On the Come Up(48)

Yeah, I’m loud. I don’t care.

“Twenty thousand and counting,” Curtis says. “You trending, too.”

“But . . . how . . . who . . .”

Supreme. He kept his word.

Malik’s lips turn up slightly. “That’s cool, Bri.”

“Cool?” Curtis says. “My dude, how many folks from the Garden you know are getting attention like this? This is major, Princess. Props.”

I don’t know what’s more shocking—the fact my song is going viral or the fact Curtis gave me props.

Curtis waves his hand in front of me. He knocks on my forehead. “Anybody in there—”

I swat his hand away. “Boy, if you don’t—”

He laughs. “I thought you died on us for a second.”

“No.” But I’m wondering if I’m having an out-of-body experience. I hold my forehead. “This is insane.”

“Yeah . . .” Malik trails off. “I better head to class. Congrats, Bri.”

He disappears down the hall.

“Your boy is weird, yo,” Curtis says.

“Why you say that?”

“Ay, if I was as close to somebody as he’s supposed to be to you, I would be geeking out for them right now. He could barely tell you congrats.”

I bite my lip. I noticed that, too. “He doesn’t like the stuff I say in the song, that’s all.”

“What’s wrong with what you say?”

“I talk about guns and stuff, Curtis. He doesn’t want people to think that’s me.”

“They’re gonna think it anyway. If you can get something from this, forget the nonsense and go for it.”

I stare at him. “Wow.”

“What?”

“You’re actually more decent than I thought.”

“You love to hate, huh? Anyway.” He lightly taps my arm with his knuckle. “Don’t let this make your head big. It’s big enough already.”

“Funny. I bet the same can’t be said about a certain part on you.”

“Ouch!” His forehead wrinkles. “Wait, you been thinking ’bout it, Princess?”

Remind me why I considered him cute. “That would be a hell no for five hundred, Alex.”

“Testy. I am happy for you though. For real, not even lying.”

I twist my mouth. “Yeah right.”

“I am!” he says. “’Bout time we had something good come from the Garden. Although”—he shrugs—“I’d still whoop that ass in a battle.”

I bust out laughing. “I think not.”

“I think so.”

“All right,” I say. “Prove it.”

“All right,” he says.

He gets in my face, super close.

Why do I just stare at him at first?

Why does he just stare at me?

“You go,” I say.

“Nah,” he says. “Ladies first.”

“That’s a cop-out.”

“Or that’s me being a gentleman.”

I can almost feel his words, that’s how little space there is between us. My eyes drift down to his lips. He wets them, and they practically beg for me to k— The bell rings.

I back away from Curtis. What the hell?

He smirks and walks off. “Next time, Princess.”

“You won’t beat me,” I call after him.

He turns around. “Sure, Jan.”

Did he just meme me?

I flip him off.

To semiquote Biggie, this is all a dream.

I can’t walk around the school without somebody noticing me or pointing me out, and it has zero to do with the incident or the drug dealer rumors. People who have never spoken to me suddenly say what’s up. My dad’s chain gets me more glances and stares. In Long Fiction, somebody plays my song before class starts. Mrs. Burns tells them to “turn off that nonsense,” and I’m on such a high that I bite my tongue. I internally say that her wig is the only nonsense in this room.

Brianna Jackson will not be going to the office today.

Mrs. Murray’s heard the song, too. When I walk into Poetry class, she goes, “There’s the MC of the hour!” But she adds, “Since hip-hop is poetry, your grades should never drop again.”

Anyway.

Seeing my streams go up and my classmates geek out has me thinking that, damn, all this stuff I’ve dreamed of could actually happen. I could really make it as a rapper. It’s not some wild shit my imagination came up with. It’s . . .

It’s possible.





Fifteen


It’s been a little over two weeks since Blackout posted my song. My numbers keep going up. I’m talking followers, streams, all of that. Yesterday, I walked over to my grandparents’ house to have dinner with them (Grandma insisted), and a car passed me blasting it.

But the car that pulls up in front of my house tonight isn’t playing it. Aunt Pooh waits in her Cutlass. I’ve got another battle in the Ring tonight. No clue who I’m going up against, but that’s what makes the Ring what it is—you gotta be ready for whatever.

Jay’s at class and Trey’s at work, so I lock up the house. As much online attention as I’ve gotten, I don’t think either one of them knows about the song. Plus, Jay doesn’t do the internet, unless it’s to watch YouTube or stalk friends and family on Facebook. Trey thinks social media promotes insecurity and doesn’t use it much. For now, I’m good.