On the Come Up(92)

Yet I follow him back into the studio like the desperate idiot that I am.

Soundboard guy plays the beat, and Dee-Nice goes over the song with me so I can get the flow right. James watches and listens eagerly over on the sofa, elbowing Supreme at every other line I recite.

I go into the recording booth and slip the headphones over my ears.

Everyone watches me from the other side of the glass. There’s excitement in their eyes. Supreme wears an eager grin. They’re ready for me to perform.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window.

When I was around eight, Grandma and Granddaddy took me and Trey to the zoo. There was this one family who ended up at every exhibit at the same time we did. The two kids would try to get the animals to do whatever they wanted. They’d tell them to make sounds or come closer to the glass, anything in hopes of getting a laugh. The animals wouldn’t obey, of course, but I remember feeling so bad for them. It must’ve been awful to have people gawk at you and demand you entertain them how they see fit.

I’m suddenly in an exhibit, and there’s a room full of people waiting for me to entertain them. I have to say what they want me to say. Be what they want me to be.

The worst part? I do it.





Thirty-One


“You okay, Bookie?”

I look away from the window and over at my mom. “Why you ask?”

It’s Tuesday, and she just picked me up from ACT prep to go see Aunt Pooh.

“Because that’s my third time asking if you’re okay, and this is only the first time you’ve heard me. You’ve been so quiet.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Something on your mind?”

More than I’d like. I recorded that song for Supreme and them. They loved it. I hated it. James still wasn’t fully “sold” though. Said he wants to see me perform it and see how people react to it.

I really am just something to entertain them.

Supreme’s all in though. Said he’s gonna set it up so I can premiere the song in a live performance at the Ring. He’s booking it for next Thursday. James claims that if I knock it out of the park, a big contract is as good as mine.

It doesn’t feel like it’ll be mine though. Not when I’m saying somebody else’s words and fitting somebody else’s image just to get it.

I don’t know how to tell Jay about it. It could go two ways—she’ll either A, be pissed that I’ve kept all this from her, or B, be ready to handle Supreme. Of course, because I’m still a minor, I can’t sign anything without her permission. But I got myself into this, and I gotta figure it out.

I sit up some more. “It’s nothing. Just school stuff.”

“Well, whatever it is, you can tell me. You know I always got you.”

“I know,” I say. “I got you too.”

We pull into the parking lot of this tall brick building that seems like it’s been around since before my grandparents were born. It would look like a regular building, honestly, but there’s a barbed-wire fence around the back.

We leave our phones, watches, and anything else that could set off the metal detector in the car. Jay only takes her keys and ID. This is the routine we’ve always followed whenever we’ve visited Aunt Pooh in jail. It helps us see her quicker.

There’s a guy sitting on the curb near the entrance. His head rests between his knees, making it hard to see his face. But his hair is half braided, half Afro. If I didn’t know any better . . . “Scrap?” I say.

He looks up. It’s Scrap, all right.

“Boy.” Jay outstretches her arms. Scrap walks into them. “I thought they got you, too.”

“Nah. I wasn’t there when it happened. But everybody else . . .”

Is locked up. Word is, most of the Maple Grove Garden Disciples got busted.

Jay frames his face with her hands like he’s a little boy. I guess when you’ve known someone their entire life, you can still see them that way. Pooh and Scrap have been running together since diaper days. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. You’re here to see P, huh?”

“Yeah. She asked me to come when y’all came. Hope that’s all right.”

“Of course it is. You’re family.” Jay takes his hand. “C’mon.”

Scrap follows her inside. Something’s off about him. I can’t put my finger on it. He doesn’t walk, he marches. His jaw ticks; his face is tight. It’s like he’s a bubble—one wrong move and he’ll burst at any second.

Pink and red streamers and a little Valentine’s Day banner decorate the sign-in desk, but if you’re coming in here to visit somebody, it’s hard to celebrate any holiday.

Curtis brought me a little bouquet of candy bars to school today. I gotta admit, it did make the day a little better. Boy’s got more game than I thought.

Jay gives the lady at the sign-in desk Aunt Pooh’s real name—Katricia Bordeaux. It’s always weird hearing it. She’s been Pooh my whole life. We fill out paperwork and go through security before we’re led to this small gray room. There are no windows, so no sunlight. Just stark bright lights that you see long after closing your eyes. A guard tells us to sit at the table and wait.

Scrap drums the table the whole time. After about twenty minutes, one of the guards brings Aunt Pooh in.