by Kate Stewart
“When you gonna make your move?” I bump his shoulder with mine. “It’s been years. Man up.”
“I know you ain’t talking.” Amir reluctantly drags his gaze from Shondra’s twisting hips to meet my eyes. “After you punked out and ran off to New York to get away from Bristol.”
The teasing grin freezes on my face. The disadvantage of Amir working for me is the same as the advantage. He’s around all the time. He sees a lot.
“I wasn’t running away from anything.” I shoot him a frown. “You telling me you wouldn’t jump at the chance to spend two days and nights with Qwest? Any man would.”
“Yeah, but ‘any man’ hasn’t been stuck on Bristol forever.” His face crinkles with a laugh at my expense. “You have.”
“Was stuck. Past tense. I’m over it. She ain’t the only girl in the world.”
But she was the only girl I could think about. Even waking up with Qwest in New York, Bristol occupied my mind as soon as my eyes opened. I still feel her hand over my heart. I think it’s branded there in acid.
“Please,” Amir scoffs. “I was there when you met Bristol. The way you looked at her that day at the airport, I ain’t ever seen you look at anybody else like that.”
He pauses for emphasis, brows up in the air
“Not even Qwest,” he adds. “She’s a great girl, but she isn’t your girl.”
“Neither is Bristol.” My teeth clench around the words. “Haven’t you heard? She’s Charles Parker’s girl.”
“I ain’t buying it.”
I didn’t before, but I do know. She’s slept with guys in the past. I’m not an idiot. I know that, and I certainly have no room to talk. This is different. A relationship with this guy who’s been chasing her for years, who her parents have always wanted her to marry. This is real, and the fact that she’s with him makes me mad as hell.
“Hey, guys.” Shondra finally reaches us and splits a smile between Amir and me.
I nudge him with my elbow the same way I did in eighth grade when he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask her to the winter dance.
“What’s up, Shon?” I bend to hug her and watch as Amir does the same.
“Thank you so much for coming, Grip.” Her dark eyes shine her excitement. “It’s so needed.”
“Things are getting better, though, right?” I ask.
I’ve heard violence is down. Gang recruitment, too. I know there’s still a long way to go, but progress has been made.
“Yeah, but not enough and not fast enough.” Shondra’s sad smile dims the shine in her eyes. “I lost a student last week, and another the week before. Both shot. Still too many funerals. And they have so much potential.”
She punches my shoulder.
“Too many Crips, not enough Grips,” she half-jokes.
Amir and I laugh, too, even though we feel the weight of what she’s saying. I feel the responsibility of being here and doing things like this.
“You, Kendrick Lamar, guys who made it out of here, but still give back, still come back,” Shondra continues. “We need you. We need more, so today means everything.”
“Whatever I can do,” I assure her.
“Well, there’s this one student I really hope you get to talk to,” she says. “He reminds me so much of you at that age. He’s in my English lit class and is such a good writer. There’s this writing contest I want him to enter that could lead to big things, but his friends called it ‘gay.’”
I wince. We may struggle with a lot of things in the hood, but we have homophobia down. That, we’re great at.
“So, of course,” Shondra says, rolling her eyes, “now he won’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. And both his brothers are Piru.”
Amir and I exchange a look, knowing what that means. When your family is Piru, a Blood alliance gang, it probably won’t be long before you are, too.
“They call him Bop,” Shondra says.
“What’s his real name?” I ask
“His name is Dudley,” she replies with mischievous eyes.
“Dudley?” Amir laughs. “That ain’t even gangsta. Your mama call you Floyd. Imma call you Floyd.”
The three of us laugh at his Coming to America reference, and it feels good to be home. As hard as I’ve worked to get out, to survive it, being back here today feels right. Even though I can’t ever think about Coming to America without thinking about Chaz’s last day on earth, it feels right to be here.
Shondra’s eyes shift just beyond me and light up with a smile.
“Ms. James!” She reaches behind me to hug the petite woman with neat dreadlocks pulled away from her unlined face. “So good to see you. Now, it’s a party.”
“The whole neighborhood is buzzing about some superstar coming,” Ms. James says. “I had to come see for myself.”
“Ma.” I reach down and pull my mother close, her small frame and fierce spirit burrowing into my side. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“And I didn’t know you were coming.” Her eyes, golden brown like mine, hold a light rebuke. “I wanted to hear what you have to say about life and stuff, Mr. Superstar.”
“I’m pretty sure most of it will be things you told me in the first place.”
“We’ll see.” She studies my head, a frown on her face. “You cut out your locs. What else don’t I know? I had to hear through the grapevine you were in New York with your new girlfriend.”
Amir catches a laugh in his fist, and Shondra stretches her eyes with humor.
“Uh oh. Busted.” Shondra chuckles and drops a kiss on my mother’s cheek. “Good to see you, Ms. James. I need to go find the principal. Be right back.”
“Shondra, don’t be a stranger, girl,” Ma says. “I can’t remember the last time you came over for Sunday dinner. You ain’t that grown.”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.” Shondra laughs and turns to leave, speaking over her shoulder. “I’ll be taking you up on that. Nobody beats your greens, but don’t tell my mama I said that.”
