At college you’re not supposed to care about anything -you’re just supposed to f*ck around-but believe it or not, I cared about Lola . She was a girl it was easy to care about . Lola like the f*cking opposite of the girls I usually macked on : b*tch was almost six feet tall and no tetas at all and darker than your dakest grandma . (My boys said she looked like a slave. Never forgave any of them for that. ) Like two girl in one: the skinniest upper body married to a pair of Cadillac hips and an ill donkey . One of those overachiever chicks who run all the organizations in college and wear suits to meetings . Was the president of her sorority, the head of S.A.L.S.A and co-chair of Take Back the Night . A femme-matador who spoke perfect stuck-up Spanish . Known each other since pre-fresh weekend, but it wasn’t until sophomore year when her mother got sick again that we had out fling . Drive me home, Yunior, was her opening line, and a week later it jumped off . I remember she wearing a pair of Douglass sweats and a Tibe T-shirt . Took off the ring her boy had given her and then kissed me. Dark eyes never leaving mine.