a nervous glance, closing her back door.

It took some major convincing from Kerry, but after chilling in the Rec, we decided to stop by a party off campus, just us

three. Kammy has been MIA all day. I fear she’s stuck in her room with Devonte. I don’t want to imagine what they’re doing.

But with just the three of us, it gives me the perfect opportunity to raise a giant red flag. The girls HAVE to see how . . .

wrong this is.

Vanessa reapplies her lip gloss. “Girl, it’s no big deal, don’t be a hater.”

Loren shrugs. “She’s grown. She knows what she’s doing.”

I expected that response from Vanessa. But not from Loren. I swallow the rest of my thoughts as we head inside to a ground-level apartment in Hyattsville, Maryland. They’re calling it an “old-school rent party.” They’re either trying to raise rent or using any excuse to have people over.

Loren shrugs out of her coat as we enter. “It’s hot as hell in here.”

A girl appears by the door, with a red cup. “Hey ladies! Gimme your coats, I’ll put them in the back.”

We’re herded in the living room, a DJ’s set up in the kitchen by a makeshift self-serve bar. I spot a few people I know from

FUSA—Nneka, Brianna, Neveah, and, of course, Nick. He wouldn’t miss a party.

Loren scans the crowd, fidgeting with her top. “We shouldn’t stay long.”

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks, looking around for a threat.

She shrugs. “Nothing. Just . . . not in the mood to party like that anymore. And . . . we don’t want Devonte wondering where

we’re at. He’ll be worried.”

“Oh. I told him we were here,” Vanessa says matter-of-factly.

Our necks snap in her direction.

“Seriously?”

She laughs. “What! I didn’t want to lie to him. That’d be hella wack.”

Vanessa turns, already mingling with a few girls I haven’t seen in our suite since Devonte’s arrival.

Loren tenses, eyeing the door.

“Don’t worry about it,” I urge, bumping her shoulder.

“But I do worry about it,” Loren whispers, looking sheepish.

“It’s just Devonte. He’s not gonna ground us until the middle of next week.”

Loren’s eyes narrow. “I know you think everyone’s being ridiculous. But his opinion of us matters to me. I’m surprised it

doesn’t matter to you just as much.”

In an instant, I sober up. Maybe I am coming off as a hater. I don’t want Loren to think I don’t believe in Devonte’s guidance,

that I’m disloyal, that I think differently than them.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Loren holds her breath until her shoulders sag. “Nah, I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. You’re right. Let’s just . . .

get a drink.”

“One drink,” I offer, cheerily. “Then we could go?”

She smiles, happy with that plan, and nods across the room at Vanessa, cuddled up with Kareem in the corner.

“That’s if you can drag her out of here.”

We laugh and make our way to the kitchen.

“Wait, I see Legacy. You go on. I want to holla at him for a second.”

I weave into the narrow kitchen, watching people searching for clean empty cups. On the counter is a giant cooler, with a

spout, squeezing out red punch.

That . . . does not seem safe.

I grab a fresh bottle of cranberry juice off the floor and pour myself half a cup. I don’t really need to drink tonight. I

don’t really need to drink at all, but holding a cup makes it easier to fit in.

In the middle of the crowded room, Nick is sandwiched between two girls, laughing and dancing. Most of the crowd is people from FUSA, and a few of his frat brothers. I stand back sipping my juice, trying to absorb the joy in the air. This is what I thought college would feel like, taste like. But since Devonte moved in, things have changed, a striking difference in a matter of a few weeks.

Loren and Legacy are still chatting, their faces serious. Legacy glimpses over at me, then back at Loren. She almost seems

annoyed.

What are they talking about?

Glass breaks behind me, pieces scattering around our feet. A few of us offer to help clean up, trying to be respectful of

the place. Not many students have off campus housing. I grab a trash bag, holding it open. Once done, I turn back to the party

and freeze.

Devonte is standing by the door.

In a split second, the world goes quiet. What’s he doing here? How long has he been watching? And where’s Kammy?

The crowd doesn’t notice him, just another body in a sea of bodies. But he’s the only person I can see.

