Page 3 of Blake University: HBCU Chronicles – Yon & Imole

The Blake University quad was a sea of blue and gold, pulsing with life and rhythm. Everywhere you looked, students were showing off their school pride, custom sweatshirts bearing the "BU" crest, varsity jackets with legacy years stitched in bold thread, and faces painted in glittering streaks of gold. The air buzzed with excitement, the kind that only Homecoming could bring.

The marching band, decked out in crisp uniforms and shining brass, blasted down Campus Boulevard playing a funk-infused version of Beyoncé's “Before I Let Go.”

The drumline hit hard, sending reverberations through the pavement. A crowd formed, swaying and stomping in time.

"Yessss, Blake U!" shouted Lala, raising her phone to get a video. "Tell me this ain't the livest HBCU in the country!"

"That beat drops one more time and I'm dancing right here on the lawn," Stormii grinned, twisting her curls into a puff.

, dressed in a fitted navy hoodie and cuffed jeans, tried not to spill her sweet tea as she elbowed her way through a crowd toward Zavion’s Deli tent. The smell of grease, spice, and sugar drifted through the air. It was intoxicating.

"Mama Retta's fried catfish sandwich, extra hot sauce," ordered with a smile, already handing over her meal ticket.

"You come to this booth like it's church," Lala teased.

"And Mama Retta is the high priestess of flavor," replied, biting into the flaky, spicy goodness.

Music played from multiple speakers around the quad. A group of freshmen practiced their strolls near the Legacy Fountain. On the other side, senior Greeks stepped with polished precision.

"Look!" Stormii nudged . "Is that Yon over there with the former Blake U athletes?"

followed her gaze. Sure enough, Yon stood tall, posing for photos with alums in matching letterman jackets. He wore his Mega Phi Psi windbreaker slightly unzipped, revealing a gold chain that glinted in the sunlight.

watched him laugh, dap up an older alum, and flash a smile at a nearby camera crew.

"He really is Mr. Blake U," she murmured.

"Girl, you got it bad," Lala said, popping her gum.

"No, she got it real," Stormii chimed in. "He’s smart, fine, and he got NFL scouts watching his tape. You better secure that alumni bag early."

rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

"It ain't even like that," she said, brushing a crumb off her hoodie. "I’m just his tutor, and that was only for a semester."

"Sure, and I just 'study' with my chemistry lab partner," Lala joked.

A sudden roar erupted near the stage as the Blake U cheerleaders launched into their routine. The crowd clapped along, and the DJ spun a mashup of New Orleans bounce and Atlanta trap.

"Come on, y’all!" Stormii shouted. "They about to start the dorm chant battle! You know North Hall is about to eat."

tossed her sandwich wrapper, grabbed her friends by the wrists, and dashed toward the crowd. Homecoming had just begun; Blake University was alive, and wanted to experience everything she had been missing out on.

Yon Dawson III

The Blake University quad was alive in a way only Homecoming could ignite. Blue and gold flooded every square inch of the campus, while painted faces, customized hoodies, and bandanas tied with pride could be seen every few steps. Yon tugged his Mega Phi Psi windbreaker straight and adjusted his gold BU chain before stepping onto the lawn.

Cameras flashed. Alums clapped him on the back. Current students pointed and whispered, nudging one another like he was some kind of legend walking among them. He'd never admit it out loud, but Homecoming gave him a rush. This was his campus, his team, and his legacy to carry.

As the marching band stomped through the quad with their brassy, funk-laced version of “Before I Let Go,”

Yon moved with purpose, nodding at heads, throwing up the Mega Phi hand sign to fraternity brothers, past and present. He had interviews later, then walk-throughs for the game, but in this moment, he was just Yon from Buffalo, fourth-generation Bear, and damn proud of it.

He paused near a row of food vendors, letting the scent of fried fish and jerk chicken roll over him. That’s when he saw her.

Tight hoodie. Dark jeans. Laid-back but somehow magnetic. She laughed at something her friend said, holding a sandwich in one hand and clutching her stomach like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all week.

Yon squinted, shades tipping just enough to get a better look.

She looked familiar. Not in the “we-hooked-up-last-semester”

kind of way, but deeper. A memory, a flash of something he couldn't quite pin down.

"Damn," he muttered. "Who is that?"

Just then, a manicured hand slipped around his arm.

"Yon, there you are!"

He didn’t need to turn. The perfume gave her away.

Shawna James. His ex. And Homecoming's most persistent shadow.

“Did you see the DJ lineup for tonight?”

she said with a pouty smile.

“I got us VIP for the alumni party. We could roll in together and give them a little nostalgia.”

Yon kept his eyes on the girl in the hoodie.

“Can’t. Got game prep. Media walk-through. You know Coach don’t play about that.”

Shawna clung tighter, unbothered by the brush-off.

“You always make time for me at Homecoming. Why change now?”

Yon finally turned, gaze flat.

“Because I already graduated from that, too.”

She scoffed and stepped back, rolling her eyes as if she hadn’t just been dismissed.

“Whatever, Yon. Everybody still sees us as a couple.”

“Nah,”

he said, walking away, “what they see is you holding on to what’s gone.”

As he walked back toward the quad, the band hit the final note, and the crowd exploded in cheers. But Yon wasn't thinking about the crowd, or the cameras, or even the game tomorrow. He was thinking about that girl in the hoodie and how he had to find out who she was before the weekend was over.

"This year feels different," he said to himself. And he wasn’t wrong.