On the Come Up(106)

Pet. Rhymes with met, let, get. Set.

Sets. Gang sets, like the Crowns staring me down and the Maple Grove GDs that Scrap claims. Jojo wants to be just like them. I do this song, I may give him more ammunition. I’ll also be doing exactly what Hype accused me of—saying words that aren’t my own.

Own. Clone.

For the longest, people acted like I was my dad’s clone. Supreme acts like I’m a puppet, too. But my brother called me a gift. My mom calls me her miracle. If I’m nothing else, I’m her daughter, and I’m Trey’s sister.

Sister. A lot of words can rhyme with that if delivered a certain way. Even something like “mirror.”

Mirror. Maybe that’s what I am to Jojo.

He’s got a distorted picture though. He took my words the wrong way, just like Emily, and just like the Crowns. They’re all mistaken.

Mistaken. Awaken.

Maybe it’s time to wake everybody up.

“Stop the music,” I say into the mic.

The beat goes off. There are whispers and murmurs.

Supreme frowns. I hear James ask, “What the hell’s going on?”

I ignore them both. “I was supposed to come up here and do this new song, but I’d rather do something from my heart. Is that okay with y’all?”

The answer is hell yes, that’s how loud they cheer.

“Uh-oh, we ’bout to get a freestyle!” Hype says. “You need a beat?”

“No thanks, ass-wipe Hype.”

Everybody laughs at that.

I close my eyes. There’s plenty of words waiting inside me. Words I hope Jojo hears and understands.

I lift the mic and let them pour out.

I refuse to be their laugh, I refuse to be their pet, I refuse to be the reason some kid now claims a set.

I refuse to stand up here and say words that aren’t my own.

Refuse to be a puppet, refuse to be a clone.

You see, I’m somebody’s daughter, I’m somebody’s sister, I’m somebody’s hope. And I’m somebody’s mirror.

I’m a genius, I’m a star, call me all of the above, But you’ll never call me sellout, and you’ll never call me thug.

In the Garden kids are starving, hearts are hardened, beg my pardon, But fuck the system. Your assumptions? They just show just where your heart is.

You see, they figure I’m a nigga that’s gon’ rap ’bout pulling triggers, Just to make their pockets bigger while the world yells I’m a sinner.

Here’s the kicker, they get richer, only if we take that picture As the truth, and as us. It’s not just rap, this shit is bigger.

But they blame hip-hop. Yet we just speak on what we see.

But I’m gon’ speak on what I see and never claim it to be me.

When I say I’m a queen, it means my crown cannot be taken That’s nothing against your set, and I’m sorry that you’re mistaken.

Retaliation’s segregation of our hood, so please awaken.

You’ll never silence me and you’ll never kill my dream, Just recognize when you say brilliant that you’re also saying Bri.

I’m not for sale.

There’s an explosion of cheers.

“Bri! Bri! Bri!” they chant, and my name rocks the room. “Bri! Bri! Bri!”

Who’s not chanting? The Crowns. Supreme and James don’t either. James makes his way to the door, shaking his head. Supreme rushes after him. He looks back at me, and though I can’t see his eyes, I can read his expression easily: We’re done.

I lower the mic to my side. When I was little, I used to stand in front of mirrors with hairbrushes and imagine crowds chanting my name. Yet I don’t think I could’ve ever imagined this. This feeling. See, for the first time in my life, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. Hell, what I was made to do. The crowd could be silent and I’d still know that.

When Aunt Pooh introduced me to hip-hop, Nas told me the world was mine, and I believed it could be. Now, standing here on this stage, I know it is.





Epilogue


All of the words on the page have blurred together, I swear. I glance at my phone. “How long have we been at this?”

Curtis looks at his phone, too. “Only two hours, Princess.”

“Only?” I groan. Our ACT prep books and laptops are spread out around us on my bedroom floor. We’re taking another practice test tomorrow—the real exam is a little over a month away. Curtis comes over a lot so we can study together. I think I’m ready, even though our studying usually turns into something else.

That’s exactly why I say, “We need to take a break.”

“Oh, for real?”

“For real,” I say.

“Let me guess—you wanna do this instead?”

He’s all grins as he steals a quick kiss. One kiss becomes two, two become three, and three become making out on the floor of my Tweety shrine of a bedroom. My mom, Trey, and I have been living with my grandparents for less than a week now, and I haven’t had time to redecorate.

“Hey, hey!” Trey calls from the doorway. Curtis and I separate so fast. “That ain’t no damn studying!”

I roll onto my back and groan. “Right now, I actually look forward to the day you go off to grad school.”