𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋, d. swing

𝐈𝐈𝐈

OCTOBER 25TH, 1995

I'm sitting here writing notes, trying to copy everything my professor says. For a moment, I glance at Tiffany, who is right next to me. She's focused and writes down anything in her notebook. I chew at my nails, trying to understand everything. Everything seems so complex I can't grasp it.

Someone crouches down next to me. Whipping my head, I eye this helpless woman crouching down. "Sorry," the woman whispers, "but there is a man here in the main office claiming he knows you. He's making a scene."

The first man that pops up in my mind is Omar. My eyes roll to the ceiling, and I start to pack up. I follow the woman out of the class to the primary office. With every step, I can feel my body boiling. He embarrassed me in the parking lot, and now this? This white woman I'm following looks frantic like he threatened her on some other shit.

We finally make it to the office, and she opens the door for me. I'm ready to start cussing out Omar, but it's not him. It's the guy from the other day with my duffle bag in his hands. Two security guards are holding him. He notices me with a smile growing on his lips. "Ms. Miller, do you know this gentleman?" One of the security guards questions.

I let out a giggle, "Yeah, I do."

"See, I told y'all," he snaps.

They let him go, and he mean mugs them. The guards exit the main office in a single file line. When they all leave, I burst out laughing.  He holds out my duffle bag, and I take it from his hands. "Thank you...Malik?" I try to act like I don't know it's name, but I remember it. How can I not? 

He chuckles, and my eyes watch him lick his lips. Here he is again with the baggy clothes and those hazel eyes. My mind slips and starts to wonder what it would feel like for this man to be mine. What would it feel like to have him hold me in his arms? I finally exhale the breath I was holding, and I blink at Malik looking at me weirdly. "Did you say something?" I question, finally snapping back to reality.

"I didn't say anything," Malik states.

I clear my throat and smile, "Thank you for the bag again." I examine the room, and everyone is staring at him with fear in their eyes. 

"Let me walk you out," he says in a low tone. I nod, and we walk out of the office. I take notice of his red car parked in the lot. He glances down at me and states, "If you ever need me to drive you to your class, I wouldn't mind." I open my mouth to respond, but a beeping pager interrupts me. He pulls out his pager from his pocket and rolls his eyes. "I gotta dip, but... it was nice seeing you again, Devyn," he gives me a broad infectious smile. 

"Yeah, it was," I agree, smiling back. 

I watch him walk off to his car. In my peripheral, I see a figure from afar. I glance over and focus my eyes on the figure. It's Tiffany glaring at me with a disappointed look on her face. Rolling my eyes, I walk to her, clutching my duffle bag. "Are we scrapping at the bottom of the pudding cup?" Tiffany smartly inquires.

I ignore her and march to our dormitory. Tiffany cowards behind me and starts to nag, "Was he the thug everyone was talking about, threatening everyone in the office?" I stop and glance back at her. Of course, everybody can't mind their business. Tiffany continues, "Yup, everybody knows about you and Mr. Thug. Do you even know his name?"

"Yes, I know his name," I state, continuing to walk. 

"Did you check your bag to see if he stole something?" Tiffany inquires. "Knowing him, he probably did."

"No, you don't know him," I express. At this moment, I'm questioning why Tiffany and I are friends. We've been friends since grade school and have always been black and white. It's not our upbringing. We were brought up with the same silver spoon in our mouths. But somehow, I'm the less dense one. 

"And you do?!" she exclaims, releasing a sarcastic laugh. 

I open the doors to our dormitory, and she walks through. Stepping inside, Tiffany continues her rant, "Devyn, we are sophisticated people! We do not date the help." I listen to her words and begin to think about my parents. My father would never approve of me dating Malik. He's the one who even got Omar and me together because we're a perfect fit. Whatever the hell that means. But I won't say Tiffany is right. She's not. 

"Are you listening to what you're saying right now?" 

"Are you listening to what I'm saying?" Tiffany snaps back. 

I roll my eyes, and we walk off to our room. Tiffany opens the door and says, "You should just stay with Omar for the publicity. He's getting popular from his layups." 

"Wait, he is?" I ask. I honestly didn't know that. He knows how much I want to keep it on the low that my father is the Josiah Miller. But I never paid attention to Omar's games, his basketball skills didn't matter to me. I didn't love him because of that. 

Do I even love Omar?

"Yes, your boy is getting good! He made the winning shot last game."

I let out an exasperated sigh. Now I feel shitty about everything. I should be with him celebrating. Setting down my duffle bag, I start searching through it. I discover my wallet and the clothes I was wearing that day. Opening my wallet, I see my money is still there and something else. Something that wasn't in there before. It's a folded piece of paper. I take out the paper and unfold it.  A smile grows as I read what's on it. "Just in case," written in cursive. He put his number below. I chew on my bottom lip, holding the letter close to my chest.

"What are you smiling about?" Tiffany questions.

"Nothing," I quickly say, pocketing the paper. 

Tiffany gives me a weird look, "I'm going out tonight with Kim. Wanna come?" Tiffany asks with a goofy smile.

I scoff, "You know I don't like Kimberly's ass." I don't care about that moment we had the other day. I still can't stand her ass. 

Tiffany grabs her purse, shrugging her shoulders, "Alright, stay here then. While you're here, think about what I said." She walks out the door, and I huff. Taking out the paper, I fixate my eyes on the numbers, thinking about whether I should call him or not. I grab the phone's handle off the dresser, but I don't dial the numbers on the paper. I'm calling Omar.