On the Come Up(85)

“Aww, see? This why they kicked you out of the Ring. Baby girl PMSing up in here.” Hype plays a drum kick to cap off his “joke.”

Supreme has to practically drag me out. We pass all these station workers in the hallway, and they stare and whisper as Hype makes another “joke” over the speakers. I have no problem whooping all of their asses.

Supreme gets me to the lobby. I snatch out of his grasp.

He chuckles. “Goddamn. What’s got you riled up?”

Everything. I breathe hard and blink harder, but my eyes burn anyway. “Did you hear him?”

“I told you he would push your buttons. That’s what Hype does.” Supreme pats my cheek. “You’re a goddamn genius, you know that? You did exactly what I told you all those weeks ago. I’m surprised you remembered.”

I look at him as my breath finally catches up with my pounding heart. “What?”

“You played that ratchet hood rat role. You know how much publicity you ’bout to get from this?”

It’s like having a bucket of ice water thrown into my face.

Ratchet hood rat.

Thousands of people just heard me act like that. Millions more may see the video. They won’t care that my life is a mess and I had every right to be mad. They’ll just see an angry black girl from the ghetto, acting like they expected me to act.

Supreme laughs to himself. “You played the role,” he says. “Goddamn, you played the role.”

Problem is, I wasn’t playing. That’s what I’ve become.





Twenty-Eight


I ask Supreme to take me to Sal’s. I need my brother.

Supreme’s phone blows up the whole way. He can’t stay still for bouncing in his seat.

“Whooo!” He smacks the steering wheel like he’s giving it a high five. “We ’bout to get paid, baby girl! I swear, this the best shit you could’ve done! We on our goddamn way!”

Ratchet hood rat. Three words, four syllables.

Everybody’s gonna think I’m a hood rat, that’s good at

being ratchet and blowing gaskets.

The Closed sign is on Big Sal’s door when Supreme drops me off. It’s still morning, and the shop doesn’t open until noon. Sal spots me peeking in through the glass and lets me in the shop anyway. She tells me that Trey’s in the back.

It’s hard to say what Trey’s position is at Sal’s. Sometimes he waits tables, other times he oversees the orders in the kitchen. Today, he mops the kitchen floor.

Ms. Tique . . . I mean Kayla, watches nearby. She wears the hoop earrings like she wore in the Ring and a green apron. She’s much smaller than she seemed in the Ring though—she doesn’t even come to Trey’s shoulder. I guess the mic makes her larger than life.

They’re the only two in the kitchen. Usually, this place is bustling as employees toss pizza dough in the air, yell out orders, and slide pies into the oven. It’s almost too quiet and still today. I guess everybody else hasn’t come in yet. Leave it to Trey to show up early.

Trey wrings the mop in the bucket and starts rolling the bucket toward the storage room, but Kayla goes, “Uh-uhn. I know you’re not leaving that floor looking like that.”

“Like what?” he says.

“Like that.” She points to a spot. “There’s dirt on the floor, Trey.”

He squints. “That li’l speck?”

Kayla takes the mop herself. “See, this is why you don’t need to clean.”

“Oh, I don’t?”

“Nope!”

Trey smiles as he sneaks a quick peck to her lips. “But do I need to do that?”

“Hmmm . . .” She taps her chin. “The jury’s still out.”

Trey laughs and kisses her again.

I’m probably not supposed to see this, but I can’t look away. Not on some creeper shit, but I haven’t seen my brother this happy in a while. His eyes are bright, and his smile is so wide when he looks at her that it’s contagious. Not saying he was depressed or anything these past few months, but compared to how he is right now, it’s hard to say he’s been happy.

Kayla looks away from him long enough to spot me in the doorway. “Trey.”

He follows her gaze. The brightness leaves his eyes and his smile disappears. He focuses on mopping again. “What you doing here, Bri?”

I’m suddenly feeling like I shouldn’t be here, and I’ve never felt like that around Trey. He’s been my home when I wasn’t sure what “home” was. “Can we talk?” I ask.

He won’t look up from mopping. Kayla takes his arm to stop him. “Trey,” she says. Firmly.

He looks at her. There’s an unspoken conversation between them—it’s all in their eyes. Trey sighs out of his nose.

Kayla stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. “I’m gonna go see if Sal needs help up front.”

She gives me this sad smile as she passes, like somebody does when you’re in mourning.

What’s that about? Aunt Pooh?

Trey mops, and it’s like I’m invisible to him. Even as I inch closer, he doesn’t look up.

“Is something wrong?” I ask. I’m almost afraid to know though. His response could turn my life even more upside down. “Is Jay—”