College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500) Read Free

downcourt. Bruce was having a tantrum because his baskets refused to fall. As a result, he started to lag up the court, giving Troy’s team a defensive advantage. But no matter what the odds were, it came down to James’s three big men doing a job on Matthew. Their defense tightened as well, and Troy’s teammates found themselves receiving few second shots. Having collected eighteen points, Troy took charge of the game. He hit the next and last four points that his team was able to amass. James’s team was again victorious. They won 44-40, just as they had beaten the last team.
    â€œUnh-hunh, homes. You were talking all that shit and couldn’t pull it out,” James said, rubbing it in.
    Not even a slight smile showed from Troy’s face of rebellion. “Ay’, Jay, you didn’t do a damn thing! I had twenty-two points and, like, twelve assists. I had six steals and, like, five rebounds. Now tell me, Jay, ’cause I really want to know. What the fuck did you do?”
    Everyone laughed a good hard one as James joined in himself. “I won, and I’m still on the court for the next game. That’s what I did,” he responded.
    Troy turned and faced Clay for an explanation. “Now, Clay, if a person didn’t do shit to win but is bragging about the victory, then he’s a damn fool, to me, for not being true to himself. You know me from high school, Clay, and if I don’t do shit in the game, I’ll say that y’all won instead of ‘we.’ Now, that’s an act of a man and not a mouse, and I think Jay got cheese sandwiches in his book bag.”
    By then, everything Troy said was awarded by a roar of laughter. “You know what, Jay? I’ll play you whenever you wanna go, and then we’ll see how much you’ve learned from riding the bandwagon,” he added.
    James giggled and didn’t care, as long as he was on the winning team.

    Troy arrived at his dorm room, a double. He noticed that it had been filled with clothing and boxes. Suspecting that his roommate had arrived, he walked into the floor’s bathroom, to find a crowd of freshmen being lectured to by an older Black student who spoke proper English and wore blue high-water slacks:
    â€œAny damages on the floor will be paid for by, if not the person who has perpetrated the particular crime of damaging campus property, then by the entire floor.”
    Troy searched the faces of his fellow floor mates, who all appeared to be bored. Not including the speaker or himself, he counted only three brown faces: there were two massive football players and one small student wearing glasses.
    The speaker acknowledged Troy’s presence. “Hello, fellow floor mate. My name is Charles Davison, and I will be your resident assistant for the year. Aah, what have you missed? Well, basically, nothing. The boys and I are just sitting in here bullshitting around and playing with ourselves,” the cone-headed resident assistant said. He paused to collect the laughter before he continued.
    â€œNo, basically, we just went over the rules, I told the guys my duties, and we introduced ourselves. So what else do you want to know?” Charles asked, receiving more laughter from the students. He looked as if he wanted to pat himself on the back.
    Troy watched the football players, who were smiling.
    â€œNo, seriously. Aah … person,” Charles said, extending his hand for a shake. The students were all beside themselves with hardy laughter. “Come on now, you guys, so we can get this thing over with,” Charles told them. “Well, I. We,” he continued, smiling to himself, “would like to know your name and room number. R-i-i-ight guys,” he said, stretching his eyelids and expecting another laugh. Charles was trying hard to be a comedian.
    Troy smiled and shook his head. “Yeah, well, my name is Troy, and I live in room eighteen-ten,” he told them