On the Come Up(17)

“I can’t speak up for myself?”

“You pick your battles,” she says. “Not everything deserves a comment or an eye roll or an attitude—”

“I’m not the only one who does that stuff!”

“No, but girls like you are the only ones getting hits on their permanent record!”

The car goes quiet.

Jay sighs out of her nose. “Sometimes the rules are different for black folks, baby,” she says. “Hell, sometimes they’re playing checkers while we’re in a complicated-ass chess game. It’s an awful fact of life, but it’s a fact. Midtown is unfortunately one of those places where you not only gotta play chess, but you gotta play it by a different set of rules.”

I hate this shit. “I don’t wanna go back there.”

“I understand, but we don’t have any other options.”

“Why can’t I go to Garden High?”

“Because your daddy and I swore that you and Trey would never step foot in that school,” she says. “You think the guards are bad at Midtown? They have actual cops at Garden High, Bri. The damn school is treated like a prison. They don’t set anybody up to succeed. Say what you want about Midtown, but you’ve got a better chance there.”

“A better chance at what? Getting tossed around like a rag doll?”

“A better chance at making it!” She’s louder than me. She takes a deep breath. “You’re gonna face a whole lot of Longs and Tates in your life, baby. More than I’d like. But you never let their actions determine what you do. The moment you do, you’ve given them the power. You hear me?”

Yeah, but does she hear me? Neither of us speaks for the longest.

“I wish . . . I wish I could give you more options, baby. I do. We don’t have any. Especially right now.”

Especially right now. I look over at her. “Did something happen?”

She shifts in her seat a little. “Why you say that?”

“Ms. Clark called the church. They said you don’t work there anymore.”

“Brianna, let’s not talk about—”

Oh, God. “You lost your job?”

“This is temporary, okay?”

“You lost your job?”

She swallows. “Yes, I did.”

Oh no.

No.

No.

No.

“The church daycare got damaged during the riots, and the insurance company isn’t covering the damages,” she says. “Pastor and the elders board had to adjust the budget in order to pay for repairs, so they let me go.”

Shit.

I’m not stupid. Jay tries to act like everything’s all good, but we’re struggling. We already don’t have gas. Last month, we got an eviction notice. Jay used most of her check to cover the rent, and we ate sandwiches until her next payday.

But if she lost her job, she won’t have a payday.

If she doesn’t have a payday, we might not ever have gas again.

Or food.

Or a house.

What if—

“Don’t worry, Bri,” Jay says. “God’s got us, baby.”

The same God who let her get laid off from a church?

“I’ve been going on interviews,” she says. “Left one to pick you up, actually. Plus, I’ve already filed for unemployment. It’s not a lot, but it’s something.”

She’s already filed? “How long have you been away from the church?”

“That’s not important.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not,” she says. “Trey and I are taking care of things.”

“Trey knew?”

She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times. “Yes.”

Figures. When the gas got cut off, Trey knew it was gonna happen. I found out when I woke up in a cold house. The eviction notice? Trey knew. I found out when I overheard them talking about it. I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does. It’s like Jay doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the important stuff. Like she thinks I’m too young to handle it.

I handled her being gone for years. I can handle more than she thinks.

She parks in our driveway behind Trey’s old Honda Civic, then turns toward me, but I look out my window.

Okay, maybe I am a little bit immature. Whatever.

“I know you’re worried,” she says. “Things have been tough for a while. But it’s gonna get better. Somehow, someway. We gotta believe that, baby.”

She reaches for my cheek.

I move away and open my door. “I’m going for a walk.”

Jay grabs my arm. “Brianna, wait.”

I’m shaking. Here I am, worried about real problems, and she wants me to “believe”? “Please, let me go.”

“No. I’m not letting you run instead of talk to me. Today’s been a lot, baby.”

“I’m fine.”

She runs her thumb along my arm, like she’s trying to coax the tears out of me. “No, you’re not. It’s okay if you’re not. You do know you don’t have to be strong all the time, right?”

Maybe not all the time, but I have to be right now. I tug away from her. “I’m fine.”

“Brianna—”