We lock eyes across the room and my pulse begins to race. He swims in my direction, and as he nears, my spine goes rigid.

His scent, once so intoxicating, sends alarms throughout my entire body.

“Hey,” I sputter. “W-w-what are you doing here?”

“It’s a party,” he says, towering over me, seeming upbeat but his eyes are dangerous. Somehow, I know we’ll pay for this later on. Somehow, he’ll make us regret we ever stepped foot in this place.

As if reading my mind, he smiles. “Relax, sis. You’re allowed to make your own choices. You chose this, so I thought I’d join

you. You’ve been so busy with school lately. Don’t got much time for me.”

His smile is pleasant, but his tone reeks of sarcasm.

He leans an elbow against the counter, his legs crossed, eyes glued to mine. As if I am the only person in the world he wants

to talk to. Maybe I am.

“Your shoe is untied,” he says, grabbing my cup.

“Oh, thanks,” I mutter. I’m not used to wearing sneakers to parties. Well, Loren’s sneakers that I borrowed. I double knot

with shaky hands and pop back up. Devonte hands me the cup and I take a quick glimpse around the room, both searching for

an escape and wondering if the girls notice he’s here yet. But Loren is busy with Legacy, more like arguing. And Vanessa is

boo-ed up in the corner. Nick is still dancing in the middle of the living room with a bunch of girls from FUSA.

My eyes return to Devonte, who is staring at my lips.

“You know,” he starts, fingers touching the ends of my hair as he leans in closer. “Sometimes I look at you and I feel like

I know you. Like I’ve met you in another lifetime.”

At that moment, I stop breathing and focus on steadying my hand so my cup won’t spill.

“Really?”

He nods. “It’s your spirit, your energy. I know it. That’s how I knew so much about you. But there’s so much I think you’re

still holding back. Don’t you think we should explore that? Alone. Just you and me.”

Memories of tea and his voice in my ear make me quiver. Not sure if I could go through that again.

“I, uh, told you everything,” I say with a nervous laugh.

Devonte holds an expectant expression. “I knew you would say that. That’s why I—”

Voices rise above the music enough to distract us. I stand on tiptoes, peering over the crowd gathering as the party comes

to a halt.

In the middle of the room is Vanessa. Her cup empty and another girl wearing its contents on her face. She snatches the girl’s

braid with brutal force. Her face contorted in rage. They lump together, falling to the floor, a ball of braids, hair, and

limbs flying.

Everyone rushes to see the fight, the DJ on the mic trying to calm the party down. Legacy holds back Loren, seeming transfixed.

Devonte suddenly springs into action, crossing the room. He ropes an arm around Vanessa, lifting her as if she’s light as

a feather. This is the most attention I’ve ever seen him give his sister. The fastest I’ve seen him move. He’s stronger than

I imagined him to be.

As more people gather to watch, Nick strolls over to me, grinning.

“What are you doing back here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

I scoff. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Well, what’s a party without a little . . . punch?”

A laugh escapes my lips. “Oh brother.”

Nick looks over as the fight dies down, the crowd still circling. “That girl’s mouth wrote a check her ass can’t cash.”

I gape at him, stunned.

“What?”

“My grandma used to say that. And she was the oldest woman from the south that I knew. Where are you from?”

Nick runs his fingers through his hair. “Hey, who’s that guy you were talking to?” he asks, ignoring the question.

I didn’t think anyone noticed Devonte or maybe I was so busy being lost in him. “Why do you want to know? Jealous?”

Nick laughs. “No. I’ve seen him around. He’s a bit old for you, right?”

“Shut up,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.

Nick tips his nose down, grabs the cup in my hand, and takes a sip, licking his lips.

“Mmm. Thanks for the drink. I was thirsty.”

And with that, he walks off. I shake my head.

That boy is trouble.

Loren pushes her way to me, the music picking back up.

“What was that about?” I ask.

She shrugs, pouring herself a cup of cranberry juice. “That girl used to date Kareem, I guess. She was trying to . . . tell

him to leave Vanessa.”

“Why? She doesn’t even know her.”

Loren sighs. “Yeah. But she’s met Devonte.”

