On the Come Up(40)

“It wasn’t just a line.”

“Yeah, but that was just a battle. Milez only wanted to get under your skin. Nothing personal.”

“Well, personally, screw him and you.” I turn back around.

We’re silent until Supreme says, “You need them boots, don’t you?”

The lie comes out easily. “No.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of if you do. I been there myself. My momma dragged me to all kinds of giveaways like this when I was a shorty.”

“My mom hasn’t ‘dragged me’ to a bunch of giveaways.”

“Ah, a first-timer,” he says. “First time always the hardest. Especially with them sympathetic looks folks give you. You learn to ignore them eventually.”

Impossible.

“Listen, I ain’t come over to get in your business,” he claims. “I saw you and Jayda come in and figured I’d give props. You did the damn thing in the Ring.”

“I know.” No, I don’t, but I have to act like I do.

“I saw something in you that I ain’t seen in a long time,” he says. “We folks in the industry call it ‘It.’ Nobody can explain what ‘It’ is, but we know It when we see It. You got It.” He laughs. “Damn, you got It.”

I turn around. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Law would be proud as hell, no doubt.”

I get a twinge in my chest. Can’t tell if it hurts or if it feels good. Maybe it’s both. “Thanks.”

He sticks a toothpick in his mouth. “Shame you ain’t doing nothing with It.”

“What you mean?”

“I looked you up. You ain’t got no music out there or anything. You missed out on an opportunity. Shit, Milez lost the battle and it still gave him buzz. If you had the right management, you’d be even bigger than him right now.”

“My aunt’s my manager.”

“Who? That li’l girl who used to follow Law around?”

Aunt Pooh idolized my dad. Says she stayed with him like a shadow. “Yeah, her.”

“Ah. Let me guess: She saw that Dee-Nice got a million-dollar deal and now she wanna keep throwing you in the Ring and hope it gets you one, too.”

Yeah, but that’s none of his business.

Supreme puts his hands up. “Hey, I don’t mean no harm. Hell, that’s what half the neighborhood’s trying to do now. But I’ll be honest, baby girl. If you wanna make it, you’ll need more than the Ring. You gotta make music. That’s what I told Dee-Nice. Now look at him.”

“Wait, you’re his manager?”

“Yep. He brought me on a year ago,” Supreme says. “The Ring didn’t get him a deal. It just got him some attention. His music got him a deal. Same thing with your daddy. All it took was the right buzz, the right song at the right time, then bam! He blew up.”

The right song. “How do you know if something is the ‘right song’?”

“I know hits when I hear ’em. Got yet to be wrong. Look at ‘Swagerific.’ I’ll admit, it’s a simple-ass song, but it’s a hit. One song is sometimes all it takes.”

I’ve got one song.

“Anyway,” Supreme says, “just thought I’d give props. I probably wouldn’t be where I am now if it wasn’t for your daddy, so if you ever need help”—he hands me a business card—“hit me up.”

He starts to walk away.

He knows hits when he hears them, and I need one. Maybe then I won’t be back at this giveaway next year. “Wait,” I say.

Supreme turns around.

I take my phone from my pocket. “I have a song.”

“Okay?”

There’s a pregnant pause as he waits for the rest.

“I, um . . .” Suddenly words are hard. “I . . . I don’t know if it’s good or not . . . My classmates like it, but I . . .”

He smirks. “You wanna know what I think about it?”

I do and I don’t. What if he says it’s garbage? Then again, why do I suddenly care what he thinks? My dad fired him. His son dissed me.

But he made my dad a legend. He got Dee-Nice a million-dollar deal. Plus, Milez may be trash, but Supreme’s doing something right for him. “Yeah,” I say. “I’d like your opinion.”

“All right.” He takes some earbuds from his pocket. “Let me hear it.”

I pull up the song and hand him my phone. Supreme sticks his earbuds into the plug, puts them in his ears, and hits Play.

I fold my arms to keep them still. Usually I can read people, but his face is as blank as a brand-new notebook. He doesn’t nod along or anything.

I could puke.

After the longest three minutes of my life, Supreme takes his earbuds from his ears, unplugs them from my phone, and hands my phone back to me.

I swallow. “That bad?”

The edges of his lips turn up and slowly form a full smile. “That’s a hit, baby girl.”

“For real?”

“For real! Goddamn. That song right there? Could jump-start your career.”

Holy shit. “Please don’t play with me.”

“I’m not. The hook’s catchy, the verses are good. You ain’t put that online yet?”