“Um, is the b-bathroom still down the hall, Shon?” Amir stutters, looking all nervous.
“Yeah. Of course.” Shondra looks back at him like he’s crazy. “I’m going that way. You want to follow me?”
Amir grins at me over his shoulder as they walk away.
“Pussy,” I mouth at him silently, laughing when he scowls and turns to follow Shondra’s hips through the exit doors.
“I’m glad Amir is with you.” My mom takes Amir’s spot on the wall beside me. “You need somebody who’s known you since jump to hold you down, to keep your head on straight the bigger you get.”
“Ma, my head stays on straight. Don’t worry.”
“I do worry.” She dips the arch of her brows into a frown. “Especially when you don’t tell me things. Why’d I have to hear about you and Qwest on the news?”
“It’s not . . .” I sigh, frustrated with how out of control things have gotten in such a short time. “The media’s made it bigger than it is. We had a few dates. I spent two days in New York. That’s all.”
Any hopes I had of keeping things low key and taking it slow with Qwest went out the window as soon as social media figured out I was staying in her apartment. In just a few days, our fans have made this into some epic love story.
“Well, maybe it should be big.” A hopeful grin lights up her still-youthful face. “I need grandbabies. And Qwest seems like the perfect candidate.”
“She’s a great girl.” I keep my tone neutral. “But I don’t want you putting too much weight on this.”
“It feels like a big deal because you haven’t been with a girl in so long.” She gives me a wry grin. “I mean like on dates and a relationship. I know you still been smashing.”
I groan and close my eyes at her bluntness. She had me when she was just eighteen, and though there was never any doubt which of us was the parent, her youth often made us feel like friends, a unique closeness I usually love. Unless she’s talking about me “smashing” chicks.
> “Ma, please.” My eyes beg her to stop because once she gets started, there’s no telling how she’ll embarrass me.
“Boy, what? I bought your first pack of Trojans.” She smacks her lips, exasperated. “I’m the one who took you to the clinic that time you had that burning—”
“All right, Ma.” I cut her off before someone comes and hears her over-sharing. “I got it.”
“I thought I was #GripzQueen.” She laughs at the face I make. “Seriously, when do I get to meet her?”
“She’ll be here for the album release party in a few . . .”
My words trail off when two women walk through the gym doors, drawing the attention of the students waiting in the bleachers. For one thing, the girls are white. We pretty much only see black and brown here. Secondly, the girls are attractive. At least the taller one is. She’s damn beautiful.
I assume that’s the Legit reporter who’s shadowing me for the next few weeks entering the gym with Bristol. I barely notice her, but I absorb every detail of Bristol’s appearance, starting at her feet in ankle boots, rolling up her long legs in black leather leggings, over the denim shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow. Hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Even angry with her, I can’t ignore the elemental pull between us, like our bodies are in lock step as soon as she walks into a room. It’s almost gravitational, and I need to figure out how to shut it down.
“Which one of those girls are you looking at like that?”
My mother’s question snatches my attention from the gym entrance.
“Huh?” I make my face confused. “What do you mean?”
“Boy, don’t play a player.” She inclines her head toward the door. “You lost your train of thought mid-sentence, and looking at one of those girls like breakfast, lunch and dinner. Now which one is it?”
“I don’t—”
“Marlon.” Her lips compress. “I’m not asking you again.”
Like I told Bristol. My mother has extra senses.
“The tall one with the dark hair.” I roll my shoulders away from the wall, bend my knee to prop a foot against the wall. “Bristol.”
She squints in Bristol’s direction.
“She’s pretty.” Disappointment shadows her face. “White, but pretty.”
“Don’t start, Ma. And don’t worry because she doesn’t want to be with me.”
“Why not?” Indignation straightens her back and rolls her neck. “She think she too good for you or something?”
“You’re the one who only wants me dating black girls, so why you tripping?”
“I never said only black girls.” She pats my shoulder. “I’d settle for Latina. Brown’s a color, too, you know.”
“Wow. Good to know I have options, but like I said, she isn’t interested.”
“Hmmmm.” She considers Bristol, who’s almost reached us. “I think I just saw her on the cover of some magazine in the check out line.”
“Yeah. She’s dating—”
“That Parker boy!” Ma’s eyes go wide when they meet mine. “His family’s rich as hell, baby. So is hers. She’s Rhyson’s sister, right?”
“Yeah.” I straighten from the wall as Bristol and the reporter draw closer. “Can we talk about this later?”
“One more question.”
“Ma.” Irritation huffs a breath from my chest. “What?”
“So are you using Qwest to get over her?”
“Not exactly.”
“I raised you better than that.” Ma points a slim finger in my face. “Don’t you play with that girl’s feelings. You be honest with her.”
“I have been honest with Qwest, Ma.” I try not to feel like an asshole. “We were on the same page before Black Twitter blew up with #GripzQueen and #BlackLove hash tags and all that shit. In just a few days it’s like . . . more. It feels like more than what she and I talked about it being.”
“Shhh.” Ma plasters a smile on her face. “Bristol’s coming.”
