Page 24 of Blake University: HBCU Chronicles – Yon & Imole

The quiet hum of the dorm room was a comforting contrast to the wildness of the MEGA house. lay with Imole, her soft curls spilling across his chest, her hand lazily tracing the outline of the tattoo on his bicep. The aftermath of Cove Pizzeria, the cleanup, the laughter, it all sat easy in his chest.

Still, the words from earlier floated in his head. Her question. Why hadn’t he tried anything?

He looked down at her, her eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“Imole,”

he said softly, brushing his fingers against her back.

“Mmm?”

“I know it feels like things are moving fast… but it doesn’t feel rushed to me.”

She lifted her head slightly to look at him.

“It doesn’t?”

He shook his head.

“We were cool before all this. You were my tutor. We were talking and vibing even before Homecoming week. I thought of you as my friend before anything else.”

Her lips puckered into a small smile.

“Same. I used to think you were this untouchable jock. But then you showed up to tutoring with two broken pencils and a notebook full of doodles.”

He laughed.

“Hey, those doodles were works of art.”

“Sure,”

she teased.

He grew a little more serious.

“We could’ve gone back to my room,”

he said after a pause.

“But my family would've been sniffing around, especially after the way brunch went down. I just wanted to be alone with you. Somewhere nobody else had access to.”

She smiled again and nestled her head back into the crook of his shoulder. Just as they were drifting into that hazy, half-awake state, a knock thudded at the front door of the suite.

Imole groaned softly and sat up.

“Who the hell…?”

blinked at the clock.

“You expecting anybody?”

She shook her head, slid from the bed, and walked toward the door. stayed put until he heard her voice, surprised and a little unsure.

“Oh…uh hello?”

sat up instantly.

Then came his father's voice.

“I’m looking for my son. here?”

Imole stepped aside to let him in. Mr. Dawson stood in the entryway, dressed sharp as ever even in casual slacks and a knit polo, a man clearly used to commanding rooms and conversations.

“Damn,”

Mr. Dawson looked around the dorm suite with a nostalgic smirk.

“I remember visiting girls in these dorms back when I was here. Whole different kind of game back then.”

came out of the room. “Pops?”

His father turned, eyes softening.

“Wanted to talk to you, son. I figured you weren’t going back to the house, and… I get it now.”

Imole started to quietly step away to give them space, but Mr. Dawson lifted a hand gently to stop her.

“No, no. You should stay. This is for you, too.”

She paused, eyebrows raised slightly but stayed where she was.

Mr. Dawson looked at both of them, really looked.

“I owe you both an apology. That brunch? The way your mother acted?”

He sighed.

“That wasn’t right. We’ve… we’ve had our image of what your life should look like, . Who you should be with, what kind of future you should be building. But this weekend, I saw something different.”

He gestured subtly toward Imole.

“I saw you. Not the football player, not the legacy son. Just you. And you were calm, focused, protective and authentic. I haven’t seen that side of you in a long time.”

Imole glanced at .

“The only thing different,”

Mr. Dawson continued, “is her.”

He looked right at her.

“You’re a special young lady. I can see that already. You got something about you that makes a man level up. And I hope we see more of you, Imole.”

Imole, clearly caught off guard, nodded shyly.

“Thank you, Mr. Dawson.”

He smiled, warm and fatherly.

“, call your mother later this week. You know she hates change. But, she’ll come around.”

He pointed between them.

“This? This is change. But it’s good. Real good.”

He stepped forward and pulled into a firm hug.

“Love you, son.”

“Love you, too, Pops.”

Mr. Dawson gave one last nod and let himself out, leaving the suite quiet again.

turned to Imole, stunned into silence for a moment.

“Well… that was unexpected.”

Imole laughed under her breath, her eyes still a little wide.

“Your dad’s kinda cool.”

smiled, pulling her close again.

“Yeah. He has his moments.”

