College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500) (3 page)

Troy just smiled, thinking that James had a case of jungle fever. He then strolled in the direction of the party.

“Where you going, homes?” James asked him.

“To the party. It's probably thick as hell by now,” Troy answered.

“Yup, it probably is,” James agreed, following. They both wore logo T-shirts and shorts. They entered the party and had to point out fellow Black students through the overflow of Whites.

“It ain't that many brothers at all at this school, just a bunch of White people,” James mentioned. “It's a whole lot of Oreos here, too.”

They walked though the crowds, both searching for pretty women. Troy was searching specifically for Blacks. James was searching for them all.

“Ay', Troy, I introduced myself to this one brother, and he sounded just like a White boy, homes,” James alluded. “I was like, ‘Hold up' and shit, you know? ‘Is homes a brother, or what?'”

James continued talking while Troy observed the sights.

“You know what else, homes? I was talking to this old-head, and he told me that most of the Blacks up here are in C.M.P.”

He finally got Troy's attention. “For real?” Troy asked him.

James's smile turned into laughter. “Yup, homes. I guess we just ain't smart enough to get into
this
school, besides them Oreos. And they might as well
be
White, to me. So they don't really count and shit.”

They chuckled as Troy agreed. “Yup, cuz. It was, like, thirty people in our C.M.P. advisory group today. Only two were White.”

While at the party, Troy observed, time and again, James getting turned down by White girls. Troy then spotted an entire crowd of Blacks. Finally! He approached them as James followed, practically begging to go to bed with someone's phone number in his pocket.

All their conversations went smoothly, and before the night was over, Troy had left the party with three phone numbers to James's four. All of Troy's numbers were from Black students. But James got a number from a White girl to break the tie in their contest. Troy told him that the White girl's number didn't count. Returning to his room at three o'clock in the morning, he found Simon still awake and listening to his radio through a pair of earphones.

“Hey Troy, how was the party?” Simon asked, taking off his earphones.

“It was cool, man. I met, like, ten girls and got three numbers,” Troy answered. “But yo, my boy Jay got flagged by, like, twenty white babes.”

Simon sat up in his bed. “Did he really?”

Troy smiled. “Naw, he just got flagged by, like, seven,” he responded, chuckling. “Damn, Sime, I didn't even think to buy some earphones.”

“Well you're welcome to use mine when I'm not using them,” Simon offered.

“Aw'ight, then, bet,” Troy told him.

They talked all night, getting better acquainted as the new day set in for scheduling and testing.

 

Troy caught the elevator down to the dormitory lobby in the morning and spotted Matthew walking out from the staircase.

“Yo, Mat, what's up, man? You're in the same building as me?”

“Yeah, I guess so. What floor you on?” Matthew asked him.

“The eighteenth.”

“Word? You way up that dip? I'm only on the third floor.”

“Yeah, cuz. But where was you at last night? I ain't see you at the party,” Troy quizzed.

“Oh, I knocked some boots last night, troop,” Matthew said in a low tone, as if it was a secret. He was loosely dressed again, with an extra long red T-shirt that covered half his blue shorts.

Troy grinned. “You workin' kind of fast up here, Mat. Was she good-lookin'?”

“Naw. She's kind of big, too,” Matthew answered.

Troy laughed. “You had a fat babe?”

Matthew giggled himself. “Yeah, but yo, don't tell nobody,” he whispered.

“Aw'ight, cuz, I gotchu. I'm just jokin', man. Ain't nothin' wrong with having a fat babe every now and then. It's probably good for you.”

 

After their second meeting with the C.M.P. counselor, everyone went their separate ways, except for Bruce, who followed Troy.

“Yo, Troy, where you goin', mayn?” Bruce asked.

“To my reading test in room three-fourteen.”

“Yeah, well I gotta go to another building,” Bruce informed him. Troy continued to walk as Bruce followed. “So, Troy, what y'all do last night?”

“Me and Jay was at that party,” Troy answered nonchalantly. He was not up for a discussion. He was thinking about a girl he had met.

“Yeah, well I was talking to my girl back at home last night,” Bruce told him.

“All night?” Troy asked, finally showing some enthusiasm.

“Yeah, mayn, she got me in love in do.”

Troy frowned, turning the corner of Mason Hall, located in the middle of campus. “Yeah, well you and your girl picked a hell of a time to fall the fuck in love,” he hinted.

Bruce chuckled again as Troy smiled.

“Troy, you's a funny-ass dude, mayn,” Bruce said as they parted ways.

