"Running 'til the rims fall
Had them niggas and the cops looking jigsaw
I done fucked around and turned into the big dog
Better get gone, get caught? Bitch, I think not
Yeah, new suit, new boots, same niggas like what?
Lukewarm-ass niggas always wanna talk
I'm hot, I'm heat to the core like Earth
Don't touch, don't go, niggas might get bucked"

Tyler, the Creator—"What's Good?"

Alexis walked out of the bedroom after two hours.

Diša sat on her couch next to Hollis as the young woman stepped into the living room.

"He's asleep," Alexis said.

"Yamilet will give you a ride home. Thank you for looking after him," Diša said.

She stood and gave Alexis a hug as Yamilet grabbed her purse and keys.

"I'll call you tomorrow," Yamilet said as Alexis trailed behind her down the steps to the front door.

Diša gave a heavy sigh and dropped back on the couch. The night was full of surprises and shocks.

"I think I would keep quiet too if that were my mother," Diša said.

She and Hollis had been in a deep conversation with Yamilet about Erik. They read summaries on their phones about Califia Stevens. Even found a picture of her with Erik when he was a little boy in Brazil at a political rally for his Aunt, the infamous Negra Lia. It was like finding out someone was the child of Assata Shakur, or Angela Davis, except those women were still alive and thriving. Erik's mother should've been doing the same. It must've been difficult to grow up the son of a maligned martyr. She knew he lost his parents, but he kept vague on the details. Diša assumed it was just the typical tragic stories of so many Black lives in tough areas. Erik spent more time talking up his grandfather and Uncle than anyone else.

"Will you let him stay overnight?" Hollis said.

"I don't know. I'll let him sleep and he can decide what he wants to do when he wakes up."

"It's good that he's here with you. He listens to you. Respects you. I noticed that he opens up more and is relaxed around this house. In class, he's so closed up, unless of course, he's in the throes of discussing concepts that are beyond his classmates. I'm going to miss that about him."

"Miss that?" she said staring at Hollis's light brown eyes.

Hollis leaned over and clasped her hand.

"At the end of this term, I'm moving to California. Stanford offered me a lucrative position and a chance for tenure next year."

Diša pulled her hand away and shifted her leg onto the couch.

"You're leaving M.I.T.? Seriously? You've always wanted to be here."

"I know my worth. M.I.T. doesn't. I'll get the rest of my boxes from the garage next weekend. I found an apartment there for now and I'm leaving at the end of July."

"You could've told me your plans."

"And what would that do? Would that win you back? Make you reconsider us?"

"There is no us, Hollis. You know that. We were a mistake."

"That you never fail to remind me of."

He kissed her hand.

"You'll have your Ph. D. soon. If you want, you can sell this house and go wherever you want. I'll always have love for you."

"I'll miss you."

"I know you will."

She leaned over and hugged him, kissed his cheek and rubbed his back. He clung to her a bit longer than necessary and when he released her, his eyes were shiny. He stood up.

"You're welcome to stay the night too," she whispered.

"I have papers to grade, and things to pack. I'm slowly gathering stuff up so that it doesn't feel rushed at the end. Call me if you need help," he said nodding toward the guest room.

Diša walked Hollis to the door and they kissed. There was nothing sexual to it, just a gentle reminder of why they weren't suited to one another. The lack of passion was a key factor. Diša loved his mind, but she wanted the full movie version of a spectacular romance. Hollis could only offer a bland everyday sameness, and she wasn't sure if she could take that and his unconscious need to always treat her as a student for fifty-plus years. He would never give up the power dynamic of being her superior in all things intellectual. He would never stop looking for her to fawn over him as a great mind. She wasn't that freshman fan anymore. There had to be more. But she would cherish his love.

She returned to her living room and finished the glass of rum she sipped to take in Erik's history. Poor thing. So alone. So needy.

Diša stretched and walked through her kitchen and went through the door that led down to the garage. She ran her fingers across a few of Hollis's boxes and a lump swelled in her throat. It was the end of an era for her. She wondered if she had played the biggest factor in his decision to leave M.I.T. Placing distance to a relationship that would never become real for him again.

Returning inside the house, she plucked a large throw pillow from her couch and sat it on the floor to rest her back against it. She grabbed her smart TV controller and set the screen to a looped set of pictures depicting architectural wonders around the world. Relaxing into the slideshow, her eyes and mind contemplated new ideas for wondrous creations. When the pictures began to slip into ancient buildings and structures, she reached under her couch and pulled out a slender box filled with her weed paraphernalia. She had a pre-rolled joint ready to go, and she lit it, slinking down lower and stretching her legs. There was no coffee table blocking her sprawl. She hit another button on her remote and the soft instrumental pieces she mixed came on as background music for the images on the widescreen.

