Honey and Spice(93)
I moved so I was slightly ahead of them. “Let me get at Adwoa, see what’s up.”
Adwoa caught my eye and dropped her protest arm, face softening from the grim determination it had previously been positioned in. She passed her megaphone to someone and took us both from the furor, pulling me round the side of the building.
“Adwoa, what is happening?”
She was panting, wild eyed. “Kiki. I quit the cabinet. Today. You wouldn’t believe the shit that went down since we last spoke. I went snooping. Found that Zack is getting sent money to hold this debate. None of which, of course, will go back to Blackwell.”
My breath hitched. “Wait, what?”
“Zack’s been having meetings with the Whitewell Knights. Remember last year, when we booked the main hall for Reni Eddo-Lodge and when she came to speak, it weirdly, coincidentally, turned out that there was an administrative fuckup and the Whitewell Knights had booked it for that pseudo-intellectual nationalist guy? Zack got paid off to cancel it.”
“Hold up.” I blinked, trying to process this. “Zack has been sabotaging us the whole time?”
Adwoa grabbed my arm. “Kiki, he has been going to the meetings. I’ve been working on this for months. I have a mole. Zack is such an idiot. They’re good to him, so he thinks of course, they can’t be racist. But it’s great PR for them. They’ve been using him this whole time. Did you know that Zack’s dad was a Whitewell Knight too? They always find one so they can keep up the pretense that they ain’t a fucking Klan. He’s a legacy.
“Zack was somehow smart enough to find a way to be in power and also take money. He has president of a society on his CV and he also gets to pocket money and connections from helping out the Whitewell Knights. He’s going to get his pick of fellowships, internships, graduate jobs—whatever he wants.”
I stumbled back. It was clear now that Zack’s brand of dark was layered, any depth he had directed to being the world’s biggest prick.
“Shit, Adwoa. I mean, well done, but shit. You found this out all by yourself?”
Adwoa shrugged. “Nah. My girlfriend’s a professional sleuth. She has a blog. She helped dig. Did some undercover work with him. He had extra money to buy her stuff, and he couldn’t help but brag.” She rolled her eyes as the noise of the protest escalated. “I know we have to do something and out him to everyone but she can’t expose him because her platform isn’t far-reaching enough and the institution won’t take it seriously as it’s a gossip site. If we swing at him, we can’t afford to miss. Look, Kiki, I have to go. I’m sorry this is getting in the way of the show but—”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. Actually, I think I have an idea. Let me help.”
The idea solidified as the words left my mouth. After his antics at Ty’s house, it was clear that Zack, in general, was an infection who needed to be neutralized for the good of Blackwell. If he behaved like that toward me, what were his actions like toward the First Years who flocked around him, mainly for social currency? He was addicted to power and ownership, and it made him a perpetually unsatisfied monster. It would be messy and I’d have to run it past Aminah as it would put Brown Sugar’s recent success at risk—getting involved in politics was almost a sure-fire way to plummet listenership—but I had to do it.
“Yeah?” Adwoa didn’t bother to hide her surprise. It was understandable considering my track record.
I looked back at the burgeoning crowd. Malakai had found a placard and Aminah was looking at her watch, rolling her eyes.
I nodded. “Tag me in.”
Whitewell College Radio, 9:30–11 p.m. slot, Thursday
Brown Sugar Show
“What’s up, sweet things? It’s your girl K, and we’re gonna be doing something a little different today. As you may have noticed, the musical theme of this episode has been a little militant—rap in war mode—because I’m tryna get us ready for something.
“I want to talk about the Wasteman of Whitewell. You see friends, what I got wrong before is who this Wasteman is. This ain’t no Bogeyman shit, this is real. He is in our midst. See, his Wastemanosity goes far beyond the scope of being a dick to the gyaldem—and make no mistake people, that is still included. That alone would be enough. But not for him. This man is greedy with his fuckery, and yeah, I said fuckery because this is a fuckery. Fresh out the factory. This guy is sophisticated in that respect—maybe only in that respect, yes offense, yes disrespect—his badmind reaching to affect us as a community. I’m talking about none other than our dear Commander-in-Chief, Zack Kingsford.
“Some of you are already unhappy with him, I know that. I hear that. You were outside protesting, and now you’re outside blasting this show on the speaker. You’re exercising your right to be heard. It’s our right not to have our rights be the subject of debate, protesting against the sanctioning of hate. The fact that Zack allowed this to happen is a disgrace, but what’s even more disgraceful is the fact that he’s been taking money from the Whitewell Knights to sabotage his own community.
“Events cancelled and moved, and the things that do happen aren’t sorted by him. Black careers day? Adwoa organized. Fashion show? Shanti Jackson. Open mics? Chioma Kene. And remember the hurdles those women overcame? How Adwoa struggled for a permit to get the Black careers fair until she started saying words like ‘discrimination’ to fight for the cause? How Shanti could only get permission for her Afrocouture Fashion Show if she agreed that she’d also have white models for ‘diversity’?