Free First Semester by Cecil Cross Page A

to a dirty South vibe and played “Yeah” by Usher, Lil Jon and Ludacris. Fresh and Lawry trailed me until their songs came on.
    When the DJ flipped the script to Chi-town flavor and played R. Kelly’s “Step in the Name of Love,” I noticed a large crowd form a circle around two people. In the O, whenever people were crowded in a circle like that, two people were in the middle fighting. I pushed and shoved my way to the inner ring of the circle and couldn’t believe what I saw. It was Mr. I’m-so-pretty-I-carry-a-brush-in-my-back-pocket—Fresh, doing a dance everyone called “Steppin’.” I’d seen it on the videos, but never before in person. His feet moved in perfect sequence with the girl he was dancing with. And she was a shapely, chocolate stallion, with wavy hair that bounced off her shoulders every time she turned her head. When R. Kelly said spin, Fresh held her by her hand, spun her around, then spun himself, still shuffling his feet fluidly. It looked like they had practiced this routine before or something. I overheard a girl who must’ve been from Chicago talking to her friend. She said, “Ooh, he’s juking, girl. That’s how we do it in the Chi!”
    At that point, I realized why he’d earned the nickname Fresh.
    I stepped away from the chaos to grab some H 2 O from the student government–run concession stand on the sideline. I’d just paid for my Dasani when I saw her. My heart skipped a beat or three. It was the badass O.G. who’d given me my registration packet. Her face looked like Vivica Fox. Her eyes were as seductive as Lisa Raye’s. She had a small waist, but the junk in her trunk looked soft enough to use as a pillow. I’d seen some superbad breezies in the Bay, but this was the most beautiful female I’d ever seen in my life. I had to find out her name. I knew I had to make my move, but I was having a hard time thinking of the right thing to say. Usually my game was tight, but for some reason this breezy had my head gone. All I could do was stare.
    â€œShe does the same thing to me too, cuz,” I heard someone say.
    I turned to my left. It was Fats.
    â€œWhat up, family?” I said, dapping him up.
    He was wearing a navy-blue L.A. Dodgers T-shirt, some blue Dickies that looked like the same ones he’d just worn the other day and a pair of navy-blue Converse sneakers.
    â€œI thought this was for freshmen,” I said. “How did you get up in here, blood?”
    â€œYou know the University of Atlanta motto, right?”
    â€œNah, blood. What’s that?”
    â€œFind a way or make one.”
    â€œI can dig it.”
    I turned my head back toward my future wife, but she had disappeared. I cursed under my breath. Just as I contemplated hunting her down, she reappeared. She was standing with the orientation guides. A couple of them were wearing their O.G. T-shirts. But a couple of the cuter ones wore pink and green Alpha Pi Alpha sorority jackets. She was one of them. Her jacket had her line name, Overdose, written on the back. At that moment, I was feigning for a hit. I saw her look in my direction. I gave my lips an LL Cool J lick for sex appeal. Just when I thought I’d caught her eye, her head started turning slowly in the other direction. She was looking at someone. I surveyed the crowd and noticed all of the fine girls doing the same thing. Did they know something, or someone, I didn’t? I saw her whisper in her soror’s ear, then point in the direction everyone else was looking. I spotted the figure everyone was looking at, but couldn’t make out who it was because of the large crowd around him.
    â€œWhat’s everybody looking at, blood?” I asked.
    Before Fats could open his mouth, I saw for myself. Some cat wearing a U of A football jersey with Number One on the front perched himself on top of a statue of a panther, which was just past the goalposts.