“Aw'ight, Bruce,” Troy responded, still beaming about his comment. He entered room 314 and realized that he was the only Black student. He hoped that another melanin face would appear before things got started. However, the instructor wanted to set a friendly atmosphere, inquiring about the party.

“How'd you guys all like the party last night?” he asked.

One blond student, wearing black combat boots in eighty-five degree weather, spoke up first. “It was OK, I guess. But I didn't like that first group.”

The rest of the White students seemed to agree. “I know, 'cause I don't really like reggae music,” a platinum-haired girl added.

Troy thought the reggae band was best. The music had attracted more dancers. It had definite rhythm and tempo, and he could understand the words. The second group sounded like a bunch of noise to him. From the way the discussions were going, he expected it to be a long day.

As time neared to take the test, Troy's hope for more color faded. Seeing that he would be the only Black in the class, he felt lonely. The White students had their own conversations. He felt that maybe he wasn't trying to be friendly. So he decided to try.

“Excuse me, where did you get that bus schedule from?” he asked a neighboring brown-haired student. Not that he cared about the bus schedule. He just felt he could start a conversation through it.

“I beg your pardon?” the White lad queried.

“Never mind. Ta hell with it,” Troy snapped. He had always hated the words “I beg your pardon” because they made him feel like he was illiterate. Coming from inner-city Philadelphia, he simply wasn't used to the term.

 

Finishing the reading test in less than two hours, Troy followed some students to the cafeteria on the southeast side of campus near the freshmen dorms. It was his first college meal. The students waited in eight long lines. Troy got a tray, some napkins, and silverware to join in. But as the lines moved, he noticed Black students jumping in front of people they knew. He then spotted Matthew and decided to do the same.

“Yo, Mat, let me get up, man,” he said, smiling. He got up in front, expecting Matthew to give him the OK.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” Matthew said, making room.

After receiving their food, they moved on to the soda machines. Troy sat his tray down to fill his glasses. White students crowded in, reaching over his plate to fill up theirs before he was quite finished. With quick reflexes, he knocked their glasses from in front of his tray, warding them off.

“Yo, cuz, you better wait till I'm finished before you plan on reaching overtop of my food again,” he fretted. They stared at him as though
he
was in the wrong.

“Jeez! I'm sorry, man,” the perpetrator responded, hunching his shoulders in confusion. Troy backed out with his tray, turning to spot Matthew, who had chosen a seating area. Troy took note of how all of the Black students sat in one corner section in the back of the cafeteria.

“Why is everybody sitting way back here?” he asked.

“I'on know, man,” Matthew answered. “I just figured I'd sit where Black people were. Maybe everybody else did the same thing.” They chuckled and began to eat, checking out the sisters sitting nearby.

“It's some good-looking babes up here, cuz,” Troy commented.

Matthew grinned. “I know.”

“I'm gon' have to charm a few of 'em,” Troy said with a devilish smile. “But these White people are impolite as hell, cuz, leaning over my plate and all,” he added.

“Everybody does that here,” Matthew assumed.

“Do you do it?”

“No.” They giggled as Matthew continued. “But you can't get all worried about little stuff like that, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Troy said, brushing off Matthew's advice.

They soon finished lunch, traveling back to Mason Hall for the results of the placement exams, only to bump into James, who appeared to be coming from that direction already.

“Did y'all hear, homes?” James asked them.

“Hear what?” Matthew piped up.

Troy stuffed his hands inside his pockets and leaned up against a tree.

“Us three busted the placement tests. We can take other hard classes with the White people,” James answered. Troy still was uninterested.

Matthew got excited. “Yeah, so only us three passed, hunh?”

“Yup. The rest of them are still in them C.M.P. classes,” James informed them, snickering. Matthew smiled, but Troy frowned, standing upright.

“So how do you know this?” Matthew asked James.

James grimaced. “Damn, you ask a lot of questions, homes,” he said, jokingly. “I asked our counselor. What's her name again?”

“Ms. Whatley,” Troy said, finally joining in.

“Yeah, that's it. Ms. Whatley,” James repeated.

Troy turned to surveyed his surroundings. Swarms of students were passing by. “Well, since we all exempt, let's go register for our classes,” he said.

Matthew and James agreed, following Troy across Madison Avenue to the campus's west side. Inside the registration building they cut in the lines again.

“It's nice meeting you here, Clay,” Troy said. They all laughed, softly, to avoid the extra attention from the already angry students who waited patiently in line.