For an hour she vibed and floated, her crafty mind already coming up with new designs for a housing project she wanted to create. Tempted to grab her sketchbook, she stayed put as she reflected on Hollis suddenly. She pulled her knees up into her chest and rested her chin on them as the pictures continued to shuffle along. Erik crept in quietly.

"Hi," she said pausing the pictures.

He padded over on black socks and sat down on the soft carpet next to her. She handed him another throw pillow from the couch and he adjusted it behind his back.

"Sorry… for everything."

"Don't be. I understand why you went off. Kwame will never be invited here again."

"What about me?"

There was trepidation in his voice. Diša patted his hip.

"You're always welcome."

His eyes went to the TV.

"What are you watching?"

Diša unpaused the TV and allowed the images to scroll through again.

"Buildings with curved arches. Houses made with simple materials to adapt with climate… trying to prime the pump. I'm making a model for a project and this is how I get inspired when I can't travel there in person."

Erik sat with her watching the TV.

"Middle East?" he asked when some ancient mud structures appeared.

"North Africa… Nubians. Before the Arab invasions and the later migratory shifts in ethnic groups. That right there… Dogon… that one East Africa and the Coptic churches of Ethiopia. And this one….," she paused the TV again, "that is a very rare shot of a Wakandan goat herder's mud dwelling from 1925."

The black-and-white photo was old, but the structure looked vibrant, almost modern with a cistern attached to it. Erik stared at it with just as much curiosity as her.
"Have you ever gone there?" she asked.

"No. My father was estranged from his family. He never spoke to them again after he left the country."

Diša shared more pictures with him and answered his questions.

"I sound like I'm giving a lecture," she said as her voice grew excited from talking about the pictures of red-brown Pueblo Indian dwellings in the U.S.

"It's interesting. I like hearing you talk. Keep going."

She continued with pointing out details on materials, styles, religious aspects, and changes in modern styles and spacing until she glanced over and saw Erik curled on his side fast asleep. She turned off the music and watched him.

Eyes closed, face relaxed, lips slightly parted, Erik looked like he did when he was a little boy. Diša thought of the picture of him standing next to his mother in Brazil. He had to be at least nine or ten. His little fist was up in the air matching his mother's and Negra Lia's. Sleep made him appear so young. She felt protective of him. Reaching over, she ran the back of her right hand along his cheek. The soft hairs of the light beard he was attempting to grow made her smile. Without the hair, he would probably look like some teenager running around campus. Erik's lips attracted her and she traced her index finger along the top one. Lowering her pillow next to his, she curled over on her side and watched him sleep. Deep calm breathing raised his chest, and when she pressed her hands together to rest her head on them, the different angle on her pillow made him look different. His fleshy lips up close, his rounded nose, and the smooth skin across his forehead showed her someone different. A mature person.

Leaning over, Diša kissed his forehead.

"You're a special young man, Erik Stevens. Allah will guide your brilliance and ease your pain."

Easing onto her back, Diša returned to watching her TV as Erik snoozed away next to her.

###

Diša made grits and turkey sausages for breakfast. She grabbed toast from the toaster as Erik dragged in, his clothes rumpled, his eyes sticky with sleep.

"Morning," she said pointing to the kitchen table where a plate waited for him.

He sat down as she placed two pieces of toast on the wide plate in front of him.

"Nothing too fancy, just grits, sausage, and toast," she hummed scooping hot savory grits onto her own plate.

"Anything you cook I'm gonna eat, and it's always fancy to me," he said slathering butter on his bread and grits.

Diša passed him the salt and pepper shakers and tucked into her own grits. They ate together, and she glanced at him to see how he was.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I would've woken you up and made you get back on a bed, but I fell asleep on the floor too."

"We slept together," he said.

His dimpled grin made her smile.

"I guess we did. But my back is stiff," she said wiggling in her seat.

He washed their dishes when they were done, and they sipped coffee at the table staring at one another. She wanted to ask him so many questions about his mother, but the pleasant expression on his face was something she wanted him to leave with. There would be other times. He looked happy to be there with her. She liked that there was no line of tension in his shoulders or neck.

"I'm not preventing you from your prayers or anything?" he asked.

"No, I did my morning prayer earlier. Before you woke up."

His eyes took in the kitchen.

"I didn't break anything on your dining table last night, did I?"

"No. Don't worry about that—"

"I don't like people talking about her."

Erik's eyes dropped to his coffee mug. Diša leaned closer to the table. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and waited for him to continue.

"You probably looked her up, huh?"

"I did. We did…"

He nodded and drank from his mug.

"I have these moments sometimes… where I wake up and I feel like… they are both still alive. Especially her. She was in jail when my Dad was killed. My uncle tried to keep her in the country but they extradited her fast. The U.S. government let them take her quick. Like they were making an example of her for activists here. Our people knew she didn't do that shit, but they made her look like a demon."

His eyes leveled with Diša's.

