Page 93 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
“Well, you should follow that advice and recognize he’s not gonna change, soyouneed to. Instead of letting him stress you out like he doeseveryhomecoming, you need to indulge. Plus, you know how I feel about him anyway since he goes to theInstitute.” She rolls her eyes and I chuckle. “Especially if you get thatdomestic exchange opportunity. Who knows where life will take you after that!”
I’ve been checking the mail daily, wondering when I’ll hear back from USC about the domestic exchange program I appliedto.
We pass the barricades they’ve set up on The Yard in preparation for Friday’s Yardfest festivities. “Since you on the homecoming committee now, can you get me into the stepshow?” I beg, thinking of the line I saw wrapped around Cramton Auditorium for tickets.
“I got you,” Tammy whispers like her committee is around. “Annd…I got us tickets to the disco!”
“When?” I ask, nose scrunched. “God, I can’t remember the last time I went dancing. Was it freshman year?”
I’d gotten so caught up in working my way up from staff writer to editor atThe Hilltop,as well as trying to be a good and loyal girlfriend, that I hadn’t made time for the fun stuff. And as for Assad, since we hung in different circles his welcome distractions had become few and far between.
“Saturday!” Tammy hurriedly says. “DJ Psychedelic will be doing a set, and you know his disco gets everyone jumpin’!”
Assad
Everyone’s piled into Jared’s 1970-something Cadillac DeVille, smelling like musk and cognac. Jared’s parents come from money, like recipients of a million-dollar food manufacturing business that Jared will inherit, so we’re in one of many cars his parents bought him. And with every new car, he attempts to woo a girl on campus to add to his little black book.
He’s found his new muse as he’s mid-park.
“ ’Sad, finish parking for me. I see Celine and she lookin’bad.” And before I can object, he’s out the car, opening the door to the back, where I’m currently seated, and practically down the block. Horns quickly blare as I jump out, parallel park his car, and pocket his keys. DeMarcus and Mack are still chuckling at Jared’s unrestrained disposition when it comes to girls, yet somehow Celine gets us to the front of the line. Her dad apparently knows the owner.
I’m thankful I got a ride and I didn’t have to pull up on my bike, which I have no problem riding—but not tonight. The record shop is closed for a private homecoming event, with rumors that Gladys Knight bought out the space. And my boss practically pushed me out the library, telling me to enjoy myself for once. Life consists of class, library, record store, dorm, study, sleep. So yeah, I’m overdue.
We pull into Nightclub 9:30 and it’s live. The place is pulsating with bodies grooving under LEDs that spotlight the dance floor, and DJ Psychedelic is feeding off the crowd’s energy. Sequins and sass are bouncing about everywhere, with smokebillowing up to the ceiling of the club and everyone around us moonwalking, busting loose, and everything in between.
The fellas and I scope the perimeter, tapping our feet as we move along, saying hi to the beautiful women from our campus and beyond, many of them asking mewhere you beenand saying howyou shouldn’t be a stranger.
Mack asks me to be his wingman for a girl near the bar, so I talk to her equally striking friend who lives in Meridian Hall. I’m about to ask her to dance when my eyes cut to the corner of the room, feeling her presence before I spot her. It’s like the pinning ceremony, or The Quad, all over again, except I kept trying to remind myself she’s a beautiful face among many that I should be able to shrug off, not realizing it was never just her face. It was her everything.
Lynetta
Once we’re in Nightclub 9:30, Tammy directs us straight to the bar. I adjust the straps on my Pam Grier–inspired leather jumpsuit, suddenly feeling like the cut is too low and the fit too tight.
Tammy is wearing a sparkly outfit with shoulder pads damn near touching her cheekbones. Very Janet-like, both of us dancing in our dorm room while watching MTV music videos for outfit inspiration.
“Let me get two Manhattans,” she tells the bartender.
I give Tammy a look. “Isn’t that a strong drink? Who taught you about that?”
“I overheard some man order it last weekend when I was out and you weredepressed in our dorm”—I roll my eyes—“and he looked…distinguished. Seeing as we’re buying our first drink as twenty-one-year-olds, we should get a fancy one. And the next round will be courtesy of some man in here,” she says, looking around.
I laugh at her absurdity, loving it.
“Cheers to legally bought alcohol!” she hails.
“Cheers to that!” I say, and we take our first swig. A groan escapes Tammy’s lips and my right eye closes as the stinging sensation travels down my throat like a slug.
“This shit burns!” she says. After our breathing returns, we face each other and laugh.
“I definitely drank too much for my first go,” I reply, inspecting what’s left in my glass.
“Me too,” she says, then whispers, “Let’s knock the rest back and get to the dance floor while we still have a buzz.”
“Tammy, I—” And then I suddenly decide she’s right. We’re already halfway through first semester of junior year, I finally ended things with Keith, and I might be across the country next spring. I down the rest of my drink and Tammy smiles and joins me, coughing this time when she finishes hers.
“That’s what I’m talking ’bout, I like loose Lyn!” she says, grabbing my hand just as we hear Charlie Wilson’s falsetto blast through the speakers singing “You Dropped a Bomb on Me,” and we squeal, running free to the dance floor.
Assad
