where I bunk.
I don’t care if they want some chips, tell them dip.
Number six—them things called refunds? See none.
Make the sale, take the bills, let them bail, and be done.
Seven, this rule gets people up in arms,
but no credit or discounts, not even for my mom.
Family and biz don’t gel, like bubble guts and Taco Bell
Find myself saying, “What the hell?”
Number eight, never keep no profits in my pockets
and wallets. Deposit. Or buy a safe and lock it.
Number nine is just as bad as number one to me:
No matter where I’m at, keep an eye for police.
If they thinkin’ I’m suspicious, they ain’t trying to listen.
They’ll unload them mags, make me a hashtag.
Number ten, two words—perfect timin’.
I want some lines then? Do early grinding,
missing out on clientele, that’s a hell no.
If they don’t see me out, they going straight to the store.
Using these steps, I’ll have cash out the anus,
to get what I need, and help out with bill payments,
and sell more cookies, than that famous named Amos.
On my mom and on my dad, and word to Big, one of the greatest.
“What?” I finish.
A collective “Ohhhhh!” goes up. Jojo’s mouth is wide open. One or two GDs bow to me.
There’s absolutely nothing like this. Yeah, they’re gangbangers, and they’ve done all kinds of foul shit that I don’t even wanna know about. But I’m enough to them, so frankly, they’re enough to me.
“A’ight, a’ight,” Aunt Pooh calls over to them. “I need to talk to the superstar in private. Y’all gotta go.”
Everybody but Scrap and Jojo leave.
Aunt Pooh lightly pushes Jojo’s head. “Go on, li’l badass.”
“Dang, Pooh! When you gon’ let me claim?”
He means claim colors, as in become a Garden Disciple. This little boy’s always trying to join, like it’s the Maple Grove basketball team. He’s been throwing up GD signs for as long as I’ve known him.
“Forever never,” Aunt Pooh says. “Now go.”
Jojo makes this sound like a tire pump spitting air. “Man,” he groans, but he pedals away.
Aunt Pooh turns to Scrap, who still hasn’t left. She tilts her head like, Well?
“What?” he says. “This my car. I stay if I wanna.”
“Man, whatever,” Aunt Pooh says. “You good, Bri?”
I shrug. It’s weird. Ever since Long called me a “hoodlum,” it’s like the word’s branded on my forehead, and I can’t get it off me. Hate that this is bothering me so much.
“You sure you don’t want me to handle them guards?” Aunt Pooh asks.
She’s so serious it’s almost scary. “Positive.”
“A’ight. I got you, just give the word.” She unwraps a Blow Pop and sticks it in her mouth. “What Jay gon’ do about this?”
“She’s not letting me leave that school, so it doesn’t matter.”
“What, you wanna go to Garden High?”
I pull my knees closer. “At least I wouldn’t be invisible there.”
“You ain’t invisible,” Aunt Pooh says.
I snort. “Trust, I basically walk around with an invisibility cloak on.”
“A what?” Scrap asks.
I stare at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“It’s some nerd shit, Scrap,” Aunt Pooh says.
“Um, excuse you, but Harry Potter is a cultural phenomenon.”
Scrap goes, “Ohhhh. That’s the one with the li’l dude with the ring, right? ‘My precioussss,’” he says in his best Gollum voice.
I give up.
“Like I said, nerd shit,” says Aunt Pooh. “Anyway, stop worrying about whether them fools notice you at Midtown, Bri. Listen.” She props her foot on the car bumper. “High school ain’t the end or the beginning. It ain’t even in the middle. You ’bout to do big things, whether they see it or not. I see it. Everybody last night saw it. Long as you see it, that’s all that matters.”
Sometimes she’s my personal Yoda. If Yoda was a woman and had a gold grill. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know who Yoda is. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I’m what?” She puts her hand to her ear. “I ain’t hear that good. I’m what?”
I laugh. “You’re right, dang!”
She tugs my hoodie so it covers my eyes. “Thought so. How you get over here anyway? Your momma drop you off on her way back to work? Should’ve told me I was gon’ be babysitting your hardheaded ass.”
Oh.
I forgot the reason I came over here in the first place. I stare at my Not-Timbs. “Jay got laid off.”
“Oh, shit,” Aunt Pooh says. “For real?”
“Yep. The church let her go so they could pay for repairs to the daycare.”
“Shit, man.” Aunt Pooh wipes her face. “You a’ight?”
Jacksons can’t cry, but we can tell the truth. “No.”
Aunt Pooh pulls me into her arms. As much of a