Ten

I had two days to pack up my belongings and move out of my room. All of my paperwork would be taken care of and my transcripts would be available with midterm grades posted but “incompletes” for final grades.

“Well, at least you’re keeping your A in Thomas’s class,” Deshawn had said.

“I’ll still help you with the project,” I promised. “I can still do the legwork and the research with you. It’ll just be your presentation and your grade now.” I felt horrible leaving him high and dry, and besides, what was I going to do with all my extra time now?

“Let’s just worry about getting all this done,” he said as he taped another box shut. “Then, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We can’t wait too long,” I said. “Your project’s due soon.”

Deshawn stopped packing and came over to me. He took the sweater I was folding out of my hands and gently placed it on the bed where more clothes were piled. He put his hands on my shoulders, turning my body toward him.

“Don’t worry about the project,” he said softly. “We have bigger concerns right now, and your future is way more important than one Ethnic Lit presentation.”

His gentleness and concern warmed me. I wrapped my arms around him, allowing myself to feel the comfort seep into my body and soul. My head rested against his strong, capable chest, and for the first time in days, I felt a sense of stability, like the ground underneath me would actually hold instead of crumble away. At least for a while.

“Now that’s a lovely picture,” a voice said from the doorway. “It’s times like these I wish I were a photography major. It’d be great to walk around with a camera, capturing tender moments like this one, wouldn’t it?”

“Tony.” I nearly spat the word and I could feel both my body and Deshawn’s body tense at Tony’s presence.

“Word on the street is that you’re leaving,” he said, entering the room as if invited. He picked up a book of poetry from my desk and turned it over in his hands. “Is that true?”

“Why you…” Deshawn began to move toward him, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“Don’t,” I told Deshawn. “It’s not worth both of us getting kicked out.” I wasn’t sure what Deshawn might be capable of given his intense and long-standing hatred of the other man.

“So, you’re leaving,” Tony repeated, his blue eyes staring at me coldly.

“Just like you wanted,” I said.

“Me? I wanted no such thing,” he remarked, moving toward me slowly. “You mistake me. If there was anything I wanted, it was for you to stay… with me.” He reached out and ran the back of his hand across my cheek. “It was you who had other plans.” His eyes cut to Deshawn, then back to me. “I just wish I’d have known what a slut you were before I let my heart get involved.”

As quick as a flash, Deshawn had Tony by the throat and was moving him across the room to the nearest wall.

“Don’t you ever…” Deshawn began, but Tony put up his hands and I scrambled to pull Deshawn off of him.

“Deshawn, don’t. Please!” I begged as Tony repeated, “Easy, easy, easy,” and managed a snort of laughter once Deshawn’s hands were off of him.

“He’s not worth it,” I said.

“He needs to pay,” Deshawn muttered, his teeth clamped.

“Is that a threat?” Tony asked. “Because it sounded like a threat.”

“You know what you did,” Deshawn answered. “And one day, you’ll pay. All of this will catch up to you, Tony. No one is lucky for a lifetime.”

Tony smiled sarcastically. “That’s just your experience,” he remarked. “Or rather your brother’s.”

The next thing I knew, Deshawn has Tony by the throat again and had thrown him onto the bed, my small neat stacks of clothes tumbling to the floor. I put myself between the bed and Deshawn, begging him to calm down, to not let Tony get the best of him.

“Get out!” Deshawn instructed Tony. “And stay away from us both.”

“As you wish,” Tony mumbled, but as he rose from the bed, he caught my wrist and pulled me toward him. He smashed his lips against mine, and I felt his tongue force its way into my mouth. I pushed away from him, my hand wiping away his kiss as soon as I could manage.

“Just getting one last good-luck kiss,” he grinned. “After all, you’ve brought me quite a bit of good luck so far.”

He turned and strutted out the door. Deshawn let out a string of curse words after him.

“That little shit is gonna fry,” he said. “He’s gotten away with this junk for too long. Surely Karma is ready to make him pay.”

“It’s not for us to say,” I mumbled, still trembling from the encounter. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold.

“Don’t tell me you’re not going to do what you can to bring justice to yourself and to him,” Deshawn said, spinning on me.

“I don’t know if it’s even worth it,” I sighed. “I have nothing to prove he planted that stuff, and my character has been maligned since everyone saw me with him.”

“Yeah, him, the known dealer on campus.”

“Known only by hearsay. Nothing has ever been found on him. No charge has ever stuck to him. He’s smart, Deshawn. It’s time we admitted that he knows what he’s doing and how to play the game. Hell, I barely even knew the game existed. I’m so out of my league here.”

I moved back home, back into the room it felt like I’d just left. All my freedoms, all my independence was gone the moment I stepped into that door.

“Janice,” I heard my mother call from downstairs. “Dinner.”

I sighed and heaved myself up from my bed. I had no appetite, but there were rules in this house: if a family dinner is planned, then all must attend.

