“Brianna, what the hell were you thinking?” she yells. “Why would you say that stuff?”
“They didn’t play the whole song!”
“They played enough!” she says. “Where’s the gun you rapped about, huh? Show me. Tell me. I need to see how my sixteen-year-old is ‘strapped like backpacks’!”
“I’m not! That’s not what I meant! They took it outta context!”
“You said that stuff. There’s no way to get around—”
“Would you listen to me for once?” I bellow.
Jay puts her hands to her mouth like she’s praying. “One: Check. Your. Tone,” she growls. “Two: I am listening. I listened enough to hear my child rapping like a thug!”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh, it’s not? Then why didn’t you tell me a goddamn thing about this song before now? Huh, Brianna? According to the news, it’s pretty well known. Why haven’t you mentioned it?”
I open my mouth, but before I can even say a word, she goes, “Because you knew damn well you were saying stuff you had no business saying!”
“No, because I knew you’d jump to conclusions!”
“People only jump on what you give them!”
Did she just—did she of all people really say that? “So that’s why everyone accuses you of being on drugs?” I ask. “They’re jumping on what you give them?”
She can’t say anything to that at first.
“You know what?” Jay eventually says. “You’ve got a point. You’ve absolutely got a point. People are gonna assume things about you, about me, no matter what we say or do. But here’s the difference between me and you, Brianna.” She closes the space between us. “I’m not giving people more reasons to make those assumptions about me. Do you see me walking around talking about drugs?”
“I—”
“Do. You. See. Me. Walking. Around. Talking. About. Drugs?” She claps with each word.
I stare at my shoes. “No, ma’am.”
“Do you see me acting like I’m on drugs? Bragging about drugs? No! But you made yourself out to be everything people were gonna assume about you! Did you think about what this will make me look like as your mother?”
She’s still not listening to me. “If you would just listen to the song—it’s not what they made it out to be, I swear. It’s about playing into their assumptions about me.”
“You don’t get that luxury, Brianna! We don’t! They never think we’re just playing!”
The room goes quiet again.
Jay closes her eyes and holds her forehead. “Jesus,” she mutters, like calling his name will calm her down. She looks at me. “I don’t want you rapping anymore.”
I step back as if she slapped me. It feels like it. “What—but—”
“I refuse to stand by and let you end up like your daddy, do you hear me? Look what ‘rapping gangsta’ got him. A bullet in his head!”
I’ve always heard that my dad got caught up in the streets because he rapped about the streets. “But that’s not me!”
“And I won’t let it be you.” Jay shakes her head. “I won’t. I can’t. You’re gonna focus on school and you’re gonna leave that mess alone. Do I make myself clear?”
Only thing clear is that she doesn’t get it. Or me. That stings worse than the news report.
But I suck it up like a Jackson’s supposed to and look her dead in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am. We’re clear.”
We’re so clear that when Supreme texts me that night asking to meet up in the morning, I don’t hesitate to say yeah. He saw the news report and wants to talk to me about it.
He also saw that “On the Come Up” is the number one song on Dat Cloud. The news has everyone listening to it.
We meet up at the Fish Hut, this little run-down spot over on Clover. It’s easy for me to get out of the house. It’s Saturday, and Jay’s having her monthly check-in meeting with the recovering addicts. We don’t have enough food for her to feed them today, but everybody’s talking so much it doesn’t seem to matter. I tell Jay I’m going to my grandparents’ house, and she’s so caught up in their conversation, she only says, “Okay.”
Soon I’m on my bike with my headphones, my backpack, and my dad’s chain tucked under my hoodie, headed to Clover Street.
I pedal fast so I don’t freeze. Granddaddy says that cold weather’s the only thing that’ll shut the Garden down. That explains why the streets are almost deserted.
Riding through Clover is like riding through an abandoned war zone. The Fish Hut is one of the only places still standing.