“Yeah, aw'ight, Troy, just don't make this a habit,” Clay said, smiling back.

Troy, Jay, and Matthew got in front of him. As the line moved, Troy spotted the executive-looking White woman and got nervous.

“Next,” she ordered from behind a computer desk. Troy stepped forward and took a seat. “Fill out your name, social security number, and complete your courses over at the desk,” the administrator said, pointing to a section of the registration room. It was packed with Whites. Seeing that, Troy decided, instead, to fill out his form near his friends. Taking about ten minutes to finish, he returned to the registrar to submit his course form.

“Check over your classes to see if everything is correct,” she told him. Troy did so, skipping information to quickly return the form to the woman. “Did you check all of your alpha codes?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yeah,” he told her with an attitude. She gave him a disapproving look. He captured it, and gave it back to her.

“OK. Thank you very much,” she responded, calling for the next student.

The four Black males all finished in a short time and walked out.

“Well, fellas, tomorrow starts a new day,” Clay announced with a glow. “Doesn't it, Troy?”

“Yup, man. It feels like starting over again, with a million White people and shit.”

They all laughed.

“I know what you mean,” Matthew said.

James shrugged. “At least we're here,” he commented. “This school is the shit.”

T
HE FIRST DAY OF CLASSES PRESENTED THE MOST HECTIC
crowds that Troy had ever witnessed in his life. Thousands of students traveled in a hundred different directions as he swiftly dodged and weaved through them. White students were extra clumsy, though. They kind of moved like trucks with no steering wheels, causing him to accidentally collide with several of them.

“Gosh, that guy just bumped all into me!” said a White girl dressed in an all-white nursing uniform. “Why doesn't he slow down or something?”

Troy, already late for his first class, decided not to waste more time with a rebuttal, even though he wanted to give her one.

Entering an auditorium that held five hundred students, he noticed Peter, the well-mannered, underhand-shooting, baby-faced, cream-colored boy. Wanting to join Peter in the front row but not wanting to ruin the class lecture, Troy ruled against it. He knew he would draw too much attention walking down thirty rows of seats in the middle of their first meeting. So he sat in the back, counting brown faces. Four, eight, thirteen, nineteen; twenty-two Black students out of an estimated total of 450. The small number of Blacks represented merely five percent of the student population.

Troy threw a friendly hand on Peter's shoulder after the lecture. “What's up, Pete? I ain't know you was in this class.”

“Oh, my man, Troy,” Peter responded, extending his hand for a shake. He was surprised to see him. “I heard that you, Jay, and Mat were exempt from taking the C.M.P. classes,” he mentioned.

“Who told you that?”

“Jay told me.”

Troy frowned as soon as he heard the name. “Yeah, that figures. But we still have to take that study skills class.”

They headed for the cafeteria, still dodging floods of White students, as it started to drizzle. Neither of them had carried an umbrella to class, so they hurried before it started to rain harder.

Inside the cafeteria, Black students continued to jump in line, angering White students, who dared not to speak on it. Troy and Peter followed the lead.

“Yo, what's up, boys?” Troy said, speaking to some new associates. He had met a lot of students over the past few days. “Oh yeah, Pete, if you need a haircut, I can hook you up, man,” he added, turning back and facing Peter. They moved to the Black section of the cafeteria in the back corner.

“I didn't know you cut hair,” Peter said. He patted how much his hair had grown since his last cut. “So you got a license?” he asked.

Troy shook his head and hastily swallowed his bite of turkey sandwich. “Naw, man. I just did it as a hustle around the way,” he answered. “I charge six dollars a head. I give some fresh-ass cuts, too.”

Peter suddenly raised his head to look over Troy's. “Ay', Troy, here comes Jay now,” he said.

James excitedly sat his tray down next to Troy. “Yo, homes, I got some sex last night from that sophomore girl,” he bragged.

Troy joined in with his own excitement. “Yeah, me too, cuz. I ended up bein' late for class this morning.”

Peter shook his head. “I don't believe you two are disrespecting our beautiful Black women like that,” he interjected.

James looked at Peter and laughed. “Where you grow up at, homes?” he asked, planning to make fun of him.

“Oh, I grew up in a nice home in a mixed neighborhood,” Peter answered reluctantly. He could sense a setup coming on.

“You mean you grew up wit' the White peoples,” James said, giggling.

Troy smiled, trying not to.

“Yeah, but it was a lot of Black people there, too,” Peter explained.

