“Have you gotten yourself a tutor yet, Echo?” Earnell asks judgingly. “These midterms are going to slaughter you if you don’t get your mind right, and soon.”

“No comment,” I retort, brushing him off.

Earnell takes a deep exaggerated sigh before launching into an epic rant.

“Friend, we had to be superhuman our entire lives just to survive. We’ve finally made it to the promised land, with literal white teats everywhere providing all the vitamins, antioxidants, and essential fatty acids we missed growing up and you refuse to seek nourishment? Why? So you can continue to believe you are Superwoman? You are a legend in your own mind, but it’s not legendary to flunk out of college the first year. You better wake up before you’re back in Cleveland flipping burgers, trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents like the rest of your family.”

“Dang, Earnell,” Keli chimes in, “that’s cold-blooded. You didn’t have to say all that. Chill.”

Earnell knows I can’t fail and understands what’s at stake. Beneath his frustration is a reservoir of love and care for my well-being.

Our love is always buried underneath, at least the Black people I know. We don’t say, “I’m concerned about you” or “I’m terrified you won’t make it” like they do in Hallmark movies. We say, “You betta get your life together before it all falls apart.” We don’t ask, “How are you doing? Do you need anything?” We ask, “You good?”

“You good?” can mean a range of things: “How are you? Are you hungry? How’s the family?” The meaning is conveyed by the tone beneath the words, which is where we place our concern. We love through our shields, since we rarely have the luxury of taking off the warrior gear. Anything that’s filtered like that, through a protective covering, will be coarse and abrasive, but it will also be rooted in deep care and love.

Earnell, Keli, and Gabby are the kinds of friends that would be on the front lines of any war in which I find myself, but don’t expect them to say, “I love you. I’m here for you.” Expect them to say, “You betta wake up” and “You good?”

We spend the rest of our time in the study room in silence. The weight of Earnell’s comments hangs in the air. I pretend to be studying, like everyone else, but am really just waiting for time to pass. A steady stream of thoughts about Bryce, Mandy, the series of unusual occurrences, and my failing grades make it impossible to focus. When Matthew finally rings the bells, signifying it’s time to go, I jump up from my seat and tell them I have another appointment.

“Must be exciting if you are in this much of a rush,” Keli says.

“Trust me, it’s not, but it’s a necessary evil.”