Free First Semester by Cecil Cross

straight.”
    Although I didn’t get a good look at her face, even through her sweats I could tell she had a fatty. I just shook my head and smiled as I opened my door. By the time I made it inside my room, my roommate was already knocked out, snoring obnoxiously loud. Aside from that, going from my queen-size bed back at home, to this twin-size cot wasn’t an easy adjustment to make. I had a hard time falling asleep.

CHAPTER 7
    OLIVE BRANCH
    N o pep talk or warning could have prepared me for what I saw. When we walked into the Panther Stadium my eyes damn near popped out of their sockets. There were thousands of people—mostly females—bumping and grinding in the end zone on the far end of the field. Everyone was told to walk along the track that circled the football field to get to the other side, but I felt like breaking into an all-out sprint down the sideline. To describe the way I felt at that moment as culture shock would be an understatement. I was overwhelmed.
    When we made it to the end zone, I felt like doing a touchdown celebration dance. I’d been to clubs, house parties and school dances in Oakland before, but I’d never in my life seen that many black people in the same place at the same time without fighting. I was in awe.
    â€œClose your mouth, shawty,” Lawry said. “Welcome to the A! This is how we get down!”
    I tried to keep my composure, but I was on the verge of losing it. Every time I took a step, I was surrounded by ten different females, and their differences were as beautiful as Oprah Winfrey’s bank statement. Their skin tones ranged from piano-key ebony to that of a sandy beach. Some of the girls had their hair styled short like Halle Berry, while some rocked braids, and others’ fell past their shoulders. The facial ratings scaled from “She must look like her dad”—threes—to “What part of heaven are you from?”—tens. I was paralyzed. I could see that Fresh and Lawry had fallen under the same hypnotic spell. None of us could move. A girl walked by us wearing some see-through nylon shorts that looked like panties. She had her T-shirt tied up in a knot on her side, and was wearing some red six-inch heels. All of our heads turned simultaneously, like she had an invisible string tied from her ass to all of our necks. My mouth watered.
    â€œDamn, blood, she got a watermelon booty,” I said.
    â€œRight, joe,” Fresh said in approval. “Big and juicy. Just right for a playa like me.”
    Lawry made a bold move. He reached out to grab her hand and caught her wrist. She turned around and looked at him like he had run over her foot with his car, until he let go. It didn’t take long.
    â€œDamn, shawty, these girls bourgeois as hell,” Lawry said, looking like he got caught digging in his nose. I could tell he was embarrassed. But I’m sure he didn’t care. There were so many dimes in this party, a nigga could strike out ten times in a row and still be in the game.
    The DJ played East Coast rap for at least a half hour straight. I wasn’t really feeling that theme, so I walked around peeping the scenery. When I tried to call Todd on his cell phone to let him know what he was missing, he answered but said he couldn’t hear me because the music was too loud. All I could do was shake my head as I looked around. There were so many different people from so many places, doing so many dances I’d never seen in my life. I saw a few girls doing the Harlem Shake to one of P. Diddy’s songs. I saw Dub-B grinding on a petite light-skinned girl with her long hair braided like Alicia Keys. Although he looked like he was concentrating, he was surprisingly on beat. I thought the white dude would have two left feet, but he didn’t miss a step as the two grooved to a G-Unit cut.
    Just when I thought the party couldn’t get any better, the DJ took it to the next level, when he switcZhed