The 7 Proposals {Chapter 1}

Seven is a lucky number, but do you apply something seven times to prove a point?

My father always says, “It takes seven points to show a woman that you wish to court her.”

I could take awhile to show a woman seven reason why you’re interested, but I can do it within minutes. High school is boot camp, and college is just a game. In my first year, I manage to gather the gullible women of the class of 2010, yet I still can’t fathom how they slipped into a freshman’s hands, for I graduate in 2011. Still, my fraternity gives me pats on the back for a job well done.

I start with the slow sliding-onto-the-next-bar-stool approach. You don’t want the target to know that she’s being hit on or else you’ll end up in handcuffs (Three times before I got quieter about my appearances).

Step 2: Half stare until she turns. A man should never lay his full attention on a woman.

Step 3: When she does, compliment on her best features. For example: if her eyes sparkle in the light, say that.

Step 4: When she thanks you, get her the drink she wants. It’s good manners. Don’t be a pig and order draft beer.

Step 5: Ask about her hobbies. Specifically make sure she answers with something in the arts or sports field.

Then, I go into step 6: Say how I’m involved in those subjects even if I have to lie about it. I’m not going to see her again, so how would she find that out?

Last step is the best part. That is to invite her back to my place and rock her world. It hasn’t failed me yet.

However, my sophomore year at NYU has been a lot slower than I could expect from college. The girls are more aware, and…I don’t rape, okay? My father taught me better than to take a woman and abuse her beauty in anyway. When I get into it, I’m a gentleman, not a caveman. Still some say, and I agree sometimes, that I have a problem.

Halloween 2008, the biggest frat party of the year occurs in the Zeta Psi house. The day before, I arranged a junior, Maria Cohen, to meet up in the sorority house across the lawn. She requested by email, and I couldn’t refuse (No money involved; I am not, and I repeat, not a prostitute, nor I spend money on them). That’s my next lesson. Don’t respond to emails.

Along the way to the Pi Beta Phi house, people call out, “ ‘Sup, Naveen?” or “Welcome, your majesty!” Our theme for the frat house is Disney Princes, suggested by the only gay guy as our head of the house, Jeremy Larkin. Prince Naveen from Princess and the Frog is not my choice, but since I’m the only colored person in the house, I get the part by default. Any other way, it doesn’t bother me so much.

I slip through the back of the PBP house and slowly creep up the stairs to not disturb the peace that’s going on in the party space on the first floor. The email mentions the last room down the west side of the house, so that’s where I go.

When I slowly push the bedroom door in, I come to see pitch black, but I can see the legs of the bed because of the light in the hall. I unsnap my cape and toss it to the right wall of the room. My left foot push the door back to closing position. “Oh, Tiana,” I end up saying in the worst Naveen impersonating voice on the face of the planet, unbuttoning the top part of the costume. “Tiana…” I crawl from the bottom edge of the bed to the top, climbing over this pretty girl’s body. “Your prince has finally arrived,” I whispered soothingly, “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Then, my lips reach down to kiss her white neck.

A shriek rattles the whole room and has me stunned. I like a good scream, but if it makes me jump, I run like Speedy Gonzalez. The girl springs awake and forcefully pushes me off the bed. My head hits the floor first, and the next thing I feel is my brain pounding as if someone’s hitting me in the head with a hammer.

The lights flicker on, and I can the see the whole room in clear view. Some of my clothes lay near a single desk, which is piled up with textbooks for English. A few novels are spread across the floor with spare paper on the side. I look back at the bed that I’ve been pushed off of to see a white girl with mussy, brown hair, matching eyes, and clothes on, gasping for dear life.

“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my room?” she screams at the top of her lungs.

Gasping, I manage to reply, “Sam…Samuel Brockavich.”

“And why are you in my room?”

“Well, didn’t you send me an email, requesting…services? Your name’s Maria Cohen, right?” I don’t know why I'm asking. This girl doesn’t look Latino in the slightest of ways. I know that I’m embarrassed out of my wits right now because I almost did a girl that almost called the cops on me for rape or assault.

She arches her brows until her eyes turned black as the night sky. “No! My name is Caroline Simpson, and I don’t do booty calls!”

I cock one eyebrow. “Is Maria your sorority sister? Roommate maybe?”

“Maria? Maria doesn’t exist here. I’m in charge of who belongs in this house, so I would know! There is no Maria Cohen in Pi Beta Phi, and I never heard of that name on our pledging roster.”

Dumbfounded as I am, it takes me at least five long seconds to realize that I’ve just been had. “Bitch!” I exclaim to myself, thinking about my fraternity, this sorority, and how much I want to get back at the ones who planned all this out.

Out of nowhere, Caroline starts hysterically crying. “How can this happen to me?” she asks herself. She coughs once before speaking again. Her eyes are becoming red from the hot tears that are dripping down her face. “I’ve never been or felt so violated in my entire life! Why did this happen to me?”

My heart sink to my stomach, and its acid starts burning it as a punishment for my stupidity. If there’s one thing I’ve never done before, that’s make a move on the wrong girl. I admit that I feel very sick about it as I watch Caroline transform from a very angry college student to a very upset little girl. “Caroline, I’m so sorry,” I say to her, “I had no intentions to violate you like that, honest to God. I would never to anything so…heinous to you.”

“But you thought I was a girl that never existed!”

“I know, and that is my fault.” I grab my shirt from the bookshelf and put it back over my chest. As I reach for my cape, I ask, “Do you need anything? I’ll fetch you a coffee or water from downstairs, or…”

“None of that,” Caroline interrupts.

“I’ll even give you a chance to give me a nut shot.”

She cocks an eyebrow and responds with, “What?”

I gesture to my crotch and repeat, “Nut shot.”

“Oh.”

I drop my green cape onto the floor again and spread my legs a few inches apart from each other. “Come on,” I force, “hit me.”

“I won’t hit you.” I’m about to speak until Caroline grabs a ball from her nightstand. “But this might as well.” The magic 8 ball flies into the air and chucks me in between the legs for a complete nut shot.

I clutch my legs together and collapse onto the floor once again. All that comes out from throat is squeaking. My hands instinctively cupped my junk though I should’ve known that Caroline and I are the only people in the room. “Thank you for your patronage, Caroline,” I say as I’m trying to regain my breathing pattern.

“For the record, Samuel,” she responds, “Call me Carrie.”

“Okay, Carrie.” As I struggle to stand up, using the bed as my support platform, I repeat my name. “Sam. My name is Sam.”

“Nice to meet ya again. Say, wanna meet up for coffee tomorrow morning to make up for tonight’s mess?”

I shrug slightly and cringe. “Sure. Whatever you say, boss lady.”

“Three things. Uno, don’t call me that ever.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Due, goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Carrie,” I reply, fetching my cape and staggering to the door.

“Tre, get the hell out of my sorority house.”

“Done and done.”