I notice the slight reservation in Loren’s tone. Maybe Devonte has a reputation around campus that I’m unaware of. They couldn’t

know him the way we do, of course. In the corner, Devonte and Vanessa are arguing, Kareem standing by awkwardly, eyes toggling

between them while Kerry makes her way to our spot in the kitchen.

“Damnnnn. I wasn’t expecting Vanessa to throw hands like that. She’s a beast. Who knew!”

Vanessa’s eyes are cold, unrecognizable, violent, still staring at her prey.

After a few people lighten the mood with some TikTok dances and ’90s R&B sing-alongs, the party is nearly back to normal,

more people piling in. If this was a club, the place would be at capacity. Loren, Kerry, and I hold down our spot, gossiping

about ratchetness happening in the other dorms. Pranks, love triangles, daily midnight fire alarms. I can’t help but crack

up at all the shenanigans.

Devonte continues to whisper in Vanessa’s ear, soothing and taming her, like a coach with an unhinged boxer. He rubs her arm one last time and turns, eyes landing on me. His mission is clear. He hasn’t forgotten he wants me alone. Maybe the same way he’s been alone with Kammy. My stomach plummets at the thought.

“Going to the bathroom,” I spit out to no one in particular, and slip toward the back, before he has a chance to make a move.

Heart racing, I rush down the hall, bumping right into Mercy.

“Hey!” I say, glancing behind me, wondering if Devonte will follow. Something tells me he doesn’t trust me the way I’m supposed

to trust him. I know what Loren and Vanessa said, but him and Kammy together is unsettling and . . . weird. Whatever counseling

he’s giving, I’m not ready for. Don’t think I’ll ever be ready for.

“Girl, what was I thinking coming out tonight,” Mercy says, fanning herself. “I have a whole paper due on Monday that I haven’t

even started. And it’s crazy hot in here. I’m about to dip.”

“Same,” I say, letting out a relieved laugh. “Plus, I don’t want to sweat out my hair.”

“Me too, girl! I still haven’t found a hairstylist I trust down here.”

“OMG! Me either.”

We cackle and it feels good to talk to someone about something normal. Vanessa’s, Loren’s, and Kammy’s chats have been hijacked

by Devonte’s sessions. He has us reading so many different books, I barely have time to fit actual schoolwork in. Maybe Mercy

can be another outlet, another friend I can rely on. But the thought instantly makes me feel like I’m cheating on my girls.

Brianna runs up to us. “Hey, y’all. Do you know where they put all the coats? The cops are probably gonna show up any minute. There’s too many of us up in here.”

“Think they in the bedroom over here,” Mercy says. “I just about opened every damn door looking for the bathroom.”

Brianna swats at the wall, clicking on the light to a large master bedroom, with a sliding glass door leading to a patio facing

the parking lot, and a four-poster bed, a mountain of jackets piled on top.

Brianna groans. “I knew I shouldn’t have given that girl my coat.”

Mercy climbs onto the bed, combing through the jackets, until something moves beneath them, like a worm under dirt, and she

scrambles off.

“What the fuck?”

“What is it ? A mouse?” Brianna cries, hopping in place.

A sneaker pokes out. Mixed in with the coats . . . is a body, lying face down in the middle of the bed. But not just any body . . .

I would recognize his blond hair anywhere.

“Nick?” I say, shaking his leg. “Come on, wake up. We need our coats.”

Mercy and Brianna bust out laughing. “Damn, White Boy Nick is White Boy Wasted!”

Nick doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch.

“Nick, this isn’t funny, come on!” I shake him harder, turning him onto his back. Nick’s mouth hangs open, eyes still shut

tight. I shake his shoulder, his skin sweaty.

“OMG! He’s out cold. Maybe we should find his roommate, brothers, or something?”

Brianna nods in agreement. But a sly smile spreads across Mercy’s face.

“Orrr . . . maybe we should check things out.”

I stand up, suddenly on guard. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, feigning innocence but eyeing his belt buckle. “I always wonder what white boys . . . you know, looked like.”

Brianna catches her meaning and cackles. “Girl, what? You bugging.”