“Naw, homes, my family didn't move to the suburbs until I was sixteen, so I already had my Black identity,” James said. “Then my pop had gotten this big government job.”

“I'm still a Black man,” Peter snapped. “I know myself. I don't talk like no Oreo and I don't live in no suburbs. I just live in a nice area,” he responded to redeem himself.

“So did you get some sex up here yet, homes?” James requested. He smiled at Peter, preparing himself to laugh again.

“No. I met a few nice girls, but I wouldn't try to take them to bed so soon. I feel I would lose respect for them like that.”

James cracked up. “Yo, homes, I'm tellin' you now, this is college, and it ain't like they gon' wait around for you to get ready. You gotta act like you want some.”

“Dig, Pete, you can't come up here thinkin' these girls are all little princesses. You gon' get hurt like that,” Troy suggested. “So what you do is, you always try a girl first, then you see what happens and how she acts.”

Peter nodded as if he was planning to heed the advice.

“Yeah, 'cause a lot of these babes have boyfriends back home that they cheatin' on anyway. Don't they, Troy?” James asked, assuming.

Troy nodded and smiled. “Yup.”

James checked his watch and saw that he was running late for his next class. “Damn, I gotta get up out of here!” he wailed, grabbing his jacket and books. He left his tray on the table.

Peter and Troy finished their lunch soon after. They left the cafeteria after tossing their trays onto the dirty dish rack and walked through the freshman lobby.

Peter promptly recognized a friend he wanted Troy to meet.

“Hey Troy, I want you to meet my boy Doc. He's from here,” he said, leading Troy to him.

Doc was leaning against a soda machine, lighter-toned than Peter, with curly black hair. He was what some women would call a pretty boy.

“Doc, this is my boy Troy. And Troy, this is my boy Doc,” Peter said as Doc and Troy shook hands.

“I seen you up at the gym last night. You got a nice game,” Doc said.

Troy smiled at Doc's squeaky voice as he humbly agreed. “Yeah, man, practicing makes you talented. And the more you work, the better your results,” he commented. “But look, I got some work to do, so I'll catch y'all later,” he said, leaving Peter and Doc standing next to the soda machine.

“Ay', Pete, that's a strong-minded brother, man,” Doc said, watching Troy head for his dorm building.

Peter grinned. “I heard he's from a tough area. I figure he has to have a strong mind.”

Doc nodded. “So what building are you in, Pete?” he asked.

“I'm in Forrest Hall right now, but I'm trying to get transferred to a single room, over at Clayton.”

“You got a roommate?”

Peter laughed before answering. “Yo, man, your voice takes me out,” he said. “But I got three roommates. We're all pretty cool, though.”

“Yeah,” Doc responded blandly. He motioned toward a girl he knew. “Well, I'll get with you later, Pete,” he said, heading toward her.

Peter smiled. “Aw'ight, then, Doc.” He walked in the opposite direction, still beaming as he began to think about the classes, the responsibilities, and the freedom he had acquired in college. No more Mom and Dad telling him what to do. No more household chores or errands to run. No more curfews and third-degree questions. No more feeling mistreated. No more missing out on wild adventures. No more external discipline. Peter could finally do what
he
wanted to do.

He could finally have sex. He no longer had to wait for permission to go out. And he had no older brothers or sister to get on his nerves. He hated being the youngest and the most obedient anyway. His siblings had gotten away with murder.

“I used to steal dad's car late at night, but don't
you
do that,” his oldest brother told him.

“I remember Mom and Dad told me not to go to Bermuda, and I did anyway. I had the greatest time of my life there,” his sister had said. “Mom and Dad felt that girls shouldn't travel without an escort. But
you
should listen to them, 'cause they know best.”

“Yeah, Pete, I used to sneak this girl in the house all the time, but you really should wait to get married before you have sex,” his other brother suggested.

Each story made Peter feel like an idiot for obeying. But in college he was on his own and ready for the world.

 

Entering his crowded room, shared with three White roommates, on the northwest side of campus near Henry Road, Peter was shocked to see three tipsy White girls straddled across his neatly made bed. His roommates were listening to extra loud rock music, eating popcorn, munching chips, and drinking sodas.

“How the hell are you, Petey? Join our fuckin' party, man!” one roommate loudly offered.

Peter could barely hear him over the blasting rock music. “Naw, that's quite all right,” he said, suppressing his anger with a tolerant smile. He stood over the party girls, who remained on his bed. He expected them to depart from his new college property. Yet they eyeballed him as if he was an intruder, and didn't budge.

