Next Semester by Cecil R. Cross Page B

pleasure meeting you, Lamont, ” Dex said. “Who invited you to the party?”
    “Well, we heard about the party…”
    “Who is we?” Dex asked.
    “Me and my boy, J.D.”
    “Who?”
    “James Dawson,” I said, extending my hand. “This party is turned up, blood. It’s crackin’ in here!”
    “Turned up,” he repeated. “Crackin’. You must be from the West Coast. Where you from?”
    “The Town,” I said.
    “Oh, Oakland, huh? Okay. I’m from L.A.”
    “That’s what’s up,” I said.
    “So who invited y’all, again?”
    “Nobody really,” Fresh said. “To keep it one hundred with you, Dex, we just kinda came.”
    “Why?” Dex asked.
    “We heard a lot of good things about your organization, and we were interested in learning more,” Fresh said.
    “Oh, so y’all are interested, huh?” Dex asked obnoxiously loud so the other guys standing around could hear him. A couple of them peered over his shoulder to get a look at us. “Stick around for the after-party.”
    Something about the way Dex said that and walked off left me with an eerie feeling. Besides, I thought this was the after-party. I jabbed Fresh in his ribs with my elbow.
    “How you gon’ volunteer me for pledging a fraternity? ” I asked. “That’s not something you do!”
    “It’s not pledging,” he said. “It’s not like we’re on line or anything. I just let Dex know that we were interested. Worst-case scenario, we might do a little prepledging, but nothing too serious.”
    “ Pre pledging? Are you serious right now, blood? I’m not even sure if I wanna pledge….”
    “Ssssshhhhh!” Fresh hissed, placing his finger over his lips. “Keep your voice down, joe.”
    “Oh, yeah,” I said, whispering. “I’m not even sure if I want to pledge once, let alone twice!”
    “It’s not what you think,” Fresh said, pulling me in the back hallway. “The Kappas only bring out new lines once a year, in the fall. So it’s not like we’re gonna have to do too much this semester.”
    “Look, I’m not saying I don’t want to get down,” I said. “But if they’re not bringing out a line until the fall, what’s the point of doing anything this semester?”
    “It’s the only way we’ll even have a chance of getting on the line in the fall!” Fresh said. “Do you know how many niggaz show up to try to get in this frat? Hundreds! And they never have a line over ten. So you do the math on that. The shit is rigged, joe. Prepledging is the only way in.”
    My eyelids were getting heavy. I looked at my watch again. It was almost four in the morning.
    “That’s cool,” I said. “But on some real shit, I ain’t feelin’ sticking around for no after-party, blood. I’m hella tired. The first day of class starts in a couple hours. I gotta go.”
    The second I said that, the music stopped and someone cut the lights on. The DJ thanked everyone for coming out, and people started to file out. Fresh leaned up against the wall, staring me down. He was determined to stay. I had a different agenda. I was on academic probation. I had more at stake and I didn’t want to get the semester started on the wrong foot. I decided to try to mix in with the crowd and discreetly duck out. I made it all the way to the porch and thought I was scot-free when I heard someone call me.
    “What’s crackin’, West Coast?” someone hollered out.
    I kept walking as if the question wasn’t directed at me, knowing good and well I was likely the only person from the West Coast leaving the party.
    “Yo!” the guy yelled. “I thought you were gonna stick around for the after-party, James. ”
    I was hoping he hadn’t remembered my name. I could’ve just kept on walking and pretended I didn’t know he was talking to me. But there was no getting out of this. Now, I had to face the music. Either turn around and tell him that my sleep was more important than their after-party and ruin any chance I’d ever have of getting in, or…
    “Hey,” I