“Oh, come on, you’re not a little bit curious to just . . . see it?” She wiggles her fingers in his direction.

Heat rises to my neck.

“He’s unconscious,” I point out. Though I can’t imagine he’d want girls touching him inappropriately either way.

“Girl, relax. We’re not raping him or nothing,” Mercy says.

The word makes me flinch. He can’t give consent. He can’t even fight them off. This isn’t right.

And if he was a girl . . .

Mercy reaches and I instinctually, block her way.

“Don’t touch him,” I spit, my voice low but firm.

Mercy recoils, the heat behind my words startling. But then, she regains her composure, and crosses her arms, neck rolling.

“Or what? What are you going to do?”

Brianna’s eyes toggle between us, the tension palpable.

“Girl, we’re just taking a sneak peek,” Brianna says, with a laugh. “It’s no big deal!”

My hands bunch into fists, my heart a racehorse. I may have to fight these girls off him. I’ve never fought anyone in my life and I probably won’t make it out unscathed. But there’s no way I’m letting them touch him.

Mercy must come to the same conclusion. She flips her hair, eyes rolling.

“Whatever,” she hisses, snatching a nearby jacket, and storms out of the room. Brianna throws me a confused glare.

“You trippin’,” she mumbles, combing through the pile. “It ain’t even that serious.”

She finds a blue tweed coat and slams the door behind her. It takes me five full seconds to release the breath I’ve been holding,

my muscles aching from the anticipation.

Quickly, I climb onto the bed, hovering over him.

“Nick. Wake up. Come on!”

I pat his face a few times, but he only stirs. How much did he have to drink?

I can’t do this alone. I need reinforcements. But as soon as I touch the bedroom doorknob, I remember who’s out there. Just

about everyone from student government. And Devonte.

Drool slides out the side of his mouth, noises gurgling up. By now, Mercy and Brianna have probably told people he’s back

here. He’s the president of Arts and Sciences. He has a code he has to follow, even off campus. And I know he’s interested

in another officer position. Word of mouth is everything. I can’t let them see him like this.

I run back to the bed, shaking him.

“Nick, what dorm are you in? We gotta get you out of here,” I say, pulling him to his feet, checking his pockets for a dorm fob. He must live off campus. He slumps into my arms, weighing a thousand pounds. I struggle to keep him up before looking over at the patio doors.

Me: Hey, not feeling well. Took a cab home.

Loren: What? Why didn’t you wait for me?

Me: Cause I had to 💩

Vanessa: Ew girl. Ok. We’ll take our time coming home then.

The cabdriver has a nasty attitude, but I don’t blame him. The last thing anyone wants is some drunken college students in

the back of their car.

But Nick doesn’t throw up. He leans against the door, his mouth ajar, and I check several times to see if he is still breathing.

I’m surprised the liquor slushing around his belly doesn’t run up his throat during the ride.

I pull Nick out of the cab, his legs more stable than when I pushed him off the patio. I’m able to maneuver him inside into

the elevators with few witnesses.

In the suite, Kammy’s door is closed but music hums through the walls. I quickly rush Nick into my room, dumping him on the

bed.

“Nick,” I whisper, with more pats to the face. But he’s out cold again.

This is ridiculous.

Exhaustion overwhelms me. I snatch the comforter and pillow off my bed, lie on the floor, and close my eyes.

The sound of jiggling metal wakes me. The room is still pitch-dark. Nick’s arm is draped over the side of the bed, unmoving.

I check if he’s breathing. He’s still unresponsive.

Jiggling again.

Light from the common area leaks through the sweep. Someone is standing in front of my door, their shadow stretching into

my room. The handle twists with a frustrated yank as if it was expected to be unlocked.

Maybe it’s Loren. Or Kammy. Maybe they need help. But one look at Nick, and I realize I would have a lot of explaining to

do.

I wiggle back into my makeshift bed, playing dead.

The doorknob pings back and forth, echoing in the silence. I want to cover my ears, tune out the frantic sound. Back and forth,

back and forth. Just when I think they may break it open, it stops.

The person walks away, slowly.