On the Come Up(62)

“O-kay,” he says slowly, waiting for the rest. That’s all I’m giving him. “I’ll have to talk to her eventually. You know that, right?”

Unfortunately. And she would shut all of this down, though, in a heartbeat.

But it’s like how when she does stuff I don’t like and says it’s “for my own good.” This is for hers. I’m willing to do anything to keep that sadness in her eyes from becoming permanent.

“Let me talk to her first,” I lie to Supreme.

“All right.” He grins. “Let’s work on getting this money then.”





Nineteen


When I get home, all of the recovering addicts are gone, and Jay is putting cans in the kitchen cabinet. Grocery bags cover the table.

I slide my backpack off and set it on the kitchen floor. “How did you get all of—”

“Girl, if you don’t put that backpack in your room, I swear!” Jay snaps.

Goddamn, she’s not even looking at me! Peripheral vision is the devil.

I toss my backpack in my room. Probably should’ve done that anyway. Those Timbs Supreme gave me are stuffed inside. Nobody’s got time for the interrogation that’ll come once Jay sees them things.

Supreme went on for hours about all of the plans he has for me. He wants me to do some interviews to address the drama, he wants me to do a song with Dee-Nice and a song with Miles. He wants me to do a mixtape of my own. Said he’s gonna pay for the studio time and the beats.

It’s hard to be excited, knowing I gotta tell Aunt Pooh that I’m basically dropping her, and knowing I can’t tell my mom yet. I gotta wait for some things to fall in place first. You know, have a seven-figure contract in my hands and be like, “Look what I got!” There’s no way she’ll say no to that.

Okay, there’s a hundred ways she’ll say no, but I’m gonna try for a yes.

She’s moved on to the freezer by the time I return to the kitchen. She slides a pack of chicken in, next to the frozen vegetables that are already in there.

I peek in one of the bags. There are crackers, bread, chips, juice. “Did Aunt Pooh bring all of this?”

“No, I got it,” Jay says.

“How?”

She keeps her head in the freezer as she stuffs another pack of frozen meat inside. “I got my EBT card in the mail today.”

EBT? “You got food stamps? But you said we weren’t gonna—”

“You can say a whole lot before things happen,” she says. “You never truly know what you will or won’t do until you’re going through it. We needed food. Welfare could help us get food.”

“But I thought you said they don’t give college students food stamps unless they have a job.”

“I withdrew from school.”

She says it as casually as if I asked her about the weather.

“You what?” I’m so loud, nosy Ms. Gladys next door probably heard me. “But you were so close to finishing! You can’t quit school for some food stamps!”

Jay moves around me and gets a box of cereal from a bag. “I can quit to make sure you and your brother don’t starve.”

This . . .

This hurts.

This physically fucking hurts. I feel it in my chest, I swear. It burns and aches all at once. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

She crosses over to me, but I watch the glimmer of sunlight that’s shining through the window and lighting up the tile on the floor. Granddaddy used to say, look for the bright spots. I know he didn’t mean literally, but that’s all I’ve got.

“Hey, look at me,” Jay says. She takes my chin to make sure that I do. “I’m fine. This is temporary, okay?”

“But becoming a social worker is your dream. You need a degree for that.”

“You and your brother are my first dream. That other one can wait to make sure you two are okay. That’s what parents do sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” I say.

“But I want to.”

That makes this harder. Having to is a responsibility. Wanting to is love.

She holds my cheek. “I listened to your song.”

“You did?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ve gotta admit it’s catchy. It’s pretty damn brilliant, too, Ms. Brilliant Bri.” She smiles and runs her thumb along my cheek. “I get it.”

Three words, yet they somehow feel as good as a hug. “Really?”

“I do. But you get where I was coming from, don’t you?”

“Yeah. You don’t want people to make assumptions about me.”

“Exactly. We have to prepare ourselves, baby. That local news story may only be the start. I need you to stay low during all of this.”

“What? I can’t go outside? Or go to school?” I’m totally fine with that.

“Girl!” She lightly smacks my arm. I laugh. “I don’t mean that low. Your butt is still going to school, so don’t even try. I mean . . .” She pauses, searching for the words. “I mean don’t provoke them. Don’t respond to anything, don’t do anything. Just . . . act like they’re talking about somebody else. Don’t be getting all on Tweeter or whatever, making comments.”