Whatever Gods May Be by Kai Harris #4
Jrue met my gaze and stared into my eyes for several seconds without speaking a word. My heart was barely beating, and I could feel every inch of my body heat up like he’d lit a flame beneath me. I tried to focus, but all I could think about was letting the blazing-hot fire consume me.
“For one,” Jrue eventually said, “it makes me happy to introduce new people to Jubilee.”
I smirked, still working on resuming my natural breath. “And two?”
Jrue stood and reached out his hand to help me up. I grabbed it and felt the same electricity from the library, except now the spark was fuller, more alive.
“For two, I could think of worse ways to spend my time than helping a new classmate find her way. Which reminds me. Have you been to the Memorial Chapel yet? It’s pretty much my favorite place on campus.
They use it for concerts, graduation, stuff like that.
Word is, Langston Hughes read poetry there back in the day.
And there’s this organ there, worth millions, one of the best you can find anywhere in the U.S. ”
“What are you, like, Mr. Fisk?”
“You got jokes.” Jrue laughed. “I’m just saying, I can take you, if you want. Might be cool to see more of campus. And”—he paused—“there’s a big stepshow tonight, and I think we should go. I can introduce you to Amani and the other Deltas, and you can see if it’s a fit. That cool?”
I bit my lip and nodded. If nothing else, it would be fun to see more of Fisk. And Jrue.
“So, back to this fashion show,” Jrue said curiously. “Was this a catwalk situation or…”
I pushed him playfully as we headed out into the fresh air. “Just start the tour, Mr. Fisk.”
My first stepshow at UofM was just twelve days after I crossed Delta.
I went straight from pledging to probate to step practice—staying up all night and getting whipped into shape by our stepmaster, my new line sister, who had choreographed a couple dances in high school “for fun” but had no other qualifications for the job beside that she had rhythm, and we did not.
She was able to work the miracle, somehow, and that first stepshow—which took place at 9:13 p.m. on the library steps across from the Diag—was attended by everybody Black on campus and was talked about for weeks after our last sung You cannot sliiiide, in my sor-or-ity!
I hummed the melody in my head and held tight to that cherished memory as I approached my first Fisk stepshow, wearing my UofM line jacket and hoping I wouldn’t get laughed back to my dorm.
Before I could get too deep off in my head, I spotted Jrue, waving at me from across the lawn and standing beside a girl I vaguely remembered from rehearsal.
She was slightly taller than Jrue, light-skinned with deep burgundy micro braids, and wearing her own line jacket over a white tank top, oversized camo pants, and red heels. A classic Delta look.
“Hey,” I said once I reached Jrue and he introduced the vaguely familiar girl as Amani. A boisterous cluster of Deltas practiced their moves and rehearsed chants behind them.
“This is your soror, Myra,” Jrue said to Amani, who in turn repeated the announcement to our sorors, getting everyone’s attention and pointing in my direction. They smiled politely and, after the standard Delta greeting, went back to their practice.
“Nice to meet you,” I said shyly.
“Amani, I been telling Myra about how you’re the only person that does both Delta and Jubilee. Maybe you could tell her more about what that’s like?”
“I mean, I can but I don’t know if it’s gonna help,” Amani said with a chuckle.
“Doing both Delta and Jubilee Singers is a lot. There’s a reason why folks frown at the idea.
Being a Jubilee Singer is like being an athlete or being in a frat or sorority on any other campus.
It’s celebrity status, and everybody, even the Greeks, knows that Jubilee Singers comes before anything else. ”
“Wait a minute now, the Jubilee Singers might be the A-list celebrities on campus,” Jrue cut in, “but the D9 Greeks are still B-list. And who doesn’t love an entertaining B-list celebrity?”
“True.” Amani laughed as she rehearsed her steps. “And I’m not tryna discourage you, just warning you. If you decide you wanna do both, make sure you figure out your balance.”
“How did you find yours?” I asked, watching Amani flawlessly master her moves.
She chuckled. “I’m still figuring it out, but my favorite part of being a Fiskite is the feeling of purpose it gives me, like, by coming here, I can be so much more. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Something about that makes everything else fall into place.”
The words felt nostalgic. I smiled peacefully as one of the Alphas greeted the crowd with a lively yell that got everybody’s attention. “Are all the orgs stepping tonight?” I asked.
