Page 42 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
The Mardi Gras Extravaganza is an annual event put on for the university’s most distinguished alumni and donors, and by far the most important fundraiser of the year. It consistently brings in enough donations to fund most of the student activities on campus. Without a successful extravaganza, crucial programs like the speaker series, community service day, and the yearlong Black heritage celebrations are in danger of being scrapped.
“Why did they quit?” Shaunie Johnson asks.
“I was told there was a differing of opinions,” Dr. Cornwall answers. She holds up her hand. “Honestly, I don’t care what happened. We don’t have time for drama. Now, due to the short timeframe, Ms. Lewis and I,” the professor continues, referring to LaDonna Lewis, the current SGA president, “have made the executive decision to appoint a new committee head and add twonew members without going through the normal nomination process.”
“Is that allowed?” Roberto Ramirez, the resident stickler for the rules, asks.
“Read the bylaws and report back to me,” Dr. Cornwall says. “As for the new committee chair…”
My breath catches in my throat.
This is it. The one. This is the only committee of major importance that I have yet to sit on. This year’s committee had been populated during the long weekend I was in Chicago for my sister’s wedding, and I still secretly held a grudge against her because of it.
But that doesn’t matter anymore because I’m about to get another chance. I canfeelit.
Heading the committee and pulling off a stellar extravaganza will be the notch on my résumé that I’ve been missing.
Dr. Cornwall turns to me, and in one sentence, changes everything.
“Ms. Walker, we thought you would be the best student to head up this committee.”
It takes me a second to find my voice, but only a second.
“I would be honored,” I say.
“Whoa nah. Dr. C, can you back up a sec?”
I spin around so fast I nearly tip my desk over. If my eyes were lasers Kendrick Stewart would be crispier than a burnt piece of toast.
He sits forward at his desk, holding up two fingers.
“Yes, Mr. Stewart?” Dr. Cornwall says.
“There are two students on the executive board who are New Orleans natives. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to have one of us head the committee for the extravaganza?”
I know he is not…
“Excuse me!” I say.
But Kendrick cuts me off. “Don’t you go home every year at Mardi Gras? Have you even been to Zulu or Bacchus or any of the other parades?”
“Why are you all up in my business?” I ask him.
And has he been paying that close attention to me that he knows when I’m on campus and when I’m not?
I absolutely despise the pinpricks of excitement that travel down my back at the thought. He is trying to sabotage my chances to head this committee. The only thing I should feel for Kendrick in this moment is unmitigated rage. This rage, mixed with attraction, speckled with lust, is straight up bullshit.
“Think of it as giving Ms. Walker an opportunity to showcase how much the culture of the city has influenced her,” Dr. Cornwall says. “However, you do make a valid point, Mr. Stewart, which is why I’m placing you and Ms. Briscoe on the committee, as well.”
My hand shoots up in the air.
I don’t have a problem with Tabitha Briscoe joining me on the committee, but Kendrick? No way.
“Uh, Dr. Cornwall,” I call. “I don’t think that’s—”
“I suggest you schedule a time for the new committee to meet as soon as possible,” the professor says, talking over me. Rude.
“Lacey left you a good foundation,” she continues. “But there’s still much work to be done.”
