On the Come Up

by Angie Thomas

  His friends notice it too. Their eyes light up, and I’m suddenly a steak thrown into a den of hungry lions.

  “You that punk-ass Lawless’s daughter, ain’t you?” the instigator says.

  Aunt Pooh advances, but Scrap grabs her shirt. “What you say ’bout my brother?”

  In-law. But let Aunt Pooh tell it, that’s just fine print.

  “Aunty.” My voice trembles. “Let’s go inside, okay?”

  “Yeah, Aunty, go inside,” the Crown mocks. He looks at me again. “You the one that’s got that song, too, ain’t you?”

  I suddenly can’t speak.

  “What if she is?” Aunt Pooh asks.

  The Crown rubs his chin. “She said some real street shit on there. There’s a line that tripped us up a bit. Something about not needing gray to be a queen. The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It meant whatever the hell she want it to,” says Aunt Pooh. “She don’t claim nothing, so what’s the problem?”

  “It made us feel some kinda way,” the Crown says. “She better watch herself. Wouldn’t want her to end up like her pops.”

  “The fuck you say?” Aunt Pooh starts toward him.

  He starts toward her.

  There are shouts of, “Oh, shit!” and screams. Phones point in our direction.

  Aunt Pooh reaches for the back of her waist.

  The Crown reaches for his.

  I’m frozen.

  “Hey! Cut it out!” Frank the bouncer yells.

  He and Reggie rush over. Reggie pushes Aunt Pooh back and Frank pushes the Crown.

  “Nah, man, nah,” Frank says. “This shit ain’t going down here. Y’all gotta go.”

  “These fools started it with us!” Aunt Pooh says. “We was just trying to get in so my niece could battle.”

  “I don’t care,” says Reggie. “We don’t tolerate that street shit, Pooh. You know it. Y’all gotta go.”

  Whoa, hold up. All? “I’m battling tonight though.”

  “Not anymore,” says Frank. “You know the rules, Bri. If you or your crew”—he motions to Scrap and my aunt—“bring any of that gang nonsense over here, you gotta go. Plain and simple.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!”

  “It’s the rules,” says Reggie. “All of y’all, off the property. Now.”

  The Crowns cuss, but they leave. There are whispers along the line.

  “C’mon, y’all,” I say to Frank and Reggie. “Please? Let me in.”

  “I’m sorry, Bri,” says Frank. “Y’all have to go.”

  “The rules are the rules,” says Reggie.

  “But I haven’t done shit! Yet y’all kicking me out because of what my crew did? That’s some bullshit!”

  “It’s the rules!” Frank claims.

  “Fuck your rules!” Do I speak without thinking? All the time. Does my temper go from zero to one hundred in seconds? For sure. But the way the crowd murmurs, they seem to agree.

  “Nah, Bri. You gotta go.” Reggie thumbs toward the street. “Now.”

  “For what?” I yell as the crowd gets louder. This time, Scrap grabs my shirt. “For what?”

  “’Cause we said so!” Frank tells me and the crowd.

  They’re not hearing that though. Somebody starts playing “On the Come Up” from their car and everybody loses their minds.

  You know what? Fuck it.

  “Run up on me and get done up,” I say loudly.

  “Whole squad got more heat than a furnace,” the crowd finishes.

  “Silencer is a must, they ain’t heard us,” I say.

  “We don’t bust, yet they blame us for murder!” the crowd says.

  When that hook hits? Oh my God. Just about everybody gets into it. People bounce around and yell it out with me. It’s a mini concert, right here in the parking lot.

  Frank and Reggie shake their heads and go back to the doors. I flip them both off. Somebody yells out, “Y’all some bitches!”

  I get props from every direction. If my dad is the king of the Garden, I really am the princess.

  But Aunt Pooh glares hard at me. She marches toward the parking lot.

  What the hell? I catch her arm. “What’s your problem?”

  “You my goddamn problem!”

  I step back. “What?”

  “I told you not to release that damn song!” she screams, spit flying from her mouth. “Now we can’t come back here!”

  “Hold up, you’re blaming my song? I ain’t tell you to get into it with those Crowns!”

