about me going with Aunt Pooh. She definitely wasn’t crazy about Aunt Pooh calling herself my manager. According to her, “That fool ain’t no manager!”
“How you gon’ shade your sister like that?” I ask her.
She scoops Cajun rice onto the plates. “I know what she’s into. You know what she’s into.”
“Yeah, but she won’t let anything happen—”
Pause.
Jay puts fried okra on the plates. Then corn on the cob. She finishes them off with soft, fluffy biscuits. Say what you want about Popeyes’ biscuits, but they’re neither soft nor fluffy.
This is Popkenchurch.
Popkenchurch is when you buy fried chicken and Cajun rice from Popeyes, biscuits from KFC, and fried okra and corn on the cob from Church’s. Trey calls it “pre–cardiac arrest.”
But see, Popkenchurch is problematic, and not because of digestive drama that may ensue. Jay only gets it when something bad happens. When she broke the news that her aunt Norma had terminal cancer a couple of years ago, she bought Popkenchurch. When she realized she couldn’t get me a new laptop last Christmas, Popkenchurch. When Grandma decided not to move out of state to help her sister recover from her stroke, Jay bought Popkenchurch. I’ve never seen anybody take their aggression out on a chicken thigh quite like she did that day.
This isn’t good. “What’s wrong?”
“Bri, it’s nothing for you to worry a—”
My phone buzzes on the table, and we both jump.
The screen lights up with a number I don’t recognize.
It’s five thirty.
Jay smiles. “There’s your call.”
My hands shake down to my fingertips, but I tap the screen and put the phone to my ear. I force out the “Hello?”
“Is this Bri?” an all-too-familiar voice asks.
My throat is dry all of a sudden. “Yeah. This is she . . . her . . . me.” Screw grammar.
“What’s up? It’s DJ Hype! You ready, baby girl?”
This is the absolute worst time to forget how to speak. I clear my throat. “Ready for what?”
“Are you ready to kill it? Congratulations, you got a spot in the Ring tonight!”
Two
I texted Aunt Pooh three words: I got in.
She shows up in fifteen minutes, tops.
I hear her before I see her. “Flash Light,” by Parliament, blasts out front. She’s beside her Cutlass, getting it in. Milly Rocking, Disciple Walking, all of that, like she’s a one-woman Soul Train line.
I go outside and throw my hoodie over my snapback—it’s colder than a polar bear’s butt crack out here. My hands are freezing as I lock the front door. Jay left for class a few minutes ago.
Something’s happened, I know it. Plus, she didn’t say it was nothing. She said it’s nothing for me to worry about. Difference.
“There she go!” Aunt Pooh points at me. “The Ring legend-in-the-making!”
The ponytail holders on her braids clink as she dances. They’re green like her sneakers. According to Garden Heights Gang Culture 101, a Garden Disciple’s always gotta wear green.
Yeah, she’s ’bout that life. Her arms and neck are covered in tattoos that only GDs can decipher, except for those red lips tatted on her neck. Those are her girlfriend’s, Lena’s.
“What I tell you?” She flashes her white-gold grill in a grin and slaps my palm with each word. “Told. You. You’d. Get. In!”
I barely smile. “Yeah.”
“You got in the Ring, Bri! The Ring! You know how many folks around here wish they had a shot like this? What’s up with you?”
A whole lot. “Something’s happened, but Jay won’t tell me what.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She bought Popkenchurch.”
“Damn, for real?” she says, and you’d think that would set off alarms for her, too, but she goes, “Why you ain’t bring me a plate?”
I narrow my eyes. “Greedy ass. She only gets Popkenchurch when something’s wrong, Aunt Pooh.”
“Nah, man. You reading too much into this. This battle got you all jittery.”
I bite my lip. “Maybe.”
“Definitely. Let’s get you to the Ring so you can show these fools how it’s done.” She holds her palm to me. “Sky’s the limit?”
That’s our motto, taken from a Biggie song older than me and almost as old as Aunt Pooh. I slap her palm. “Sky’s the limit.”
“We’ll see them chumps on top.” She semi-quotes the song and pecks my forehead. “Even if you are wearing that nerdy-ass hoodie.”
It’s got Darth Vader on the front. Jay found it at the swap meet a few weeks ago. “What? Vader’s that dude!”
“I don’t care, it’s nerd shit!”
I roll my eyes. When you have an aunt who was only ten when you were born, sometimes she acts like an aunt