"If she wanted those cops dead… trust… she could take them all out. With a gun. With her bare hands. But she didn't shoot anyone and she didn't kill anyone. The police there tried to snuff them out and ended up killing one of their own. They blamed my Mom, my aunts. My Pops… he was going to get her out of jail and we were going to leave this country. But he… it didn't happen. So they scooped her out of this country and she was beaten by cops there."

"Is that what killed her?"

"I believe that. But the people there said she got sick. Contracted meningitis in the prison they kept her in that wasn't diagnosed in time. I was on my way there with my Grandpop and uncle to see her when she was sick."

"Did you get to see her? Before?"

"I did… I did. She told me she loved me and that she would come home to me. As soon as the trial was over, she was coming home with a cleared name. She never did. She fell into a coma and died while I was with my cousin Marisol waiting for her to get better. I was outside… on a street in Sao Paulo playing soccer. My Uncle Bakari and Aunt Soliel came and found me. Pulled me into the house of my Godfather and told me she was gone. I swore on that day that anyone who said a bad thing about my mother… I was going to kill them. Man, woman, little kid… whoever. I would kill them."

"I'm sorry, Erik. Your mother would be proud of you. Your father too."

"I know. They had high hopes for me."

"You lived with your grandfather and Uncle after she passed?"

"Grandpop, then juvie, then Uncle Bakari."

Diša poured him more coffee and squeezed his shoulder as she did it before she placed the coffee pot back on the counter. Sitting across from him again she waited for him to guide the conversation.

"Didn't mean to make your morning a downer," he said.

"It's your life. I want to know about it. All of it. You've come so far from such a horrific experience. I mean, you saw your aunt killed in front of you. I read that you and your family in So Paulo shut the city down when your mother died. Two powerful women from the same family? Snatched away from the world? That's heavy, Erik. You come from a strong bloodline of women who stood up for the rest of us. Even me, sitting here over a decade later. I'm grateful to her. I'm grateful that she had you. I feel honored to have the son of Califia Stevens and the nephew of Negra Lia breaking bread with me in my home… oh… Erik… honey… I'm sorry…"

Erik pressed his right hand over his eyes and she heard the choking in his throat. Rushing out of her seat, she knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I miss my mother…"

"I know you do, sweetheart—"

"I miss her voice. I miss how she smiled at me. I miss her hugs and kisses… I miss her scent… I miss my Baba… I hate being in the world sometimes—"

"Don't say that, Erik. Come on. Come with me."

Diša pulled him from the chair and led his trembling body back to the living room and made him sit. Holding his hand, she allowed him to weep until he fell over on the couch and pushed his face into a pillow. He bawled his eyes out as she patted his back.

"The world needs you. Your brilliance. That big ole ego of yours!"

She rubbed his arm and held his hand until he sat up, red-eyed with swollen lids. The slight tremble in his lip disappeared, and the exhales from deep within his chest subsided.

Diša made him stay the day with her. She found an old T-shirt of Hollis tucked away in a bottom drawer and gave it to Erik along with a face and body towel. She handed him an old deodorant tube that also belonged to Hollis but hadn't been used. Erik showered, brushed his teeth with his fingers, and rinsed with mouthwash before joining her to watch a movie. Eventually, he went to read a book from her shelf as she went to dress for afternoon prayers in the small third bedroom she used as an office and meditation space. She was about to lean forward on her prayer rug wearing her pink hijab and prayer tunic when Erik burst in with a question about a book.

"Sorry," he said when he saw her prostrate.

"I'll be done in a bit," she said folding her hands across her dark pink house tunic.

He backed out of the room before coming back.

"Could I join you?" he asked.

Diša hesitated for a moment before she nodded consent. Salat was usually her private time to reflect alone in her home with Allah. Glancing at Erik's face, perhaps he needed time with God too.

"Go wash your hands and face. Rinse out your nose too for ablutions," she instructed.

She didn't have time to show him all of the prayer preparation, but Allah would understand. He left the room and returned five minutes later. Diša lifted from her knees and moved her rug sideways so he could kneel on it with her.

"My Grandpop used to be a member of the Nation," he said.

"Oh yeah? My Dad too until he left it in the 80s. So you know what direction we're facing, right?"

"Yeah."

"You must start with the intention of goodwill for prayer in your heart."

She took the time to explain the movements of sujood and sadjah and spoke in Arabic for him to repeat with her. He fell into step easily and she wondered if his grandfather still prayed like she did. They raised their hands up together next to their ears and shoulders, palms out as they both softly said, "Allāhu akbar." God is the greatest.

By the time Diša led him in the movements of the tasleem, their heads turning left and then right to acknowledge the angels that recorded their good and bad deeds, Erik's voice was louder than hers as they both said, "As-salamu alaykum wa Rahmatullah."

"You did well," she said impressed by his dedication to say the words correctly and move his body accordingly.

His eyes took in her attire as they stood up.

"Why don't you dress like this all the time?"

Diša touched the bottom of her hijab then rested her hands on her sides.