  “Oh, so this my fault?” she bellows.

  “You were the one about to pull your gun on them!”

  “Yeah, to protect you!” Aunt Pooh yells. “Man, forget it. Bring your dumb ass on.”

  I watch as she marches off. Did she not see how much everyone loves the song? Yet she’s pissed at me because some Crowns got in their feelings over a line?

  How am I the dumbass in this?

  Aunt Pooh looks back at me. “Come on!”

  With her snapping on me like that? “Nah. I’m good. What I look like, riding with somebody who calls me a dumbass when I didn’t do anything wrong?”

  Aunt Pooh glares at the sky. She throws her hands up. “Fine! Do what you want.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea—” Scrap starts.

  Aunt Pooh stomps toward her car. “Let her dumb ass stay! Shit done gone to her head.”

  Scrap looks from her to me but follows her. They hop in the car, and Aunt Pooh peels off.

  Honestly? I probably shouldn’t be out here alone. I wasn’t the one who almost got into it with those Crowns, but you never know what a gangbanger will do when they’re in a mood. Just gotta keep my head down, my eyes peeled, and my ears open. Just gotta get home.

  I head for the sidewalk.

  “Ay! Li’l Law!”

  I turn around. Supreme strolls over to me. He’s wearing his shades, even though it’s pitch black out.

  “You need a ride?” he asks.

  Supreme drives a black Hummer with a gold grille on the front. Milez sits in the passenger seat. Supreme opens the driver’s side door and snaps his fingers at his son.

  “Ay, get in the back. I want Bri up front.”

  “Why can’t she—”

  “Boy, I said get in the back!”

  Milez unlocks his seat belt and climbs in the back, mumbling under his breath.

  “Say it with your chest if you got something to say!” Supreme says.

  Welp. This is awkward. Like when Aunt ’Chelle or Aunt Gina go off on Malik and Sonny about stuff when I’m at their houses. Not sure if I should leave, stay, or act as if nothing’s happening.

  I act like nothing happened. This is the most expensive ride I’ve ever been in. Supreme’s dashboard looks like something from the Millennium Falcon with all the screens and buttons. The seats are white leather, and seconds after he cranks up, mine feels all toasty.

  Supreme seems to look at his son in the rearview mirror. “You could at least speak to folks.”

  Milez sighs and holds his hand to me. “Miles, without a z. My apologies for the stuff I said about your dad in our battle.”

  He sounds . . . different. It’s like how when I go with my grandma to one of the nice grocery stores out in the suburbs and she tells me to “talk like you got some sense.” She doesn’t want people to think we’re “some of those hood rats who frequent their establishments.” Trey calls it code-switching.

  Miles sounds like it’s not code-switching for him. It sounds like how he naturally talks, like he belongs in the suburbs. I mean, he is from the suburbs, but in the Ring a few weeks back, he sounded extremely hood.

  I shake his hand. “It’s fine. No more hard feelings.”

  “No more?”

  “Hey, you had to know there were some. That’s why you apologized, right?”

  “Accurate,” he says. “It wasn’t personal. I wasn’t prepared for you to come back as hard as you did though.”

  �
��What? Surprised that a girl beat you?”

  “No, it had nothing to do with you being a girl,” he says. “Trust me, my playlists are full of Nicki and Cardi.”

  “Wow, you’re one of the rare people who love both?” I am too. They may have beef, but just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean I can’t like them both. Besides, I refuse to ever “choose” between two women. It’s so few of us in hip-hop as it is.

  “Hell yeah.” Miles sits forward a little. “But let’s be real: Lil’ Kim is the ultimate queen bee.”

  “Um, of course.” Jay’s a fool for Lil’ Kim. I grew up on her. Hearing Kim told me that not only can girls rap, but they can hold their own with the boys.

  “The Hard Core cover alone is iconic,” says Miles. “From a visual standpoint, the aesthetic—”

  “Boy,” Supreme says. Even though it’s all he says, Miles slinks back and quietly messes around with his phone, as if we weren’t just having a conversation. Weird.

