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get it. Do you mind using the King’s English instead of all of this street slang?”
    “White girls!” I said in exasperation. “With a name like Amy, I’m assuming she’s a snow bunny.”
    “Oh!” he said. “I had no idea you were referring to…no! Amy isn’t white! She’s Italian.”
    “Last time I checked, that was white, playa,” I said. “She lives in Italy?”
    “No, she lives in Tubman Hall, on the other side of campus,” he said.
    “Oh, I probably know her then,” I said.
    “I doubt it,” he said. “She’s a chemistry major, like me. Plus, she’s into church. She isn’t really on the social scene.”
    “Oh, okay,” I said, peeking over his shoulder to take a look at her profile picture. Under one of her pictures, someone left a comment that said Italian stallion!
    “Italian stallion, huh?” I asked, leaning in for a better look. He quickly closed the window.
    “Do you mind?” he asked, sounding agitated.
    “She’s a cutie,” I said.
    “Yes, she is,” he confirmed. “But looks are temporary, J.D. Amy is a virtuous woman. A woman I can trust to do the right thing, even when I’m not around. That’s why she’s my girl.”
    “Wow,” I said, laughing. “Looks like she’s got you open, too.”
    “I’m not even gonna try to figure out what that means,” Timothy said, closing his laptop. “Come on. Let’s go, before we’re late.”
    I grabbed my room key and followed Timothy down to the living room area of our dorm, near the entrance. The hallway was packed. Everyone was heading to the meeting. When I walked into the room, I noticed that this meeting was a lot different than the one we had last semester. This was no longer a group of strangers who didn’t know each other. By now, everybody had pretty much clicked up and made friends. Now, guys were sitting with their crews getting reacquainted, arguing with each other about whose team was going to win the Super Bowl. Instead of walking into a quiet room of fellas still feeling each other out, I walked into one of laughter, assuredness and guys showing off new tattoos. It still smelled like the inside of a dirty clothes hamper, though.
    “All right, everybody quiet down,” Varnelius said,standing up in his gold boots, army fatigue pants and purple wife beater. He was bald-headed, dark-skinned and average in height, with a husky build, and biceps as big as my head. “I know you are just getting back into the swing of things, so I want to make this meeting short and sweet.”
    Varnelius was flanked by his three assistant RAs. Each of them responsible for their own floor. Of course, our floor RA, Lester, a tall, lanky, light-skinned guy with an S-curl and a plethora of female mannerisms, stood out in his florescent pink Polo button up, matching Chucks and ripped jeans. I had no idea Fresh was standing next to me, until he whispered in my ear.
    “Okay, so I know the ripped jean this is making a comeback and everything,” he said. “But aren’t the holes supposed to be around the knee area?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Why?”
    “I’m just wondering why Lester’s holes are so high up on his thighs. That’s kinda suspect, if you ask me.”
    “As if his pastel color combo wasn’t,” I said with a laugh.
    “Now that Cool Cali and Chi-Town’s finest are done sharing beauty secrets, we can get started,” Varnelius said, staring us down. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Varnelius, and I am the head resident assistant here at Marshall Hall. I am not your babysitter! You all are grown young men, and I expect you to conduct yourself as such. By now, you all should know our dorm motto.”
    “I can’t stand that nigga, blood,” I whispered to Fresh. “He’s one of them cats who just takes his job way too serious.”
    “As a matter of fact, since my boy D.J. from Cali is so talkative this evening, I will let him refresh your memory. D.J.,” he said, looking at me.
    I just sat there, looking at him with