Page 2 of Blake University: HBCU Chronicles: Brynleigh & A.Z.
A few pictures of her outfit and some aesthetically pleasing photos of her cute drinks, expensive food, and whatever else she captured could get her a few thousand likes.
In her business, likes and views equated to money.
I damn sure didn’t knock the hustle. Sometimes, we hung out together, but I didn’t like a lot of her friends.
The same hoes that walked around with their noses in the air like they were better than everyone else bought pills from me multiple times a week to fuck and suck on men with money.
They were literally some of the most ran through hoes I knew, but they felt because they had sex for Chanel bags and cars versus drugs or synthetic weave that made them better than other women.
Being around them literally gave me the ick sometimes.
Especially when they complimented my looks and questioned why I wasn’t a whore in order to get ahead in life.
My sister’s friends were the type to have to suck and fuck on two or three different men just to get up enough funds for the monthly payments on their foreign cars, but they wouldn’t be caught dead in my Corolla.
When I walked inside the condo, Breesha was on the couch biting on her long, stiletto shaped nail, bouncing her right leg anxiously.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked with raised brows.
“Hell no,” she sighed as I walked over to the couch. “I’m pregnant.”
“Oh.” I sat down on the couch. I felt oh was safer than asking who, which I almost did.
Breesha didn’t have a boyfriend. She was dating a guy, Q, but she had also gone to Vegas to visit someone else a few weeks back.
Like her friends, Breesha entertained anyone that could afford to trick on her. “What are you going to do?”
“I can’t have this baby. Q is a street nigga.
If he decides that he doesn’t want to take care of it, a judge can’t make him because he doesn’t have traceable income.
What if he gets locked up? If a man decides to be a deadbeat and not be in his child’s life it has to at least be one that I can get some bank from. ”
One of Breesha’s friends got pregnant by a professional boxer, and he was ordered to pay $8,000 a month for child support.
The hoe was actually mad saying by the time she paid her car note, rent, and her child’s daycare, she’d practically be broke.
Women that had kids just for the check should have their wombs snatched away. That was just my opinion.
“Have you told Q yet?”
Bree kissed her teeth. “No. He was just complaining yesterday about one of his baby mamas. I want him to know that I don’t want to be baby mama number four.
If he gets an attitude before I’m even done talking, he will get cursed out.
I need things to go smoothly because he’s supposed to be copping me some Chanel shoes next week. ”
My nose scrunched as I glared at my sister.
She had enough money to buy her own Chanel shoes.
I was risking my freedom doing illegal shit to get extra money, so I could get not wanting to struggle.
However, the way Bree acted like material things were the end all be all was a little annoying.
She would obsess over one purse, get a new one, and forget the old one existed.
Spending all that money just to post pictures and stunt on people was borderline insane.
But Bree was grown, and she could do what she wanted to do.
I loved my sister, but with the mindset she had, I was glad she wasn’t having the baby.
“Hopefully everything goes good with Q. You know I’m here if you need me.” I stood up and went to my bedroom. All Bree cared about was money, possessions, and her image. I doubted having an abortion would be hard for her. She was the type to get an abortion then go get a drink right after.
In the room, I separated and bagged up the pills because I didn’t carry them all at once.
When I went to college campuses, I never took more than twenty.
Worst case scenario, I sold majority of them and only got caught with a few if I got caught.
Getting caught with a few could be a possession charge rather than a distribution charge, but I didn’t want either one.
If people were going to allow me into their homes around their newborns, they had to be able to trust me.
I needed to have a squeaky clean record and image.
Just a few more times, and I was done.
Despite me not going to college, my cousin, Stephanie, from New Jersey moved down south to attend Blake University the year before, and she used to invite me to parties and stuff with her.
She moved off campus her sophomore year, but I reached out to the people that I had met through her on some discreet shit and let them know that they could refer me if anyone wanted ecstasy or molly.