"I was raised a bit unconventional with religion. Mom's formerly Christian. Dad Muslim. I drift between the two although I think of myself as more spiritual. When my father developed throat cancer… I fell back in line with his way of praying and worshipping again. My Muslim friends don't like it, because I don't follow all the tenets… I smoke weed, drink, have sex without marriage… I don't always dress modestly. But it comforts me. Connects me. I still attend my mother's church when I visit, so I haven't disconnected from her beliefs totally. I'm making it up as I go."

"If it makes you happy then it works."

"Yeah, it does."

Erik rolled up her rug for her and she put it away as he looked around her office/prayer room. A folding table had some unfinished model mock-up of an underwater dwelling. He touched the little colored plastic paper she used to simulate water before following her back into the living room.

"I'ma head out," he said reaching for his car keys.

"There's no rush for you to leave."

"Sunday seems like a reflective day for you. I have laundry to do and a test to prep for. I also have a T.A. interview tomorrow."

"Really? Cool. What department?"

"Electrical Engineering and Computer Science. There's an opening for a T.A. in two robotics classes."

"Good luck," she said.

"Thanks."

"You are welcome to stay longer."

"I gotta beat these dudes in the laundry room. Washers and dryers get hogged up before two."

"I was planning to make us some meatball subs for lunch."

Erik's eyes were bright and his shoulders raised up at the mention of food.

"Tell you what, have lunch and then you can jet. I already took out enough ground turkey for the two of us. I don't want to refreeze it."

"Can I at least help?"

"No. Finish reading that book you were so into. Won't take me long to prepare the food."

Diša shoved the book into his hand and made him sit while she left the room to cook. When the sandwiches were smothered in marinara sauce and Italian cheeses on fresh bread, she had them eat in the dining room where they discussed robotics and the robot he once made for his grandmother. His eyes lit up talking about her, and she stuffed his belly with more food before he begged off and left her house. She watched him start his car and drive off, and for a hot second, she was sad to see him leave. Her mind had even thought of what they could have for dinner together.

"God, please watch over him. He's really special. Rahimakallah."

###

Erik collected test papers in the lecture hall quickly as undergrads filed out of the mechanical engineering class. He flipped open his laptop and began organizing his grading schedule. Professor Due appreciated how fast and efficient Erik was with his TA work and asked him to present a new mini-lecture on flexible robot technology. His work as Stark's intern paid off with accolades about his work in the department. Erik had partnered up with a brilliant Native student from Wisconsin in an after-class lab who was experimenting with creating more lifelike skin to cover robotic body parts. Erik witnessed a lot of uncanny valley experiments with that dude.

"Ready for Tuesday?" Professor Due said as he packed up a thin attaché.

A beet-red potato face peered at Erik with a wide smile.

"All set. I can have these tests done soon and will upload on your spreadsheet by three."

"Great, have a good weekend. Look forward to your lecture next week."

Due left the hall and Erik drank the last of the water he had in a half-full water bottle. Thank God for the weekend. He planned on sleeping in all day Saturday and then seeing Diša on Sunday for brunch.

Erik had moved from just having a seat at her dinner parties to enjoying one-on-one Sunday brunches with her. Sometimes Yamilet was there or one other close friend, but Sunday had become their day. She cooked, he ate, and they spent a few hours talking, listening to music, or playing chess. She kicked his ass in chess every other game it seemed. He liked how her forehead crinkled when he had her licked, trapping her in some impossible corner. She hated losing. So did he.

He began studying Arabic on his own online and on a phone language app, and they spent time at her dining table speaking rudimentary words. He taught her Spanish and Portuguese and helped her understand the differences between the two languages. When he spoke to his Aunt Serah in London, he let Diša talk to her so she could speak French with the woman. His Aunt was shocked that he would call her just to have a woman talk to her that wasn't his girlfriend.

Sometimes Diša was sad during his visits.

The boxes that had been piled in her garage were gone.

Hollis was gone.

They would listen to music on her turntables as she mixed songs that she thought about playing on her radio show, and there were moments when she would stare off into space. She'd leave the room and when she returned, the whites of her eyes would be pink and she'd go on about her music playing. Erik didn't offer to talk to her about it. He didn't want to hear about an ex-husband or have her stewing about possible regrets. All he wanted was to be around her, even if she was doing her own thing playing her music, creating beats, hitting her pocket stride on her drums, or sketching sustainable homes for the present and future. Erik needed to be near Diša. Her TA advice was helpful to him and she assisted him with balancing school and improving his lectures. Erik found it hard sometimes to bring down his intellect for his lectures. He expected MIT students to be on it. Diša reminded him that he'd spent a year under Stark's tutelage and world, and not everyone was privy to that level of innovative excellence. Basically, he needed to chill. He did.

After two hours of sitting in the empty room, he completed the last input of grades. Thank God there were short answer questions on all the tests. Walking out of the class with his backpack stuffed with graded sheets, he dropped off all the paperwork in Due's personal mailbox in the department staff lounge.

