Watch Us Rise(32)

Isaac and I show up for the open mic just in time. Word Up hosts a Teens Only open mic once a month, and it starts promptly at seven p.m. They are pretty strict that it’s twenty performers only, and I say performers loosely because you’re pretty much allowed to do anything on stage. I’ve seen people juggle, read monologues, perform with their dogs, sing a cappella, swallow fire (that one was actually banned from the bookstore—understandably), but you get the idea.

Nadine always brings her phone and connects to the speaker system. Currently she is on an old-school eighties and nineties kick, so Prince and TLC are in heavy rotation. Tonight she’s wearing her super-short hair slicked straight back. She has five earrings in her left ear and one in her right that holds a long feather that rests on her shoulder like a bird. She has a bright purple scarf wrapped around her waist like a skirt and a neon-green bra that shows through a black sweater riddled with holes. I could never pull that off. “Yes, yes, yes,” she says as soon as she sees me. “So glad you made it. I already signed your name on the open mic. You’re set.”

“Thank you,” I say, kissing her cheek.

“Where’s Jasmine, though? She should be here—you two are like the stars of the internet right now.”

“It’s her dad again,” Isaac says, and moves to grab a doughnut and pour cups of coffee for us. The bookstore is already filling up, and I can tell they’re about to start. Nadine shakes her head and shuffles through her phone at the same time. None of us can stop thinking about Jasmine and how she’s handling everything. I see Isaac move to text her, and I peek at his phone—We miss you. I miss you—it reads.

I love it.

“I’m so sorry about her dad. I hope she’s okay. I hope she’s writing and getting her emotions out there, because people are studying you two big-time. Everyone is loving the posts,” she says, looking behind me. “I love everything you’ve been posting. I wanna make a Write Like a Girl playlist. Will you post that if I do?”

“What? Yes! We will definitely post that. I love it. Make it tonight, and I’ll post it in the morning. People like to check in the mornings, or at least that’s what I’ve noticed, since I check our stats all the time. It’s like googling yourself.”

“I definitely don’t google myself,” Nadine says, starting to laugh at me.

“Anyway, it’s like that—and people visit it all the time!”

“Yeah, because it’s good. And not cheesy. That’s the problem with Music that Matters. Our advisor only posts out-of-focus photos and video clips of us playing. It’s so boring.”

“We kinda lucked out with Ms. Lucas. She’s so busy with coordinating all the clubs, and she totally trusts us, so we have a lot of freedom with what we post.” I shrug my shoulders, already thinking about when I’m gonna share Nadine’s playlist and who will be watching for what we post.

“Welcome to Word Up Teen Night, folks,” Leidy Blake says from the stage. “Come in, make room. We have a packed house tonight, and the list is almost officially full, so make your way to the front.” Leidy hosts every month, and she is amazing. She’s basically the godmother of the bookstore and has been in the neighborhood since she was born. Her long silver hair is wrapped up in a bun on top of her head, and she has a crystal necklace on and a few chunky rings on her fingers. She’s exactly what I want to look like when I get older. She is a local’s local, and nobody cares that she’s in her sixties.

“Hey.” I look around and see James standing behind me. “Did you go up already?”

“Not yet,” I reply.

“Uh, James Bradford is here . . . ?to see you,” Isaac whispers over at me. I start to laugh. Nadine is eyeing me from her corner spot and holding both hands up to air high-five me, which I try to do secretly, since it’s getting even more crowded in here and I don’t really want anyone to see me air high-five my friend.

“How’s about we get our first performer up on the stage,” Leidy starts. “Please welcome one of my personal favorite poets: Chelsea Spencer.”

When I say I killed it, I’m not trying to brag, seriously. I am just saying that I am good at only a few things: gathering good people, creating womanist/feminist blogs that rock people to their very core, and writing and performing poetry. That’s really it, so yes, I nailed it. I performed it just the way I’d been practicing, and the crowd loved it, at least I think they loved it. Leidy Blake calls up the next performer to the stage, and I walk back to take my seat.

James leans toward me. “Thanks,” he whispers in my ear, and I can feel my whole body shiver. Nadine instantly starts playing “I Wanna Be Your Lover” by Prince, and I start to laugh. She knows me so well.

“You gonna get up there? Read that poem you wrote for me?” I ask.

“Well, after that performance, I think mine needs some work. Maybe next time. Glad I caught you, though. I like that poem.” He squeezes my shoulder, then walks out.

“Let’s keep it going. Next up, please welcome Rachel from the Incarnation School,” Leidy calls out, shaking me from my James Bradford haze. Did he come here just to see me?

“Thanks. So, I’m here tonight to talk about this new blog: Write Like a Girl, because it’s what all of us have been talking about all day,” she starts, and the crowd starts to clap and yell again.