  “Where we going, Bri?” Supreme asks.

  I give him my address, and he puts it in his GPS. He pulls off. “What happened with you and your aunt back there?” he asks.

  “You saw that?”

  “Yep. Saw that mini show you put on, too. You know how to work a crowd. That viral life treating you well, huh?”

  I rest my head back. Damn. Even the headrest is warm. “It’s surreal. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

  “Don’t even mention it,” he says. “If it wasn’t for your pops, I wouldn’t have a career. It’s the least I could do. So what’s the plan now? You gotta take advantage of the moment.”

  “I know. That’s why I was at the Ring.”

  “Aw, that? Ain’t big enough,” Supreme says. “Although what happened tonight is gonna have people talking. Every phone in the parking lot was pointed at y’all. I can see the headlines now. ‘Ghetto Rapper Has Ghetto Encounter.’” He laughs.

  “Hold on. I was just speaking up for—”

  “Calm down, baby girl. I know you were,” Supreme says. “They’re still gonna run with it though. It’s what they do. The key for you is to play the role, whatever that role is.”

  I’m confused. “Play the role?”

  “Play the role,” he repeats. “Look at me. I show up to meetings with these execs, right? In expensive suits that I get tailored, designer shoes that cost what my momma used to make in a year. They still think I’m a hood nigga. But guess what? I don’t walk outta there a broke nigga, I bet you that. ’Cause I play the role that they think I am. That’s how we make this game work for us. Use whatever they think of us to our advantage. You know who the biggest consumers of hip-hop are?”

  “White kids in the suburbs,” Miles answers dryly, as if he’s heard this before.

  “Exactly! White kids in the suburbs,” Supreme says. “You know what white kids in the suburbs love? Listening to shit that scares their parents. You scare the hell outta their folks, they’ll flock to you like birds. The videos from tonight? Gonna scare the hell outta them. Watch your numbers shoot up.”

  It actually makes sense that white kids in the suburbs will love the videos. But Long and Tate called me a “hoodlum,” and I can’t seem to shake that word. Now people are gonna call me ghetto? One word. Two syllables.

  Just ’cause I wasn’t mellow,

  They’re gonna think I’m ghetto.

  “I don’t want people thinking that’s who I am,” I say to Supreme.

  “Like I said, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “Let them call you whatever the hell they want, baby girl. Just make sure you getting paid when they do it. You getting paid, right?”

  Paid? “From what?” I ask.

  “Somebody should be booking performances for you,” he says. “Getting you verses on other artists’ songs. Your aunt ain’t handling that?”

  I don’t know. Aunt Pooh’s never talked about stuff like that.

  “Now look, I ain’t trying to get in the middle of family business,” Supreme says, “but you sure she the best person to be your manager?”

  “She’s been there from jump,” I tell him and myself. “When nobody else cared that I wanted to rap, Aunt Pooh did.”

  “Ah, you loyal. I can respect that. She a GD, ain’t she?”

  It wasn’t long after my dad died that Aunt Pooh started wearing green all the time. “Yeah. Been one for most of my life.”

  “That mess is a distraction of the worst kind,” he says. “I know so many folks who’d go far if they left the streets alone. But it’s like my pops used to say—‘Never let yourself drown while trying to save somebody that don’t wanna be saved.’”

  No, see, he’s got it wrong. Aunt Pooh’s not a lost cause. Yeah, she has her moments and she gets too caught up in the streets, but once I make it, she’ll give all that up.

  I think.

  I hope.

  Sixteen

  Supreme was right. Tons of people posted videos of what happened at the Ring last night, and tons more listened to my song. My streams keep going up.

  Lots of people think that I’m somebody I’m not, too. I’ve been called ghetto, ratchet, a hood rat with no home training. All of that. I don’t know if I’m more pissed or hurt. I can’t speak up for myself and even lose my cool without somebody writing me off.

  So yeah, Supreme was right. I wonder if he was right about Aunt Pooh, too.

  I shouldn’t even think like that. She’s my aunt. My A1 since day one. But she also doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. She hasn’t said anything about booking shows or putting me on other people’s songs. Absolutely nothing about how to get me paid. She’s still in her feelings that I uploaded the song to begin with.

