Free Pretty Girls in the Vip (9781617730283) by Daaimah S. Poole

broke.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with it?”
    â€œMy nephews did something to it. I think it has a virus or something.”
    â€œWow, that’s messed up.”
    â€œYeah, it is, but it’s done and I know they didn’t mean to do it. Well, I’m having breakfast and then going to class. I’ll call you later.”
    â€œYou are always busy. Every time I talk to you, you’re in school or getting ready for school, or studying for a test.”
    â€œI have classes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday all day. So call me on Tuesday or Thursday.”
    â€œWhat are you doing this weekend?”
    â€œI don’t know. My sister and nephews are going to take me out maybe later on. Other than that, I’m not doing anything.”
    â€œYou should come and visit me.”
    â€œI can’t until like spring break. Yeah, spring break I will definitely come.”
    â€œDo you promise, Zakiya?”
    â€œYes, I promise.” I said anything to get him off the phone. I think I knew if I saw him it wouldn’t be as easy to resist and say no to him.
    â€œAll right, well, I’ll talk to you. Enjoy your birthday.”
    â€œI will. Thanks, Jabril.”
    Â 
    I made it to class right as my instructor was writing problems on the board, which no one was copying. I must have been the only person in class who actually was there to learn something. Everyone else was there just taking up space. That’s what I hated about community college. Some of the students were people who were in search of higher learning and wanted a cheap quality education like me, but then we were forced to learn with the thirteenth graders whose parents gave them ultimatums: go to college or get out.
    One girl was sitting in class texting and another guy had headphones up all loud with his hood on his head. Why bother even coming to class? I thought.
    The professor began explaining our lesson and I was so lost. I looked in the book and back at the board, but it wasn’t making any sense.
    I raised my hand and asked him to explain it again. Usually, things came easy to me. But for this math, I needed a tutor to help me understand. He ran back through the problem fast and I still didn’t catch up. So when he turned and asked if I got it, I just responded with a head nod.
    After class I tried to wait in line to talk to Professor Langer. I didn’t want to be late for work, but I had just sat for an hour and was still clueless. By the time I reached his desk, he was packing his briefcase.
    â€œHi, I was wondering how I can get extra help in this class.”
    â€œThey have tutoring in the library and I have office hours.”
    â€œDo you have any time today?”
    â€œNo, I’m sorry, I have another class. I can’t discuss this with you right now. You can e-mail me.”
    I thanked him and gathered my belongings. Exiting the classroom, I heard a little commotion. I walked around the growing crowd until I saw Jabril standing there with three guys in tuxedos. Each man was holding a dozen red and white roses. Before I could react to Jabril or seeing the flowers, the men handed me the flowers and began to sing Stevie Wonder’s soulful, a cappella version of “Happy Birthday.” I stood still with my hand over my mouth in shock. Jabril came over and hugged me tightly as the men continued to sing in harmony. Tears dripped down my face. I hid my face in Jabril’s side as he comforted me.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I mumbled.
    â€œI had to come and say happy birthday to my favorite girl.” I couldn’t believe Jabril was right beside me. I hung on to him, so happy, but also mortified that he had made this big spectacle at my school. I couldn’t believe that he’d shown up on the day I decided to rock a hoodie and jeans to school. Students were snapping pictures on their phones and recording us. Then those who weren’t taking pictures were asking Jabril