Spring was in the crisp air, and Erik thought of his birthday. All of his close extended family was coming to Cambridge to celebrate with him in another month, and Diša also had her DJ show in a week. It was good to have things to look forward to among his studies and TA work.

He dipped into the library and made his way to the history texts.

"Hey, Erik."

Tristan, a classmate from a military science class stopped him near a study station.

"Sup?" Erik said quietly being cognizant of students engrossed in thick books.

"You ever think about being one of my groomsmen yet?"

"Why?"

"I finally asked Marianna to marry me!"

"Yo, that's w'sup!" Erik said giving the blonde, slender classmate dap.

"You have plenty of time to decide. We won't get hitched until next year in Italy, but let me know by December so I can get the tuxes lined up and make the flight arrangements. We're flying our entire wedding party there to celebrate. Her grandma is there and can't travel anymore, so it'll be a destination wedding."

"Cool. Since you're paying, I'll do it!"

"My man!" Tristan shouted annoying other students.

"Talk later then," Erik said.

Tristan patted him on the back and Erik moved on to another section. He passed by two Black women who stared at him with surly eyes. When he glared back, they turned away and mumbled something to each other.

Finding the books he needed, Erik snatched them up and did a self-check-out. Moving across campus he felt his cell buzz in his backpack. He ignored it until he reached his dorm building. Alexis stormed past him at the entrance with a tight face.

"Yo, aye… Alexis! Whatchu mad about?"

Alexis stopped in her tracks. When she spun around, her eyes were just as hard as the other Black women at the library.

"You don't know?" she snapped.

"Know what?"

"Figures. I expected better of you Erik. Of all people…"

She stormed off leaving him confused in her wake. Erik walked into the building and a few white and Asian students glanced his way.

"The fuck?" he mumbled heading to the elevator.

Back inside the commons of Chocolate City, his dorm mates were in various stages of studying, watching TV, typing on laptops, and snacking. Steve and Kevin, two of the most extroverted people in the entire group, cackled at a small dining table staring at a cell phone. Their raucous laughter drew the attention of the others when Kevin started jerking his body around with tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. He clutched his stomach and turned to the others.

"Hey! Check out the BizWiz app! Our video is trending!" Kevin said.

A few of the others pulled out phones, and Erik pulled his out of his backpack. There were several messages waiting for him. The first one was from a senior named Chloe he met months ago at a student mixer. They were both mutuals with Tristen and Erik was slowly orbiting himself around her once he knew Diša had boundaries and essentially curved him.

Chloe's message was straight to the point.

Wtf Erik? You hate Black women that much?

She left a link with the message and Erik opened it. The BizWiz app was a new social media platform that blew up almost overnight. The content was silly, and Erik rarely engaged with social media other than campus apps for his TA gig. He pressed play and there was Steve and Kevin looking like a Black version of Laurel and Hardy inside the commons. In bold white lettering above their heads was a title that said "Why Black women…?"

The other guys were guffawing and slapping knees and Erik turned up the volume on his phone and slipped on earbuds. Acting like dorks, Keven and Steve went through a rapid-fire delivery of tasteless, anti-Black jokes aimed at Black women. They left nothing untouched in the two-minute screed. Hair. Features. Body size. Color. Vernacular. Mannerisms. Desirability. All were scrutinized and made fun of with examples culled from the internet. Erik's jaw clenched.

Rasheed walked in with a pizza box and Erik stomped right up to him.

"You see this shit?" Erik asked.

Thrusting his phone in Rasheed's face, Erik waited for the leader of the House to watch the clip.

"They filmed it here, and they're wearing Chocolate City t-shirts with M.I.T. all over it," Erik said with clenched teeth, "this the kind of Brotherhood you running over here?"

No wonder Alexis curved him.

No wonder the two Black women stared at him in the library like he was dogshit. Erik was wearing the same t-shirt.

"Kevin! Steve!" Rasheed shouted.

Rasheed tossed the pizza on a table near a couch and accosted the two jokers who were still hyped from their video. Erik glanced at the video clip again. Fifty thousand viewers had already streamed the video. It had over three thousand likes.

Rasheed's loud voice hushed up the other dudes who thought the shit was hilarious.

"What is this?" Rasheed demanded.

Steve and Kevin's eyes darted around for support, but the rage in Rasheed's voice wiped the smiles from their lips.

"We went viral," Kevin said.

"It's fucked up," Erik said standing near Rasheed.

"Aw, man, it's just jokes and shit," Steve said.

Rasheed's phone vibrated in his hand.

"Don't move," he said taking the call and turning his back.

"Bitch niggas," Erik growled at them before his own phone buzzed in his hand.

Chloe.

"I saw it," Erik said leaving the commons and heading to his room.

"You're in that video giving a thumbs up," she said. Her Detroit accent was thick with anger.