  But she’s my aunt. I can’t drop her. At least that’s what I tell myself as I poke at this sausage on my plate.

  Jay slides a pancake beside it. “That was the last of the flour. Pooh’s talking about bringing some groceries over later this week. I almost said no, but . . .”

  Our fridge and cabinets are just about empty. That’s another reason I can’t drop Aunt Pooh. She always makes sure I have food.

  Trey stirs cream in his coffee. He’s got on a dress shirt and there’s a tie draped around his neck. He has a job interview this morning. “Pooh and her drug-dealing money, saving the day.”

  It is kinda messed up. Here my brother is, doing everything right, and nothing’s coming from it. Meanwhile, Aunt Pooh’s doing everything we’ve been told not to do, and she’s giving us food when we need it.

  That’s how it goes though. The drug dealers in my neighborhood aren’t struggling. Everybody else is.

  Jay squeezes Trey’s shoulder. “Baby, you’re trying. You do so much around here. More than you should have to do.”

  She goes quiet and almost zones out, then tries to recover with a smile. “I’ve got a feeling today’s interview will be the one. I also was looking online at grad school programs for you.”

  “Ma, I told you, I’m not going to grad school right now.”

  “Baby, you should at least apply to some programs. See what happens.”

  “I already did,” he says. “I got in.”

  I glance up from poking at my sausage. “For real?”

  “Yeah. Applied before I started at Sal’s. Just recently got a couple of acceptance letters, but the closest school is three hours away. I gotta stay around here and—”

  He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. He’s gotta stay and help us.

  Jay blinks several times. “You didn’t tell me you got in.”

  “It’s not a big deal, Ma. I’m where I wanna be. Promise.”

  Trey sipping his coffee is the only sound for a long while.

  Jay sets the platter of pancakes on the table. “Y’all go ahead and finish up.”

  “Ma—”

  “Good luck with your interview, baby.”

  She goes to her room and closes the door.

  My heart’s in my throat. I don’t remember a wh
ole lot from when she first got sick, but I do remember that she’d always go off to her room. She’d stay in there for hours, leaving me and Trey to ourselves just like . . .

  “She not using,” Trey says.

  Some days, it’s like my thoughts are his own. “Are you sure?”

  “She won’t do that to herself again, Bri. She just needs . . . space. Parents never wanna break in front of their kids.”

  “Oh.”

  Trey holds his forehead. “Damn, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  It’s hard to know what to tell him. “Congrats on getting in?”

  “Thanks. It was stupid to apply, frankly. Guess I was just curious.”

  “Or you really wanna go.”

  “Eventually, I do,” he admits. “But not right now.”

  If I have my way, he’ll go soon. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to go before you know it.”

  “Because you’re about to get your come up, right?”

  “Um, what?”

  “I know about your song, Bri,” he says. “I also know you got kicked out of the Ring last night.”

  “I . . . how’d you . . .”

  “I’m not on social media, but I don’t live under a rock,” Trey says. “About half of my coworkers sent me links, asking if that was my little sister rolling with the GDs at Jimmy’s. Kayla texted me right after it happened.”

  “Who—oh, Ms. Tique.” Damn, I gotta respect sis a li’l more and remember her actual name. “Trey, I can explain.”

  “I told you not to hang around Pooh’s rough behind,” he says. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re lucky nothing happened.”

  “She was only protecting me.”

  “No, she was being the hothead she always is. Shoot first, ask questions later behind bars. Doesn’t help that you showed your ass.”

  He sure knows how to make me feel like shit. “I was only defending myself.”

  “There’s a way to do it, Bri. You know this,” he says. “Now, I listened to your song, and I’ll admit, you got some dope-ass lines in there.”

  My lips turn up a little.

  “But,” he says, in a way that tells me to wipe the smile off my face, “although I get the song, now people are gonna take your words at face value. And let’s be real: You’re clueless about half the shit you rapped about. Clips on your hips?” Trey twists his mouth. “You know damn well you don’t know what a clip is, Bri.”