Amani nodded. “This is one of many informal shows we put on whenever there’s a new line. It’s always a good time, but it means that between probates and midterms, we have no time to practice.”
“I remember those days.” I laughed. “I’m not the best stepper, but if y’all need more people next time, I could join a couple rehearsals. No promises that I’ll be any good—”
“Delta Sigma Theta, up next!”
“Gotta go, but definitely! Let’s talk after. Maybe I can help you get ready for the audition!”
“Make that we, ” Jrue said, reminding me of his presence. “I’d love to help you get ready for the audition, too. If you want.”
I tried to hide my blush behind my hands, but not before he saw it and blushed back.
“Wanna get closer?” he asked, pointing at the stage.
“Sure,” I said, feeling the intensity of our bodies pressing closer and closer together as we merged deeper into the crowd. We reached the front just as the Deltas prepared to take the stage.
“I bet y’all ain’t have stepshows like this in Michigan,” Jrue said with a smirk.
“You’d be surprised. For a mostly white school, our Black spaces were top-tier.
” A fact, with an important caveat that I decided to skip: Black people in predominantly white spaces were constantly up against the whims and wants of white people.
Every outfit we chose, every code switch, every hairstyle and reaction.
One way or another, all our choices had to do with that gaze, that pressure we could always feel.
Which, in a way, is what had caused me to leave, in the end.
“Oh yeah?”
“For sure,” I said, focusing on the good. “Greek life, gospel choir, BSU…we even had our own Black homecoming and Black graduation!”
“That sounds pretty dope,” Jrue said, “like in an ‘if I had to go to a white school’ sorta way.”
I giggled and pushed his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s no HBCU, but it kinda felt like the next best thing, you know?”
“So, then why’d you leave?”
I considered possible answers to his question, starting with: I was unhinged and anguished and full of regret, and ending with: I still have hope that I can make her proud. “It wasn’t one thing in particular,” I replied instead, thinking fast. “I guess I just…wanted more than that.”
“Fair,” Jrue began, before he was interrupted by the start of the Deltas’ show.
I clapped my hands and tuned in, excited to be done with the line of questioning.
As I watched the Deltas step, my mind rewound to the only positive thing my parents had been able to say to me about transferring (after finally accepting defeat).
We were watching a rerun of Fresh Prince, and as Will stumbled through his first day at Bel-Air Academy, my dad turned to me and said, “That’s the thing about a fresh start.
You get to decide who you want to be, almost like you’re reinventing yourself.
Make sure you think about that. Who you want to be now. Use it wisely.”
“Did y’all see us up there?” screeched Amani, running our way after the show, her burgundy braids flying behind her in celebration.
It reminded me of being a kid, getting my hair done in micros for the first time.
Being so excited, feeling so pretty. Until my white middle school classmates teased me, calling me Medusa-head for weeks. I’d never worn my hair that way since.
I slapped Amani five as the Deltas debriefed about everything that went good and bad in their performance.
They spoke in half-sentences and inside jokes that they all got without anyone having to explain.
“You’re right,” I said to Jrue once we were alone again.
I rocked up onto my toes with an air of kinship that felt like flying.
“We ain’t have nothing like this back in Michigan. ”
On the day of the audition, I was calmer than I expected to be, standing in front of Dr. Watkins and Dr. Cherry—the plum-lipped and polite chair of the music department—both with clipboards in their hands and only the hint of an encouraging smile on their faces.
The room was buzzing with the noise of the restless Jubilee Singers, who had sacrificed their rehearsal time for this, for me, and were making up for it by intoning and scowling.
But when I looked over at Jrue, seated in front of the organ, his smile was huge and reassuring.
We’d stayed up most of the night practicing in the room in the library where we first met.
I wasn’t sure how the double audition was going to go, but even bigger than my fear was my hope. Hope that here, for once, I could fit.
“Is this what you want?” Jrue had asked last night, at the end of our rehearsal. “At first, it seemed like you weren’t sure about getting involved with Jubilee, or Delta. Now you’re tryna do it all, and I guess I just wanna make sure that I didn’t put pressure on you to do that.”
I shook my head. “You’re sweet to ask, but no. You didn’t pressure me. This place just feels different. Like I can fit in here, find my cookies or whatever.” I laughed and Jrue did, too.