I turn my head to find Bristol’s eyes flitting between me and my mother, questioning and wondering.
“Hey,” she says when they stand in front of us. “Welcome home.”
We stare at each other for a few electric seconds, caught in the memory of the last time we saw each other. Of the last hurtful words I hurled at her. The crude things I said. I feel bad for that, but I’m also still so damn frustrated with her. And yes, hurt. Hurt that she chose that Parker asshole over me when I know what we could have, what we could be.
The silence swells, Bristol slides her eyes away from my stare, uncomfortable waiting for me to respond.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. Good to be back.” I shift my attention to the reporter. “Hey. I’m Grip.”
“Sorry. I should introduce you.” Bristol grimaces and then smiles. “Grip, this is Meryl Smith. She’ll be shadowing us . . . you . . . the next couple of weeks for the Legit story.”
“Such a pleasure to meet you.” Meryl pumps my hand enthusiastically. “I’m a huge fan. I’ve loved your music since that first underground mix tape.”
I study Meryl with her pale skin, mousy brown hair, owlish glasses, and marvel again at the globalization of hip-hop. My music reaches the kids sitting in this gym, living in the hood, and somehow finds suburban girls like this one, who probably listened while studying for her finals at Ivy League colleges. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Thanks.” I smile at Meryl and squeeze her hand. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Before we go further, Shondra and Amir return.
“Bristol, hey, girl.” Amir pulls her into his side, his smile affectionate. Like he said, he was there the day I met her. She’s known him as long as she’s known me. “Been missing you.”
“I’ve been around.” She gives him a squeeze and leans her head on his shoulder. “You’re the one who ran off to New York.”
“Not me.” Amir tilts his head in my direction. “Just following the boss.”
My gaze wrestles with Bristol’s until I break the awkward, heated moment.
“Bristol, this is Shondra,” I say. “She teaches here and coordinated everything. Shon, this is Bristol, my manager.”
I turn to find my mother has Bristol under her microscope. This should be fun.
“Bristol, this,” I say, pulling my mother close, “is my mom.”
“Your mother?” Bristol’s eyes widen and swing to my mother. “But you look so young.”
“You know what they say.” Ma shrugs. “Black don’t crack.”
“They actually say that?” Bristol asks.
Shondra and Amir laugh right away. If you get Bristol, you like her. Amir’s always liked her. Shondra must get her, too. Even irritated with her, I have to smile a little. Ma isn’t prepared to laugh, but her lips twitch.
“I mean,” Bristol rolls her eyes at herself. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Have you now?” Ma looks Bristol up and down. “You’re Rhyson’s sister, huh?”
“Um, yes.” Bristol nods, an uncertain smile on her lips at my mother’s thorough vertical inspection. “We’re twins actually.”
“Hmmmm,” Ma says. “I see the resemblance.”
“Yes, well, it’s great to finally meet you.” Bristol glances at me briefly before turning back to Shondra, pouring all her charm into a smile. “Meryl needs to sit down with Grip once he’s done, just for a few minutes. I was thinking there might be a place here on campus where they could do the interview?”
“Sure,” Shondra says. “We can find a spot, easy.”
“And we’ll just need to get some releases signed.” Bristol reaches into her bag and extracts a few forms. “In case we use pictures of any students or places here on campus. Could we scope a few possibilities?”
“We might be in Legit magazine?” Shondra’s eyes light up. “That’s great. We have a few minutes before Grip starts. Let’s go.”
She, Shondra, and Meryl turn to walk off.
“Amir,” I say quickly. “Go with
them.”
“It’s okay, Grip.” Bristol looks over her shoulder with a small smile. “We’ll be fine.”
“Bristol, you’re not home.” I check my frustration, conscious of how closely the others watch me, especially my mom. “Things could pop off here without warning. Amir will know what to do if anything goes down.”
“She’ll be fine, Grip,” Shondra reassures me.
“I know she will because Amir’s going.” I tip my head toward him . “You got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he says.
“Amir,” Bristol says pointedly, leveling annoyed eyes on me. “That isn’t necessary. Really.”
“Well, Amir works for me, and I told him to go with you.”
A muscle tics in Bristol’s jaw, but she turns without another word and starts walking swiftly toward the exit. Shondra, Meryl, and Amir trade uncertain looks before they take off to catch up.
“Oh, I see you have your emotions well in check,” Ma says sarcastically, watching Bristol leave through the gym door. “No one would ever guess how you feel about that girl.”
“Ma, please.” Chin dropped to chest, I run a hand over my head. “Not today.”
“You need to get over her.” Ma shakes her head. “Just try with Qwest for me, okay?”
“It doesn’t work like that.” I shove my hands into the side pockets of my leather jacket. “I wish it did. I thought it could.”
“Now, when did you say I get to meet Qwest?” She skips over what I’ve said. “You got . . . distracted before.”
“She’ll be here for the release party in a few weeks.”
“I’ll meet her then.” She reaches one hand up to cup my face. “I know you don’t understand, but I get sick and tired of our successful black men ending up with women who don’t look like us.”
“That’s so backward, Ma.” I place my hand over hers against my face, wishing I could transmit my perspective to her through the touch connecting us.