To push Tori along, I tried it from a different perspective. “So, Professor Brown wants a little known Black figure, as in person; not organization. So why don’t we go with the founder.” His name wasn’t coming to memory fast enough.
“Oh,” she hooted like an owl. “The author. George…”
“Jackson.” I finally recalled. “George Lester Jackson. Do you have his bio—the basics, like where and when he was born? What type of upbringing did he have? Did it consist of anything you could connect to his push for revolutionary work?”
Tori nodded again, convincing me she understood my guidance. “But I like the movement. He rose up against people who tried to keep him down. He didn’t give a single fuck.”
The conviction in her voice gave me pause. “Why does he inspire you?” I hated the seniority in my tone.
She shrugged again, exhaling. “I’m just feeling like it’s me against—” Her eyes skirted the small room “—everybody. Nothing wrong with learning about another underdog and bouncing your shoulders ‘cause of their victory.”
Victories? Dude was killed trying to escape.
Rubbing my eyes again with the bottom of my palms, I murmured. “Alright. Get those demographics on him and better articulated reasons why you’re selecting him, and we should be able to go from there.”
It was time to end this session. I was getting up with Aivery and the crew soon and needed to mentally prepare.
And wake the fuck up…
“Hey.” The mixture of softness and sincerity in her call grasped my attention acutely. “Do you know of any second-hand stores around here?”
“Like…consignment shops?”
Tori’s head bouncing in the air meant I had heard her correctly. “Yeah. One of those.”
“No.” I couldn’t point her to one anywhere on this green/blue earth. “Why?”
“I got myself into some bullshit with my big mouth.” She started packing up. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll figure it out.”
I gave it a mental shrug, not knowing what the hell she was mumbling about. In less than two minutes, Tori was out the door, leaving me a few minutes to decide if I’d close my eyes for a few minutes or suck it up and grab a cup of java.
“Yooooooo! I can’t wait for the iPhone to drop.” Dre shared while typing into his Blackberry. “It’s gonna take this shit out the game for a very long time.”
With Aivery curled under my arm in the lounge area of the cafeteria, we’d finished eating and were just sitting idly around at this point. Either we were people-watching or they were watching us. At this point, I didn’t know. It was stifling, but I remained…the hamster stuck on the wheel.
“Yeah. My cousin, who’s an executive at AT&T, saying it’s going to be a problem,” Al agreed. “They’re letting top execs play with it before their trainers. The trainers teach the store reps who sell the devices.”
ShawnNicole asked, “When’s it coming out?”
“Definitely next year,” Dre advised, twisting his hair, something he did unconsciously. “You know how shit gets pushed back, and pushed back, and pushed back.” He tossed his hand, demonstrating.
“Homecoming will be here before you know it,” Andrea added randomly.
“Mmhmmmm.” Aivery agreed with a contented sigh.
“You two should let me design your coordinating ensembles,” Andrea proposed, twisting a braid around her finger and smiling conspiratorially, using extra syrup.
So the mention of homecoming wasn’t random at all.
Sucking in a breath, Aivery sat up straight. “That would be so bomb!” Her wild eyes shot over to me. “Babe, wouldn’t that be amazing? I can think of a few colors we’d kill in.”
“Awesome!” Andrea shrilled excitedly, clapping her hands in victory.
“I didn’t say I’m with it,” I made clear.
“Well, you have to by Monday,” Andrea explained. “The specs have to be in as my first grade for the semester.”
“Please,” Aivery began to beg, tugging at my shirt while my attention was fixed straight ahead.
More than usual, since the semester began, I was not in the mood for acting. It was one thing to be in close proximity with Aivery to pretend we were still solid, but it was an entirely different matter to plan matching outfits.
Yet I’m here…
A senior quarterback of the most prestigious HBCU in the country, I had no personal time to take a shit. Between practices, working out, my obligations to the Panthers, and finishing up on my classes, time was a nonrefundable commodity. Still, I died a slow suicide by hanging out in the cafe’s lounge, doing…shit.
With Aivery’s best rendition of puppy eyes on me, I finally answered, “Getting custom clothes for an event we don’t even know we’d win doesn’t sound economical on any level.”
Her expression melted downcast. “You know we’re going to win, Ashton.”
“I don’t. Dre, over there, is peaking in popularity stock,” I informed, no matter how wild the reach was. “If he picks the right upperclassman to start dating, we could be wiped completely off our three-year winning streak.”
“Bwaaaah-ha-ha!” Aivery spat a mocking guffaw his way. “Bullshit. Dre could never! He barely made captain this year. Only because he hangs out with us.” She stuck her tongue out at him playfully to assuage the blow.
But it was not. Aivery was all about appearance and popularity. Her claws cut and killed.
“Ohhhhh!” Al choked on a laugh, needling Aivery’s jab.
Typically I’d join in, but this afternoon, the humor in it all missed me.
Dre’s crooked smile made me believe she may have possibly offended him. “‘S’all good. I always got next year when y’all gone.”
Aivery’s head swung up to me when she felt my body harden to stone. I didn’t acknowledge her, though.
When she needed something resembling a response from me, she continued. “It’s our last year, Ashton.”
“Isn’t Sherell due that weekend?”
Sherell was Aivery’s older sister who not only adored her, but was having twins. Aivery was expected to be there to welcome the babies into the world.
Aivery shrugged. “I can always arrange for a flight after the festivities—”
“Look at her,” Andrea hissed.
Within seconds, all of our eyes shot across the room. Mine immediately landed on tall firm legs, quickly ambling to the athletic counter to place an order. I wasn’t quite sure about Andrea’s subject, but my mood was further frustrated by, once again, noticing Tori McNabb.
“Look at her hair,” ShawnNicole noted. “I can do so much with it, instead of leaving that fucked up weave in.”
“She’s diseased. I wouldn’t go near her,” the derisory in Aivery’s voice twisted my gut.
“Nah. McNabb’s cool,” Al tried explaining.
“Word.” Dre agreed, snickering. “Strong as hell, too.”
“She looks it.” Andrea snorted, starting off a round of laughter from her and Aivery.
While there was familiarity to the energy of their humor, today it offended me. Cutting up and shooting the shit at others’ expense had always been a pastime for us. Why had it been an annoyance to me these past few weeks?