Shawna

Shawna sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her phone screen as she scrolled through Imole’s latest pictures from Homecoming. One of her and smiling, close. As she scrolled she even found a picture of Imole and her “goody two-shoes”

besties, Lala and Stormii. She stared as envy and hatred grew in her like a terminal illness.

She clenched her jaw and tossed the phone down.

She’s not going away.

At first, she thought this thing between Imole and was just another one of his “soft era”

flings. had a tendency to chase butterflies, only to smash them under his cleats later. But this? It felt different. He was acting different. Skipping out on her? Turning down head before a game? Pulling Imole to his table at brunch like she belonged there?

Oh, hell no.

If Imole thought she could just slide into his world without consequence, she had another thing coming. Because what Shawna lacked in patience, she made up for in power and influence. She was a spoiled brat who was used to getting her way.

She was a Veta Xi.

Not just any Xi, either, she was the chapter’s president. And while she initially didn’t want Imole or her little friends anywhere near the prestigious sisterhood, tonight’s Fall hopefuls’ invitation list was still being finalized. And now, she had a better idea.

“If I can’t have him,”

she whispered to herself, standing to pace, “then I’ll make sure she doesn’t, either.”

She walked to her closet and pulled out her red Xi robe, the letters gleaming in gold embroidery. Veta Xi was the most coveted sorority on campus, especially for girls like Imole, who were smart, ambitious, and eager to find their tribe. She knew Imole had dreams of wearing Greek letters, of being part of something bigger. Imole and her friends attended the freshman mixer last year. They were not on our radar last year. But all that changed this year. Shawna was going to use that.

She reached for her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in weeks.

It rang once. Then again. Click.

“Yeah?”

A smirk spread across her lips.

“Terrence. cousin. I need a favor.”

A pause.

“What kind?”

“The kind where you make a girl think she’s winning... just before you pull the rug out from under her.”

He laughed.

“Oh, so you finally want my help taking her down?”

“I don’t want help,”

Shawna corrected, cold and calm.

“I want her eliminated. From ’s world. From mine. She wants to be a Xi? Let’s see if she can survive Hell Week.”

He paused, “I’m in.”

She hung up, the click of the line like a seal on her plan.

Shawna stared out the window of her high-rise apartment off-campus, eyes sharp and vengeful. Imole might have ’s heart right now, but Shawna wasn’t worried.

Because love was fragile. And reputations? Even more so.

Tree

Terrence Chambers stood on the corner of Greek Row, hoodie pulled low over his face, smoke curling from the blunt resting between his fingers. He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as a group of freshman girls walked past and giggled. He didn’t smile. Just nodded, watching them scatter like birds.

He didn’t do cute. He didn’t do soft. He did damage. Always had.

Shawna was the only person who ever really understood that about him. That being vile, mean, and calculated wasn’t something he did, it was who he was. Their mothers were sisters, bonded by blood, bougie clubs, and old money. Terrence, on the other hand, was the family’s problem child. No Ivy internships. No summer abroad programs. Just a string of sealed juvenile records and enough “incidents”

to keep his mother praying and his father writing checks.

It should’ve been prison.

Instead, it was Blake University.

Shawna’s mother pulled strings, cashed in favors, and dropped fat donations just to slide him into BU’s freshman class. He didn’t deserve to be here, and he damn sure didn’t care.

But if he was going to be on this boring ass campus, he might as well make it entertaining.

“Fuck that nigga,”

Tree mumbled under his breath as Dawson III’s name scrolled across the digital campus board in the Student Union window: Homecoming MVP. 3-time All-Star. Student Leader of the Week.

God, he hated that golden boy.

It wasn’t just the way people gravitated to him, either. It was the way they worshipped him. Like he could do no wrong. Like he was actually some kind of role model. Women loved ; hell men did too. Coaches, professors, the Dean. Like his shit didn’t stink.

And now he had Imole.

That’s what really burned.

