Cheyney University, Philly Alpha Phi Alpha Yard Show, November 8th —————————————

The bass is so deep it rattles your chest.

You’re not sure which song is playing anymore. Just that it’s loud, sweaty, and full of people you don’t know. The smell is loud and thick with a fog you can only pinpoint as weed smoke.

Your friends dragged you out for some “yard party” thing after a flyer was slid under your dorm room door. You didn’t know what to expect. You damn sure didn’t expect this.

Black and old gold cuts through the crowd like royalty. The Alphas are stomping across the pavement. Shoulders rolling, black boots shuffling and hitting hard on the cracked concrete of the empty parking lot. The whole crowd screams like it’s a damn concert, everybody and they mama got their cameras out, recording the stroll. Some girls yelling out ‘Go Westcoast! Go Westcoast!’ Who the hell is Westcoast..?

That’s when you see him. Tall, dark and handsome. Gold, bottom grills flashing between grins when he chants. Shoulders built like he fight people for fun. The frat letters stitched bold across his chest. A black and gold chain resting just right on his skin. He’s clearly the finest one in the whole lineup. But something about him moves different. More confident. More intentional.

He locks eyes with you mid-stroll. Doesn’t break rhythm. Just dips his chin once, slow, gives you a look. The kind that borderlines interest and a dark edge. And then? He smiles and nods at you like ‘What’s up?’.

If that wasn’t enough to let you know he saw you… And now you can’t not see him.

Your friends are screaming. You’re confused. You mull it over in your mind, confused as to what that was. Actually, the ordeal was run of the mill. He prolly does this to every girl they see at their shows.

He’s still watching you when the Alphas’ stroll ends and he steps out of formation. Another song, one that’s more current, plays on the speakers and just as you and your friends had broken off to the side to further discuss what the hell just happened, here his ass comes. He stalks up from the side, muttering a surprisingly polite ‘excuse me’ to your friends and directs his attention to you, walking toward you like he knows he got your attention.

“Yo… mind if I holla at you real quick?” One of his thick brows lifts, his chest still rising and falling a little fast from just finishing his performance. Oh sweet baby Jesus.