On the Come Up(80)

Add that to the list of things I didn’t know. I hop up onto the hood beside her. “Really?”

It takes her a second to answer. She stares at this black car with tinted windows that cruises through the parking lot.

“Yeah,” she finally says. “Law was my brother, my Yoda, or whatever that li’l green dude’s name is.”

“You got it right.” Impressively. I mean, damn, she knew the name and that he’s green.

“Yeah, him,” she says. “He looked out for me and genuinely cared about me, you know? When they killed him, it was one of the worst days of my life. Losing Momma and Daddy was bad enough. Then Jay got on that stuff not long after he died. Felt like I ain’t have anybody.”

“You had me and Trey.”

“Nah. Your grandma and granddaddy had you and Trey,” she says. “That grandma of yours is a trip. She ain’t really want me coming around y’all. Can’t blame her though. I wanted blood. I went to the GDs that used to hang with Law and told them I was down for whatever to get revenge. They told me I don’t want that on me. But they let me join. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have had anybody.”

“Well, you’ve got us now.”

Her lips slowly turn up. “Corny ass. Getting all sentimental. You know you done pissed off a hell of a lot of people, right? That news report and that petition?” She laughs. “Goddamn, who knew a song could get folks that upset?”

I gotta tell her about Supreme. She may hate me, might cuss me out, but she has to know. “Hype invited me on his show to talk about it.”

“Whaaaat?” she says, pulling her head back. “Li’l Bit going on the Hot Hour?”

“Yeah. Saturday morning.”

“Yoooo. That’s major! How’d that happen?”

Here we go. “Supreme set it up.”

Her eyebrows meet. “Law’s old manager?”

“Yeah. He, umm . . . he actually wants to be my manager.”

I keep my eyes on my faux Timbs. I just have to tell her that I took Supreme up on his offer. Just spit it out like I’m in the middle of a freestyle in a battle.

Before I can say anything though, Aunt Pooh goes, “You took him up on it, didn’t you?”

My entire face gets hot. “It’s nothing against you, Aunt Pooh! I swear it’s not. I still want you to be a part of all of this.”

“Just not as your manager.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

Aunt Pooh slowly lets out a sigh. “I get it. It’s cool.”

“Wait, what?”

“A’ight, maybe not cool, but I understand,” she says. “I’ve got too much else going on to help you the way you really need.”

Here’s an idea: “You could just let that stuff go.”

“I don’t know enough about the music business either.” She totally ignores what I said. “I’ve had folks hitting me up about the petition, and I ain’t got a damn clue what to say or do. This could either make you sink or swim, you know? I don’t wanna mess that up.”

Aunt Pooh’s not one to front, but maybe she fronts with me more than I realize. “You sure you okay with this?”

“I can help you out, even if I’m not your manager,” she says. “I can be on your team. Help you put together songs. Make sure you ain’t rapping stuff that makes white ladies shit themselves.” She playfully ruffles my braids.

I snicker. “Whatever.”

She holds her palm out. I slap it, but she pulls me across her lap and plants the longest, sloppiest kiss on my cheek, like she would do when I was little. I crack up. “You gotta come up with a title for me, superstar.”

“Head Aunty in Charge.”

“You know damn well Jay ain’t gon’ be cool with anybody else thinking they’re in—”

Something catches her eye again. That same black car with tinted windows is back in the parking lot. The driver turns the engine off and the car sits there, facing us.

Aunt Pooh stares at it. “Bri, promise me something.”

“What?” I say with my head still in her lap.

She won’t look away from the car. “Promise you gon’ get outta the Garden.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Promise that you gon’ do whatever you gotta do to make it. Promise like it’s the last thing you’ll ever promise me.”

“Now look who’s getting all sentimental,” I tease.

“I’m serious! Promise!”

“I . . . I promise?” I somewhat say, somewhat ask. “What’s got you talking like this?”

She makes me sit up and nudges me off the car. “Go home.”

“What?”

“Go ho—”

Two black vans screech into the parking lot. Cops in SWAT gear rush out, guns pointed in every direction.





Twenty-Six


“Bri, go!” Aunt Pooh yells.

I’m stuck. The SWAT team swarms the projects, going after the Garden Disciples. All around, people run and scream. Parents dash for their kids or carry them as quickly as they can. Some kids are left crying by themselves.

Aunt Pooh drops to her knees with her hands behind her head. A SWAT team member rushes toward her, gun pointed.