“Oh, you guys, this is Petey,” another roommate said to the girls.

Peter glanced toward the gang of White guys and girls wildly dancing on the other side of the room. Arms, legs, hair, and shoulders were flailing about with no specific rhythm.

“You don't mind us sitting on your bed, do ya?” one of the party girls asked, staring with large gray eyes.

Peter couldn't believe his eyes and ears. He found himself exerting more energy to remain calm as he looked around at the mess they had made. “I'd rather you sat on one of their beds,” he said to her.

“Yeah, OK then,” she responded sourly. “I mean, we're not harming your bed, but if you feel that way about it, we'll move. OK?”

The rest of the group paid Peter no mind. He then decided to call Troy on their dorm phone.

Brrrloop … brrrloop … brrrloop.

“Answer the damn phone, Simon!” Troy shouted from his desk. He was reading over some homework.

“All right already. You don't have to scream,” Simon said, taking off his earphones. He got up to answer the phone as they smiled at each other. “Hello,” he answered. A siren of rock music served as Peter's noisy background. “Jesus Christ! Is there a party over there or something?” Simon hollered through the phone. Troy looked on, waiting to be given the word.

“It's for you, Troy,” Simon said.

“Yo, it's Troy,” he answered.

“Yo, man, can you sign me in?” Peter yelled.

“Aw'ight. But what's all that noise over there?” Troy asked, straining to hear him.

“I'll tell you about it when I get over there.”

After waiting thirty minutes, Troy went down into the lobby area to find Peter calling his room again from the lobby phone.

“Yo, Pete, I'm right here, cuz,” Troy said, walking over to the desk to sign him in. “So what's going on in your room?”

“Oh, ah, my roommates are having a party,” Peter answered nonchalantly. He didn't want to talk about it.

They took the elevator, not saying a word as Troy thought the worst of Peter's situation. He got three White roommates, Troy thought to himself. He introduced Peter to Simon as soon as they entered his room. “Simon, this is my boy Peter.”

“How are ya?” Simon said as the two shook hands. “So what's all that racket in your room?”

“My roommates are having a party, that's all.”

“Well kick them the hell out, man! Ta hell with that!” Simon shouted.

Troy and Simon chuckled.

Peter smiled and straightened. “Naw, you know, sometimes you gotta let things slide to avoid a lot of dumb stuff,” he said.

Simon frowned and shook his head. “Hell no, man, you can't let shit slide. They'll walk all over ya. You gotta make your stand right away. Then people won't even try you.”

Troy was proud to hear his roommate express such a statement.

Simon continued: “Look, Peter, I have this friend back home who let his girl get away with all kinds of stuff. She sold the charm he bought her on her birthday. She stole his jacket one time 'cause he wouldn't let her hold it. She slept around on him. Then, to top it off, she got pregnant by another guy and tried to get my boy to pay for the abortion. That's when he finally let her go. But I told him he should have gotten rid of that tramp a long time ago.”

Peter nodded again once Simon had completed his story. Peter nodded his head frequently, yet he seldom agreed with anyone. He felt it was time to make his
own
decisions.

 

Friday night, Troy, James, and Peter were all hyped and ready for a party. They had all gotten fresh haircuts and were neatly dressed, eagerly anticipating the first Black event of their freshman year.

“Yo, Troy, you ain't no joke, homes! You really do give a bumpin'-ass haircut,” James said, looking into the mirror. He was rubbing his goatee again. It had just been trimmed.

“Yeah, it is a nice job,” Peter commented.

“Nice job. Is that what you said, homes?” James asked him.

Peter smiled as he glanced into the mirror at his own haircut. He planned on ignoring all of James's downgrading. James, however, didn't plan to bother him. He gave his attention back to Troy.

“I still can't believe you cut your own hair that good.”

“Practice makes perfect, cuz. Nobody goes to the barbershop around my way; they all come to me. So I stayed paid.”

“You gon' get a lot of customers up here, too, homes.”

“Yeah, I know. I'm like my own private businessman already.”

James pulled a beer out of his bag. He had snuck a six-pack into the dorms, since restrictions were placed on minors and reinforced as school policy. “You want one, Troy?” he asked, pulling another from his book bag before Troy could answer.

“Yeah, throw me two,” Troy answered.

James grinned as Peter got nervous. “You tryin' to get drunk, homes?” James asked Troy while glancing at Peter.

Troy smiled. “Yeah. You got the best game for women when you're drunk,” he said.

Peter looked away. He wanted to avoid even the sight of beer.