"I was walking by in the background. I had earbuds on, I didn't know what they were filming. I gave a thumbs up because I thought they were just checking in with me. They're always on that app."

"Doesn't matter. Every guy over there represents Chocolate City. This is bad. Is Rasheed or Darcy there?"

"Rasheed is on the phone. I don't know where Darcy is."

"I'm going to have an emergency meeting with the members of the M.I.T. Black Women's Alliance… dammit, Erik. We go through so much shit already without Black men dumping on us too. You guys are supposed to be the cream of the crop and this is the content you put out for the world to see?"

Erik listened to Chloe give him a rant lecture on sexism and misogynoir, Black men not being shit, and when she was done, the weight of every Black man's faults rested on his chest like a cement block.

"What do you want me to do? The Co-Chairs will make them take down the video, but beyond that-?"

"There needs to be accountability and a public apology. We just sat at a round table discussion last week talking about the Black community coming together and members of your House sat with us talking about Black Queens, and all that Hotepery, but then you turn around and do this… ugh I swear to God you assholes make me sick—"

"Chloe, I hear you. I ain't know about this shit until you sent me the link. I don't hang with these dudes like that at all—"

"I gotta go and round up the troops. We're going to drag you all to hell and back."

Chloe ended the call before he could plead his innocence. His roommate Damien tumbled in grinning and watching the video on his phone with another dorm mate, Jace, on his heels.

"You think that shit is funny?" Erik thundered at Damien.

Both young men stopped smiling. A knock on the bedroom door drew Erik's attention away. Kevin cracked the door open with a grim face.

"Darcy and Rasheed want us all in the commons in twenty minutes."

Erik brushed past Kevin, knocking his shoulder into him as he went by. He snagged a seat on a low sofa and crossed his arms waiting for the others to assemble. By the time everyone finally showed up, Erik was ready to knock everyone out.

Darcy's shaggy head carried the brunt of the phone call complaints. He stood next to Rasheed and glared at his charges.

"We have failed as a community," he said.

"It'll blow over," a reedy, pie-faced junior said from the back of the room.

"No, it won't. Chloe Redding called me. She's the chair of the Black Women's Alliance here. They are planning to boycott us publicly. Do you know what that means? We've been here since the seventies and Black women are organizing against us to have us removed from campus as an entity."

"They can't do that," Kevin said.

"Nigga, this is your fault!" Erik shouted.

"Over some jokes?" Steve blurted.

"You are the joke. All you dudes who shared that video, laughed at it, and agreed with that bullshit-!"

"Erik, calm down," Darcy said.

"Nah, you need to turn the fuck up. I've watched your leadership here. You and Rasheed. What they said on that video is the same shit they say in here all the time and you don't say shit about it directly. Why am I the only one calling y'all out when I hear it? It comes from the top down. The hierarchy here is fucked up—"

"Then maybe you should run it," Rasheed said with some bass in his gruff voice.

"If I ran this bitch, most of you niggas wouldn't be here—"

"Erik, language, please," Darcy said.

"Maybe Chocolate City needs to be ended cuz the only chocolate you fools care about are the ones with dicks."

He glanced around the room. Most of the guys wouldn't even hold eye contact with him.

"How are we supposed to be pro-Black here and act all supportive of us, but shit on Black women? Y'all a bunch of weirdos. I'm out—"

"Erik, wait. We have to fix this together. A united front," Darcy said.

"This behavior is systemic here. I see why Black women call us the White people of Black people—"

"Aw, man…"

Grumbling surrounded him. He paused his exit. Darcy looked at his phone.

"We are going to sit here and talk this out. Why is it funny to trash Black women?" Darcy asked, "What was your intent with that video?"

Kevin and Steve rolled their eyes and threw their hands up.

"Clout," Damien said. His eyes dusted over Erik's with shame.

"Clout?" Rasheed said.

"Clicks," another voice said.

"Bullying… hatred," someone else said.

Erik turned to see who said it and saw a shy medium brown freshman with braces and locs.

"Answer us," Erik demanded.

"Look y'all, I promise… it was just funny to us—"

"What if some Black women made a video like that and went down a list of harmful stereotypes about you or just went in on your appearance? Huh? Your raggedy line up, belly hanging out, skin looking crispy like burnt toast crunch, big ass nose taking up half your ugly face, struggle 'fro dry like tumbleweeds waiting to start the next brush fire, body built like a busted bean bag…"

Erik read them for filth, using the same words that they used in their video. The other men laughed as Keven and Steve stewed in their seats, their faces contorting in rage and embarrassment.

"Erik, that's enough," Darcy said.

"Is it funny now? Huh? Speak up! You had so much shit to say on video. Have that same energy right here, right now."

No one spoke.

"Ain't worth a damn your own self and you wanna project your lack on them?"

Erik stood up.

"I'm not the problem. Deal with them on your own."