Tree had been eyeing Imole since freshman orientation. Smart, shy, lowkey fine as hell. The kind of girl who didn’t even know how bad she was. She’d been under his radar since day one. But back then, she barely noticed him. She was too busy with books and campus tours.

And now?

Now she was draped on ’s arm, walking across the quad like she belonged in his world.

Terrence took one last drag, dropped the blunt, and crushed it beneath his sneaker.

Not for long.

His phone buzzed. A text from Shawna.

Shawna: We’re green. Time to get started. You ready?

He grinned. Crooked and cold.

Tree: Born ready.

The plan was already in motion. Shawna would handle the sorority angle, dangle that Veta Xi invitation in Imole’s face like a prize, then snatch it away when the time was right. Terrence? He’d hit her from another side. Get in her head. Gaslight her. Isolate her. Ruin her.

And if he got the added bonus of watching Dawson crash and burn in the process?

Even better.

Tree

Tree posted up in the shadows of The Heights dorm entrance, hoodie still pulled low, a black fitted cap underneath. He had a twisted smirk on his face, the kind that made people nervous, even when he wasn’t saying anything.

He lit a fresh Newport and waited.

Stormii was on her way.

He knew she’d come. The second she saw that message, her whole-body language shifted. One minute she was laughing with Lala, the next she was stiff, clutching her phone like it bit her.

Good. That meant the memories still stung. That meant he still had power.

Back in freshman year, she was wild. Sneaking into his dorm after midnight, grinding on him with no music playing, whispering nasty shit in his ear like she wanted to be ruined. And he had ruined her. At least, that’s what he thought when he caught the footage on his old phone with Stormii on her knees, begging for more, saying things that would have her blocked from Greek life if they ever got out.

He almost deleted the videos after they fell out.

Almost.

Now he was glad he didn’t.

The door buzzed, and Stormii walked up, arms folded tight across her chest. She was wearing a cropped denim jacket over a black bodycon dress, hair pulled up in a messy bun. She still looked good. Still had that little pretty mouth he remembered. But tonight, she looked worried.

"Terrence," she hissed, glancing around. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you send that text?"

He blew out smoke, slow and dramatic.

“I missed you too, Stormii.”

“Boy, you got me fucked up. That was a year ago. You still got them damn photos?”

He shrugged, casual.

“I keep receipts. You know that.”

She took a step back.

“If you leak anything, I swear to Gawd…”

“You’ll what?”

he cut her off, stepping closer, crowding her personal space.

“Cry to Student Affairs? Tell your little friends? Please. Ain’t nobody gon’ believe a chick who bent over backwards in a dorm room for a nigga she barely knew.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a second, he saw the fight in her.

But that’s the thing, Stormii talked tough, but she folded under pressure. She always had.

“I need a favor,”

Terrence said, voice lowering.

Stormii scoffed.

“Of course, you do. What now? You want money?”

“Nah, something better,”

he said with a grin.

“I need you to play nice. Cozy up to Imole. Keep tabs on her. Report back. Every move she makes, I want to know. Especially if ’s involved.”

Stormii stared at him. “Why her?”

“Because she don’t belong here,”

Terrence said, voice tightening.

“Not with him. Not in his world.”

“You’re insane. Imole is my friend!”

He stepped even closer, nose to nose now.

“Maybe. But I’m also the one with your entire freshman freak show saved in HD. So what’s it gonna be, Stormii? You help me out… or you worry about your friend and get exposed?”

Stormii looked away, swallowing hard. She hated herself for even considering it. She said all that stuff about Imole before she really knew her. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just clowning her trying to fit in. It wasn’t how I felt now.

But she hated the idea of being humiliated more.

“Fine,”

she muttered.

“But don’t text me nothing else. We’ll talk in person.”

“That’s my girl,”

Terrence said, reaching out to brush her chin with his thumb.

“Now, go find your little friends. Smile. Act normal. And don’t do anything stupid.”

As she walked away, Terrence leaned back against the wall, grinning like the devil himself.

Checkmate, bitch.