I padded down the large marble staircase and headed toward the dining room, the sound of another voice catching my ear just as I turned and saw my father and his lawyer seated at the table.

“Janice, you remember Mr. Poindexter, don’t you?” my father said in way of greeting.

“Yes, sir. Hello, Mr. Poindexter. How are you?” I felt myself go into the dutiful doll mode, years of training and prepping from my parents kicking in.

“I’m doing fine. I’m sorry for the unpleasantness that brings me here, Janice,” he said, his face deadpan.

I wanted to shoot back, “You’re sorry?!” or mock him for his word choice: “Unpleasantness?!” My life was ruined. My school had expelled me, and I was out on bail. I hadn’t even hit the ripe old age of twenty, and he wanted to deem this all mere unpleasantness.

I steadied myself and tried to swallow back my anger. “Thanks for taking my case,” I said softly.

“Well, your father and I have been friends for a long time. He’s helped me when I’ve needed it; it’s the least I could do for you all.”

My mother entered with a perfectly cooked pot roast and potatoes. To an outsider, we looked like the perfect American family.

I took my place at my mother’s side, across the table from Mr. Poindexter. He asked me questions throughout dinner: had I ever had trouble with campus security? Were there people, students and professors alike, who could vouch for me?

“We need to establish good character,” he told me. I began listing people who could speak on my behalf, including Deshawn, Kate, and a few professors I felt I’d made connections with.

“What are my chances here, Mr. Poindexter?” I asked him. I wanted straight answers and straight talk.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you, Janice. Possession is nine tenths of the law, and in this case, what was in your possession was a dangerous amount. I’m not one hundred percent certain that we’ll even use your roommate, but you might need to tell her to contact her own lawyer. Since the room was shared by her, the university could decide it only fair to treat her the same. Of course, it was under your mattress and not hers so it bears more heavily on you.”

“Of course,” I repeated absentmindedly. I could easily end this by giving up Tony, but since I’d moved home, there’d been emails sent from random email addresses I couldn’t trace back, text messages from weird phone numbers. All telling me “good luck” and reminding me to “do the right thing”. I was obviously horrible at reading people; I had completely misread Tony, and knowing that now, I was more afraid that I was completely underestimating him and what he was capable of.

“The fact that you have a clean record will help. The character witnesses will help. You’re a good student who has rarely been seen with a beer in her hand; that will help. The other things that will help is for you to provide me a list of people you may have crossed; people who would want to do something to get revenge. We can do a little digging and expose some backgrounds there, too.”

“That’s just it, Mr. Poindexter,” I said as I forced myself to swallow a small bite of pot roast. “I don’t have any enemies that I know of. Just…”

“No girls who think you’ve stolen their boyfriends? No competitions you’ve won over other people? It can be even the most insignificant thing nowadays, Janice. You just keep thinking. You may come up with someone you slighted, even though at the time you had no clue you were harming them.”

“There’s this one guy,” I began, the image of Tony and his evil smile hanging onto my memory tenaciously.

Everyone looked at me, waiting. Finally, Mr. Poindexter said, “What guy?”

I swallowed, bile instead of pot roast this time. I looked to my dad and back to the attorney. “Tony Fa—”

Dad smacked the table so hard it made me jump. “You’re going to blame Tony? That nice boy I met?” He stood, threw his napkin on the table. “I’m ashamed of you, pointing fingers. Why are you blaming him? Because he believes how I believe? Is that it?”

“I…”

“Don’t ”I” me, young lady. It’s time for you to take responsibility for your actions.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

I was frozen in my chair, the roast turning into rocks in my stomach. “May I be excused?”

“Certainly, dear,” my mother said, stroking my long hair before I rose from my seat.

“Hang in there, kid,” Mr. Poindexter said as I reached to shake his hand. “We’ll figure it all out.”

He sounded so confident. I wished I could feel some of that for myself.

As soon as I was upstairs and had shut my door, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts, looking for Deshawn’s number.

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” I said when I heard his voice and then repeated the scene from downstairs, barely able to get it out. The tears sprang to my eyes, and I thought of the strength his chest had provided for me at one time.

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Deshawn said. “I know. I’ve seen you debate in class, and I can sense it within you. What did your lawyer say?”

“He tells me not to worry, but keeps saying how much easier it would be if we could find who did it, but no one will believe me.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

I sighed and threw myself back onto my bed. “I just wish I knew what to do. I wish I had someone to talk to that wasn’t connected to my folks, ya know? I mean, anything I ask Mr. Poindexter, it’s going straight to my dad. Even in spite of confidentiality. Friendship trumps that every time.”

Deshawn was quiet for a few beats.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“I might know someone,” he said. “It’s a bit of a long shot. I haven’t spoken to the guy since… well, in a long time.”

“Who is it? Is he legit?”

“Let me see if I can track him down,” he said, and I heard the slightest hint of hope in his voice. “I’ll get back to you soon. You gonna be up for a while?”