Erik left the room amidst grumblings. He went to his twin bed and grabbed his laptop to listen to Diša's segment. Fridays were always the best shows because she set her audience up for the weekend. Erik texted her a message asking to speak to her. Chloe left him another message. So did Alexis. And Tisha. Deandria. Kelly. All the other Black women he knew from his classes. All their messages had angry emojis and exclamation marks.

Diša's voice filled his room.

"… and shout out to the sistren who stand tall despite the slander… the smudging of their character, looks, and way of being. I see you. I support you. We only have us apparently, so lemme give you succor…"

Buttafly mixed classic Black anthems sung by Black women and Erik escaped the hatred he felt for his dorm mates by falling into the music. When Diša played Erykah Badu's "Tyrone", he covered his face with a pillow.

###

Chloe was on Chocolate City's ass.

There was a leadership meeting held and Black women from all over the M.I.T. student body showed up for a public apology and to listen to Darcy and Rasheed read a statement of actionable items that Chocolate City would implement moving forward to dismantle misogynoir. Things from Day One orientation, Bi-Annual trainings on content awareness, prevention, and response, working with M.I.T. mental health addressing internalized systems of oppression, intercultural engagement on toxic masculinity and more. Erik felt it was a start, but he didn't think the community would follow through. The offensive video was taken down, but it had already been copied and distributed globally with copy cats in parts of Africa and the Caribbean making their own versions within their communities.

Kevin, Steve, and all the men of Chocolate City sat and watched Black women from their own classes cry and rage about what they did. Erik sat in the back with Damien and Jace, and his face warmed up in shame when Diša walked in with Yamilet along with her other homegirl Jennifer, the Graduate Resident Tutor of their building. Diša made brief eye contact and he couldn't tell if she was pissed or not. She sent him a cryptic text three days before, and they hadn't talked in person for over a week.

A war of words broke out between Rasheed and a linguistics major over the lack of remorse she felt the Chocolate City men had since the video had spread. Watching Rasheed gaslight the woman openly as other women grumbled from the display of the exact dismissive behavior the video highlighted made Erik's head hurt. Rasheed fumbled, floundered, and the mood shift from the women was feral. They were ready to skin their flesh and turn them all into beef jerky strips.

Diša tapped him on his shoulder. She snuck up behind him as he watched Rasheed grovel and deflect.

"You should go up there and speak," she whispered.

"And say what? Sorry really ain't working for y'all."

"Be who you always are. Tell them how you feel."

Erik stood up and walked toward the front of the gathering. Hot eyes blazed across his face as the women tracked his movement. Darcy perked up and Rasheed's lips pressed together like he tasted something sour.

"Can I say something?" he asked Darcy.

"Go ahead."

Erik faced the women. Diša and her friends stayed posted up on the wall in the back.

"We fucked up."

Some women tittered when he cursed. Others craned their necks back waiting for him to either backpedal or sell them a false scenario of the future.

"Niggas ain't shit."

Diša pressed her fingers to her forehead and dropped her head down. But the rest of the women leaned forward.

"We let the sistahs down by being cavalier about our internalized anti-Blackness toward y'all. I was in that video, but I don't agree with the message and I don't support the two simps that made it. But I am a part of Chocolate City and we're supposed to be our Brother's Keepers… and our Sisters too. We dropped the ball. Darcy is good people. If he says these actions will be taken to improve our behavior, then you should believe him. Rasheed was being defensive toward you, but that's what happens when Black men aren't accustomed to being called out and called in for their fucked up behavior. They tell you you're overly sensitive. Emotional. Can't take a joke. And then they do it again. And again. Shit gets old…"

Erik saw Diša raise her head up. He also caught Chloe making doe eyes at him as she listened to his words. She had been a huge cheerleader for Chocolate City, and it hurt her the most to have all the mess happen on her watch over Black women on campus.

"Every time we mess up. Call us out on it. We'll do the same for you if need be, but right now, this is on us. I'll work on being a better man. I'll work on being more vigilant when I see stuff like that openly happening. I know for a fact, some of these dudes in here don't really care. They'll wait until they leave here, or will hide behind other content creators and continue to laugh at and support attacks on you. I would name names, but people show you who they are all the time around here. None of this would've been addressed until you all brought it to our attention. We as Black men should've been the first in our dorms to handle this. We didn't. I'm just going to do my part and hopefully, no more bullshit will pop off like this again."

Erik walked back to his seat under a wall of silence that permeated the room. Yamilet patted him on the shoulder in solidarity, but Diša just watched Darcy and Rasheed try to salvage what they could of Chocolate City's reputation. The Black Kings of the campus let her down. They let everyone down.

The meeting adjourned and most folks lingered. Erik took note of the Black men from his dorm who bolted from sight. Damien and Jace stayed behind and spoke to the women. The mood was still tense.

"Thank you for speaking," Chloe said.

There was a twinkle back in her eyes. She brushed her long hair back from her shoulders and her extra full lips peeled back into a smile for him.

