“You love to hate, huh? Anyway.” He lightly taps my arm with his knuckle. “Don’t let this make your head big. It’s big enough already.”
“Funny. I bet the same can’t be said about a certain part on you.”
“Ouch!” His forehead wrinkles. “Wait, you been thinking ’bout it, Princess?”
Remind me why I considered him cute. “That would be a hell no for five hundred, Alex.”
“Testy. I am happy for you though. For real, not even lying.”
I twist my mouth. “Yeah right.”
“I am!” he says. “’Bout time we had something good come from the Garden. Although”—he shrugs—“I’d still whoop that ass in a battle.”
I bust out laughing. “I think not.”
“I think so.”
“All right,” I say. “Prove it.”
“All right,” he says.
He gets in my face, super close.
Why do I just stare at him at first?
Why does he just stare at me?
“You go,” I say.
“Nah,” he says. “Ladies first.”
“That’s a cop-out.”
“Or that’s me being a gentleman.”
I can almost feel his words, that’s how little space there is between us. My eyes drift down to his lips. He wets them, and they practically beg for me to k—
The bell rings.
I back away from Curtis. What the hell?
He smirks and walks off. “Next time, Princess.”
“You won’t beat me,” I call after him.
He turns around. “Sure, Jan.”
Did he just meme me?
I flip him off.
To semiquote Biggie, this is all a dream.
I can’t walk around the school without somebody noticing me or pointing me out, and it has zero to do with the incident or the drug dealer rumors. People who have never spoken to me suddenly say what’s up. My dad’s chain gets me more glances and stares. In Long Fiction, somebody plays my song before class starts. Mrs. Burns tells them to “turn off that nonsense,” and I’m on such a high that I bite my tongue. I internally say that her wig is the only nonsense in this room.
Brianna Jackson will not be going to the office today.
Mrs. Murray’s heard the song, too. When I walk into Poetry class, she goes, “There’s the MC of the hour!” But she adds, “Since hip-hop is poetry, your grades should never drop again.”
Anyway.
Seeing my streams go up and my classmates geek out has me thinking that, damn, all this stuff I’ve dreamed of could actually happen. I could really make it as a rapper. It’s not some wild shit my imagination came up with. It’s . . .
It’s possible.
Fifteen
It’s been a little over two weeks since Blackout posted my song. My numbers keep going up. I’m talking followers, streams, all of that. Yesterday, I walked over to my grandparents’ house to have dinner with them (Grandma insisted), and a car passed me blasting it.
But the car that pulls up in front of my house tonight isn’t playing it. Aunt Pooh waits in her Cutlass. I’ve got another battle in the Ring tonight. No clue who I’m going up against, but that’s what makes the Ring what it is—you gotta be ready for whatever.
Jay’s at class and Trey’s at work, so I lock up the house. As much online attention as I’ve gotten, I don’t think either one of them knows about the song. Plus, Jay doesn’t do the internet, unless it’s to watch YouTube or stalk friends and family on Facebook. Trey thinks social media promotes insecurity and doesn’t use it much. For now, I’m good.
Scrap’s reclined in Aunt Pooh’s passenger seat. He pulls it forward so I can hop in the back. “‘You can’t stop me on the come up. Ayyyyyyy!’” he says. “Can’t get that shit out my head, Li’l Law. It’s too fire.”
“Thanks. Hey, Aunty.”
“S’up,” she mumbles, looking straight ahead.
The day Blackout posted “On the Come Up,” I told her all about it. I didn’t hear back from her until yesterday when she texted to tell me she was picking me up for the Ring tonight.
I guess she’s all in her feelings because I didn’t delete the song like she told me. Does it matter though if it means we’re on our way? I mean, damn. That’s the goal, right?
Scrap looks back at me. “Okay, okay, I see you with your daddy’s chain.”
I look down at the crown pendant hanging from the gold necklace. I’ve worn it every day since I got it. Slipping it on is a habit, like brushing my teeth. “Guess I like having a part of him with me.”
“Ooooh-wee!” Scrap says into his fist. “I remember when Law