I snorted into the phone. “Like I can sleep these days.”

“Okay. I promise I’ll call you. It might be late, but I’ll call. Okay?”

I smiled. The only thing that seemed to be going right was whatever this was with Deshawn. “I wish I could see you,” I whispered.

“Soon,” he said. “Now let me see if I can get this guy.”

“Okay.” And the line went dead.

I stared at the phone in my hands for a few seconds, picturing Deshawn’s face—his bright eyes rimmed with those long eye lashes, his white, even teeth when he smiled contrasting his dark skin.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts, and I beckoned the knocker to come in.

My father entered, pulled the chair away from my desk and toward the bed where I sat, and lowered himself into it. He cleared his throat.

“David’s doing us a great service representing you,” he began, “especially on such short notice. He has a waiting list of clients as long as the state of California.”

I smiled my most modest smile, though inside I felt myself beginning to boil. How dare my father come make me feel guilty for things I didn’t do. For siding with someone he doesn’t know.

“I do appreciate it, and I’ll make sure I tell him so.” Placate and move on.

“His reputation will precede him,” he continued. “Yours remains to be established. Whoever you think you are, you are nothing until the people in that courtroom create you. That’s important for you to remember.”

I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate. I’d never seen or heard my dad like this: he seemed so cruel, so bound and determined to believe I was capable of this, so ready to condemn me. I might as well tell him everything I’d been holding back. I had nothing to lose, couldn’t sink any lower than I already was in his eyes.

“Speaking of reputations,” I said tentatively, “I think I need to clear something up.”

My father leaned back in the chair as I watched his hands grip his knees. He was bracing himself for the worst.

“I know I’ll never get back into SD. I’m not exactly sure what my course of action will be as far as school goes—who’ll take me and who won’t with an expulsion on my record—but I’ve decided I won’t be going into education if that is even an option for me.”

I watched my father’s face get redder with each word. I put up my hand. “Just hear me out,” I said, “before you blow a gasket.”

I reminded him how I’d never wanted to go into education anyway, but that they… the people who brought me into this world… had practically tied my hands when it came to making that crucial life decision. I also reminded Dad that, even if proven innocent in a court of law, the expulsion would leave a smudge on my record and a big question mark for schools doing any sort of background check.

“No school system is going to hire someone with a questionable past like mine, especially in this day and age. No one wants bad press, and the expulsion and subsequent trial will limit my job choices in any education system.”

I watched my father’s face fall, and he cracked his knuckles slowly as he considered what I had said.

“Do you see how this has ruined you, Janice?” he asked. “What are we supposed to tell people? How are we supposed to move forward?”

My ire shot forth and spewed over like a volcano. “That’s what you’re worried about? How this will look to your friends? How it will appear to outsiders? Tell them the truth, Dad. That I was framed; that my ex-boyfriend tried to pin something on me; that I would never do anything like this! Why is it Mr. Poindexter can believe me, but my own father can’t?”

“Because Mr. Poindexter is getting paid to believe you!” he shot from his chair, his finger wagging in my face. “And let me tell you one thing, young lady: if you think for one second that this incident will give you carte blanche to walk in here and inform your mother and myself of your plans for your future, then you have another think coming. Isn’t this evidence enough that you can’t be trusted? That you have no clue how to handle yourself as an adult?”

“Why do you insist I did something wrong? Why can’t you believe me?” The tears had begun, and my voice broke with their release. Mom rushed into the room.

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking at the two of us back and forth as if she were the spectator at some tennis match. “If there were ever a time when we needed to stick with each other and support each other as a family, this is it!”

“Janice has informed me that she won’t be continuing her education to become a teacher,” my father said to my mother.

She scoffed at my father’s irritation. “I hardly think now is the time to be concerned about her major,” she offered. “We need to concentrate on clearing her name, proving her innocence, and then we can decide how to enroll her in school after all of that.” She turned to me. “I think it would be good for you to find some part-time work. Not only will it take your mind off of some of this for a bit, but it will look good in court as well. It shows initiative and responsibility.”

“And when I get to the part on the application that asks if I’ve ever been arrested, what am I supposed to do?” I shot back.

“Most applications ask if you’ve been convicted, not accused,” my mother clarified. “And besides, I know that the pharmacy at the hospital needs some part-time assistants. You don’t need a degree; it’s all legwork, delivery, etc. I’ll see what I can do there.” She looked at my father. “In the meantime, this bickering and battling has got to stop. We are a team; we are family, and we believe in each other.” She crossed over to my father and put her hand on his chest. “Don’t you trust the job we did in raising her?” she asked softly, almost as if I weren’t in the room.

He looked at me, his eyes cold. “I trust our raising her. What I don’t trust is her.”

And with that, he stormed out of the room, leaving me to cry in devastated loss, and my mother to try and soothe me once again.