"You should run for Co-Chair next year. Darcy really likes what you bring to the table.

Chloe reminded him a lot of his ex-lover Devika back in California. She had a kind heart and was very ambitious. A little bougie, but he knew how to handle those types.

"I have too much going on for all that."

"Being a TA is a lot of work. I did it last year. Never again," she said.

She glanced around then closed the gap between them.

"We should get coffee or something tomorrow. Darcy and Rasheed will meet with me on Monday, but I'd like to run some more ideas by you first to help fix your toxic household."

Erik grinned.

"I can do that."

"Good. Café Luna? We can stay around Kendall Square."

"Cool. I can be there at eight."

"See you then."

Chloe sauntered off, but she looked back at him. She had his curiosity piqued. They hung out before, had a good rapport with one another, and Erik found her extremely attractive.

"She's cute," Yamilet said.

Yamilet, Diša, and Jennifer surrounded him and he caught some of the remaining Chocolate City brethren scoping him hard with three baddies cornering him.

"She runs the Alliance?" Diša asked.

"Yeah."

"How does it feel to be the savior of Chocolate City?"

"I wouldn't say all that."

"You were eloquent, even with the profanity," Jennifer said.

"Keep on top of them. They respect you," Diša said.

The women wandered away from him, and Erik took his leave.

"Wait up, man!" Damien called out.

Jace and Damien bounded out of the meeting room and caught up to him.

"Where you headed?" Damien asked.

"I dunno, get a burger or something."

"Can we go with? We have some ideas we want to share with you. You seem more receptive than Rasheed, and Darcy was busy talking," Jace said.

Erik glanced at his watch.

"Yeah. C'mon," he said.

They walked the square and talked about the reception they received from the women. Both Damien and Jace wanted to be better representation, and they asked Erik how to deal with the other Black men who wouldn't change without being snitches. Erik tried to explain ways of being non-confrontational since the younger men were a lot softer than him when it came to speaking up. They arrived at a crowded burger joint and ordered inside. Waiting for their order at a small table outside, Erik listened to Damien share his fears about more people turning against Chocolate City.

Erik froze.

The tingling struck the skin of his bottom inferior lip so fast that his hand shot out and rubbed it furiously.

"What is it?" Jace asked with concern.

Erik whipped his head around and his eyes darted about the vast crowd of people on the outdoor patio and standing around. He bolted up from his seat.

"Be right back," he said.

His vibram tattoo itched to hell and that meant only one thing. Someone with vibranium was nearby. Which meant someone from Wakanda was watching him.

Erik searched for a Black face in a sea of white skin and Asian students. He caught sight of a dark-skinned woman moving swiftly through an oncoming wave of students ready to let loose on a Friday night.

He started running.

Ahead of him, he spotted four other Black students joining his target. Two women, two men. Erik couldn't tell which one was making his skin crawl. He followed and closed the distance, his fingers scratching at the increased discomfort of his tattoo reacting—

There!

A woman with short curly hair and dark chestnut skin ducked down a pathway that led out of the student square. She moved swiftly and away from people. His tattoo reached a state where he could tolerate the itchiness. It actually subsided once he drew closer to her. She ran up some stairs alongside a busy book store and glanced back at him once before she disappeared around a corner.

"The fuck?" he huffed when he reached the same spot. She had vanished.

The hair on his arms rose and Erik looked up at the evening sky. He staggered back from the top step as flashes of neon blue burst and slipped away behind the glow of a crescent moon. His heart thumped rapidly as the uncomfortable feeling in his tattoo faded.

The Wakandans.

They were watching him.

The shock of it frightened him. He hadn't been careful… no. Why would he think that? If they left his father to die in a foreign land without a care in the world, not even taking his body home, then they knew he existed. Probably kept tabs on him since birth.

Erik closed his eyes.

His grandfather didn't know about his Baba's people. Grandpop raised him as best he could. Only Uncle Bakari and his aunts knew about his lineage, and they kept his life private. They didn't know the full extent of Wakanda's powers, but they tried to keep his name out of circulation to protect him from the stigma of the Sao Paulo 4.

He was just Erik Stevens. And yet they tracked him.

Erik felt foolish for not changing his name. But it didn't matter. Wakanda had the power to transform the world. They could find him anywhere. And they now knew that he was aware of their surveillance.

He walked back to the burger joint where a double stack with cheese waited for him.

"What happened?" Damien asked.

"I thought I saw someone I knew," he said, "it wasn't them."

Erik ate and listened to his dorm mates toss him ideas about the image clean-up they had to undertake.

"Can we ride with you to go see Diša in D.C.?" Jace asked.

"Yeah, whatever," Erik said.

The hairs on his neck wouldn't lay down. He touched the outside of his lip and rubbed it.

King T'Chaka had moved the second chess piece.

Erik was going to clean his body all over the board one day. He couldn't wait.