I attended basketball games, football games, kickbacks, row parties, and I was currently at the step show that was happening on the yard.
Any time I was at a college function it made me sad that I didn’t attend college.
I didn’t even take the SAT’s because back then, I was sick of school and couldn’t see four more years.
My parents didn’t pressure me, and I regretted not even giving it a try.
I could have applied for scholarships, financial aid, loans.
Maybe if I had chosen college, I wouldn’t be on the campus selling drugs and risking being arrested.
“Oh my God, here come those fine ass Phi Rho niggas,” my friend, Yasmine squealed.
I met her at the first kickback I went to with Stephanie, and we’d been cool ever since.
She was a junior, and was getting a degree in communications and media arts.
Yasmine started stripping her second year in college, and she was the one that made me interested in selling ecstasy and molly because she used to take one or the other on the weekend when she would dance.
She still danced, but she had slowed down on taking drugs.
She mostly stuck with drinking. I had never taken ecstasy or molly. I’d never even been tempted.
My attention was directed toward the men lined up waiting to come onto the yard.
I knew the first one was a senior. Scott was a jock with a sick physique.
He was dark-skinned and handsome. The second guy in the line was A.Z.
he was a senior too. A.Z. stood six feet even with dark brown skin, a full thick beard, and almond shaped eyes.
He was super fine. I’d never even held a conversation with any of the guys from Phi Rho.
A lot of them were uppity bougie type niggas.
Like, I was used to hood rich niggas that might be a lil’ cocky and arrogant but were still down to earth and relatable.
A lot of the men in Phi Rho came from families with old money.
Spoiled, rich kids that were born with silver spoons in their mouths.
Their colors were gold and black and the gold in their jackets looked so good against A.Z.
’s deep skin tone. They began to step as they sang a chant.
The crowd was going crazy. They had barely gotten two sentences out, and the crowd acted like it was the second coming.
They were pretty dope though. However, part of the reason that they were so conceited and full of themselves was because of the way everybody hyped them up on campus.
They were okay, but they weren’t celebrities.
I watched as they strolled, and everyone ate it up.
It was so cringe when Scott stuck his tongue out.
I was relieved when A.Z. didn’t, and I wasn’t even sure why.
I didn’t even know that man. I only knew his name because he was popular and because it was on his jacket.
Maybe I was watching him too hard because we locked eyes for a brief moment.
As he stared at me with that slightly arrogant smirk on his face, I could feel my heart beating in my throat.
When he broke eye contact, I was relieved.
Preppy, bougie college guys weren’t really my type.
I loved an intelligent man, but I liked my man a little more relatable.
My childhood wasn’t poverty stricken, but we damn sure weren’t the Jeffersons.
As I got older, the more of a hot mess my parents became.
My mother was currently dating a guy ten years younger than her.
He was thirty-two. My father’s girlfriend was thirty.
They were together up until I was nine, and Bree was six.
From the day they parted ways they hated each other.
All these years later, and they still couldn’t be in the same room together without an argument.
My father was a truck driver, and my mother was a cosmetologist, and she could also do lashes and nails.
“Brynnnnn,” someone squealed as they threw their arm around my neck. It didn’t take me long to recognize, Malisha.
“Hey, boo.” She had never bought drugs from me, but she was cool as hell. I had more college friends than some of the actual students at the college.
“Hey,” I greeted her.
“My birthday is tomorrow, so I’m trying to do it big tonight. I want to get some molly if you have it,” she whispered.
“Okay. You sure?” There I was again being a drug dealer with morals. I knew that technically drugs were bad but as long as no one died or got arrested or addicted, I didn’t think experimenting was that bad.
“Yes, I’m sure. Jacob is going to do it with me. Tonight is about to be a movie,” she grinned showing her brace covered teeth.
“Okay. Give me a second to walk over that way.” I nodded in the direction of the campus bookstore. “Can’t do a drug exchange out in the open.”