Free First Semester by Cecil Cross Page B

I could see his diamond-cut earrings and platinum-coated pendant hanging from the chain around his neck, gleaming, from where I stood. And I was at least forty yards away.
    â€œThat’s Downtown-D, our star quarterback,” Fats said. “His real name is Deiondre Harris.”
    â€œI know he ain’t a freshman,” I said. “What’s he doing up in here, blood?”
    â€œHe does what he wants to do, cuz.”
    â€œI saw the football team’s record from last year in the registration packet. They only won seven games. What’s all the commotion about?”
    â€œWe lost our first five games in a row because D was academically ineligible. Once he stepped in, we were undefeated for the rest of the season, cuz. He’s that real. I’ve seen him throw a football from where he’s sitting, damn near through the goalposts.”
    â€œThat fool is only sitting ten yards away from the goalposts,” I said, with a tinge of Haterade in my voice. “I could do that.”
    â€œNah, homie. I wasn’t talking about the goalposts he’s sitting in front of. I’m talking about the one on the other end of the football field. No joke, cuz. They did a special on that nigga on ESPN last week. He’s supposed to be the first player to ever come out of an HBCU and be one of the top ten picks in the NFL draft.”
    â€œLike that?” I asked. “I know he’s probably got all the breezies on lockdown, then, huh?”
    â€œLook at ’em,” he said, pointing to the flock of females hovering around the hulking, dark-skinned figure. “Got ’em lined up like little kids at the mall waiting to take a picture with Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.”
    Normally, I wouldn’t care about Downtown-D and his corny little fan club. But when I saw the girl I’d been eyeing all night intentionally walk toward the herd of groupies, I was hurt. I didn’t even know this girl’s name, but I felt some kind of connection to her. I wanted to say, “Where the hell you think you’re going?” but I would have been out of pocket. But the second I heard Tupac’s “I Get Around” blast through the huge speakers, I flipped my switch back to player mode. I popped my collar, and hit the end zone determined to dance with the first Coke bottle-shaped stallion that caught my eye.

CHAPTER 8
    THE CLASSROOM
    I f I had gotten up the first time the buzzer on my alarm clock sounded off, I would’ve been on time. But, as always, I sleepily reached my arm from my bed to my desk and felt around for the snooze button, without looking at the time. I needed at least five more minutes of sleep. I dozed off again. My slumber was interrupted by an eerie feeling that my little five-minute catnap had turned into a deep hibernation. I wiped the drool from the side of my mouth, smeared the sleep from the corner of my eyes with my knuckles and looked at the clock. My eyes widened. According to my clock, I’d been knocked out for a cool hour, and my class was starting in eight minutes. I hopped out of my bed so fast you would’ve thought my sheets were on fire. I grabbed my clock to investigate why the buzzer hadn’t gone off a second time. For a second, I thought that my brand-new alarm clock might be bootleg. But apparently, I’d inadvertently swiped the alarm switch to the off position while fumbling for the snooze button.
    I cursed under my breath, while looking through my closet for something to wear. Timothy’s bed was neatly made and his backpack was gone.
    â€œTimothy knows he could’ve woken me up,” I mumbled. “Now he got a nigga late to class.”
    My hands moved frantically about my closet. I knew that I had to hurry, but picking an outfit to wear on the first day of class was no rush job. I didn’t want to wear something that looked like I had just popped the tag, but I knew I had to come with something tight.