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Adwoa grabbed my arm. “Kiki, he has been going to themeetings.I’ve been working on this for months. I have a mole. Zack is such an idiot. They’re good to him, so he thinks of course, they can’t beracist.But it’s great PR for them. They’ve been using him this whole time. Did you know that Zack’s dad was a Whitewell Knight too? They always find one so they can keep up the pretense that they ain’t a fucking Klan. He’s a legacy.
“Zack was somehow smart enough to find a way to be in power and also take money. He has president of a society on his CV and he also gets to pocket money and connections from helping out the Whitewell Knights. He’s going to get his pick of fellowships, internships, graduate jobs—whatever he wants.”
I stumbled back. It was clear now that Zack’s brand of dark was layered, any depth he had directed to being the world’s biggest prick.
“Shit, Adwoa. I mean, well done, butshit.You found this out all by yourself?”
Adwoa shrugged. “Nah. My girlfriend’s a professional sleuth. She has a blog. She helped dig. Did some undercover work with him. He had extra money to buy her stuff, and he couldn’t help but brag.” She rolled her eyes as the noise of the protest escalated. “I know we have to do something and out him to everyone but she can’t expose him because her platform isn’t far-reaching enough and the institution won’t take it seriously as it’s a gossip site. If we swing at him, we can’t afford to miss. Look, Kiki, I have to go. I’m sorry this is getting in the way of the show but—”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. Actually, I think I have an idea. Let me help.”
The idea solidified as the words left my mouth. After his antics at Ty’s house, it was clear that Zack, in general, was an infection who needed to be neutralized for the good of Blackwell. If he behaved like that toward me, what were his actions like toward the First Years who flocked around him, mainly for social currency? He was addicted to power and ownership, and it made him a perpetually unsatisfied monster. It would be messy and I’d have to run it past Aminah as it would putBrown Sugar’srecent success at risk—getting involved in politics was almost a sure-fire way to plummet listenership—but I had to do it.
“Yeah?” Adwoa didn’t bother to hide her surprise. It was understandable considering my track record.
I looked back at the burgeoning crowd. Malakai had found a placard and Aminah was looking at her watch, rolling her eyes.
I nodded. “Tag me in.”
Whitewell College Radio, 9:30–11p.m.slot, Thursday
Brown SugarShow
“What’s up, sweet things? It’s your girl K, and we’re gonna be doing something a little different today. As you may have noticed, the musical theme of this episode has been a little militant—rap in war mode—because I’m tryna get us ready for something.
“I want to talk about the Wasteman of Whitewell. You see friends, what I got wrong before iswhothis Wasteman is. This ain’t no Bogeyman shit, this is real. He is in our midst. See, hisWastemanositygoes far beyond the scope of being a dick to the gyaldem—and make no mistake people, that isstillincluded. That alone would be enough. But not for him. This man is greedy with his fuckery, and yeah, I said fuckery because this is afuckery.Fresh out the factory. This guy is sophisticated in that respect—maybe only in that respect, yes offense, yes disrespect—his badmind reaching to affect us as acommunity.I’m talking about none other than our dear Commander-in-Chief, Zack Kingsford.
“Some of you are already unhappy with him, I know that. I hear that. You were outside protesting, and now you’re outside blasting this show on the speaker. You’re exercising your right to be heard. It’s our rightnotto have our rights be the subject ofdebate,protesting against the sanctioning of hate. The fact that Zack allowed this to happen is a disgrace, but what’s even more disgraceful is the fact that he’s been taking money from the Whitewell Knights to sabotage his own community.
“Events cancelled and moved, and the things thatdohappen aren’t sorted by him. Black careers day? Adwoa organized. Fashion show? Shanti Jackson. Open mics? Chioma Kene. And remember the hurdles those women overcame? How Adwoa struggled for a permit to get the Black careers fair until she started saying words like ‘discrimination’ to fight for the cause? How Shanti could only get permission for her Afrocouture Fashion Show if she agreed that she’d also have white models for ‘diversity’?
“And I’m sure we all know that FreakyFridayz would not have happened if I hadn’t broached the idea in public. Zack didn’t leave it to me because he was generous, he left it to me because he thought it was gonna flop. None of these endeavors have flopped. AfroWinter Ball didn’t flop because Simi Coker, baddest on campus, has chaired it for two years running.
“So that leads us to the question: What exactly isZackrunning? Because it ain’t Blackwell. Adwoa just quit so what do we have left in the cabinet? A corrupt president and his bum-licking cronies. The real Wastemen of Whitewell.”
I could hear the cheering outside the building, my voice reverberating across the quad. I leaned into the mic, emboldened. “Fear not, fam, because I think I have a solution. A new cabinet. A Blackwell run by the people who actuallyruntings. We’ve looked into the society laws and if you all call for a new order on the student portal now live on our website, we can hold a by-election.How you feel about that?”
I looked back at Aminah, who was assiduously monitoring the comments on theBrown Sugarpage on her tablet, eyes focused behind her designer glasses. She had been skeptical of the idea at first because of the anticipated drop in listenership but now she smirked and whispered: “They feelverygood about that.”
The faint uproar from outside the building confirmed it. We grinned at each other.
“Well, alright, then. Anyone can run, of course, but right now I have some people who would like to put their case forward. And in the coming weeks anybody who would like to put their name forward for cabinet positions can come state their cases, right here, on the show, if you all agree to an election. But for now, I would like to introduce presidential candidate Adwoa Baker; events secretary candidate Shanti Jackson; student liaison officer candidate Chioma Kene; and press officer candidate Aminah Bakare. We’re not gonna let the Wastemen win.”
I sat back, spun my chair around as Adwoa—who had been sitting next to me the entire time—started her manifesto with a rousing bellow of “What’sgood,Blackwell.”
On the sofa, Shanti, Chioma, and Aminah all grinned widely, thumbs up, hands put together in reverence, in celebration of a new era. I looked up at the camera Malakai was pointing my way with a grin. He’d wanted to film it just for my records, “to remind yourself how sick you are, in case you ever forget.”
“Oh my gosh, Kai.” I was beside myself with glee as I let myself into Malakai’s room, slipping my sneakers off. “On the way here I saw the Whitewell Wailers doing a melodic a capella rendition of ‘Niggas in Paris’ on the quad but instead of ‘niggas’ they said ‘suckas,’ as if that would make it any less of a hate crime. Anyway, instead of saying ‘marry Kate and Ashley’ the lead nerd goes, ‘marryKikiand Ashley.’ Andwinksat me. I know you’re sad you missed it, which is why I recorded it for you. Man, you aresolucky to have me in your life.”
Malakai scooped me up at the door and kissed me hello, and despite its default knee-weakening properties, I tasted something amiss in the kiss. He released me and gave me a smile that tried in earnest to reach his eyes before he sat on the bed, pulled me onto his sweatpants-covered lap. “I really am. And I’m not surprised that you have Glee Club nerds serenading you in the middle of campus. Show me the video.”
I pulled back a little. We had an ongoing competition about who would catch the most egregious showcase from a Whitewell performing arts club in the wild. Last week he’d seen an operatic version of Beyoncé’s “Brown Skin Girl” performed as a show of intersectional-feminist-solidarity by a bottle-tanned girl called Imogen and was moved to hysterical tears. This reaction was underwhelming to say the least.
I frowned and held his chin. “What’s wrong?”
Kai dropped his eyes to my lips in an act that was more avoidance than lust. “Nothing, I’m just pissed you beat me—”
“Kai.”
