“There was a SWAT team, and they found coke on her.”
My mom just stares at me. Suddenly, she picks up her phone. “God, no. Please, no.”
She calls the police station. They can’t provide any info yet. She calls Lena, who’s sobbing so hard I can hear her from across the room. She calls Trey, who’s at work but says he’ll go by the station on his way home. She calls Scrap. His phone goes to voice mail. I think they got him, too.
Jay goes to her room, closes the door, and stays there. I don’t think I’m supposed to hear her crying, but it’s the only thing I hear all night.
I can’t stop her from crying. I can’t save Aunt Pooh. And now with her gone and nobody else for the Crowns to target, I may not even be able to save myself.
I’m powerless.
Jay doesn’t come out of her room the next day, or the next. When I get up Saturday morning, she’s still in there. Trey’s in his room, sleeping off a late-night shift. Supreme picks me up and takes me downtown for my interview with Hype.
Supreme runs his mouth the whole drive, but I barely hear him. My mom’s sobs won’t leave my ears. Besides, he’s saying the same ol’ shit. This is a major deal. I’m on my way. This interview will take me to a new level.
But it won’t save Aunt Pooh.
Supreme must realize I’m not saying much because he glances away from the road long enough to sneak a look over at me. “You good, Li’l Law?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, you wanna stand on your own two, huh?” he teases.
Ain’t shit funny. I’ve got no choice but to stand on my own two. Excuse me if I don’t wanna wear the name of the person who’s not here to carry all of this with me.
I don’t even answer Supreme. I just stare out of the window.
Hot 105 is in one of the skyscrapers downtown. The station is just as legendary as the artists they have photographed on the walls. All around the reception area, there are framed pictures of the various DJs with hip-hop royalty they’ve interviewed over the years.
Hype’s voice pours out of speakers around the reception area. He’s live on the air in one of the studios. Jay used to have his show playing on her car stereo every Saturday morning when she’d pick me and Trey up. Whenever Hype played one of Dad’s songs, she’d let the windows down and turn it all the way up. He’d sound so alive that I’d forget he was dead.
Hype’s assistant leads me and Supreme to the studio. The red “live” light above the door means we have to wait outside at first. On the other side of a large window, Hype sits at a table that’s crowded with computer monitors, microphones, and headphones. There’s a guy in the studio with him pointing a camera in Hype’s direction. A sign on the wall says, “The Hot Hour.”
“As always, we gotta pay some bills,” Hype says over the speakers in the hallway. “But y’all stick around, because after the commercial break, I’m gonna be talking to one of the hottest young rappers in the country right now: Bri! We’re gonna get the scoop on the controversy, her next moves, all of that. It’s the Hot Hour, baby, on Hot 105!”
Hype takes off his headphones, and his assistant ushers us into the studio.
“The princess of the Garden!” Hype says. He gives me a half hug. “I still get chills thinking about your battle. No offense, ’Preme, but she killed your son. Straight up.”
“I can’t deny it,” Supreme says. “Why you think I had to sign her myself?”
“Can’t blame you,” Hype says. “The song is dope, too. Of course, all the controversy ain’t, but hey, at least they talking, right? I know my listeners wanna hear from you, Bri. We just ask that you keep the cussing to a minimum. Ain’t nobody got time for FCC fees.”
“We’re live in one minute, Hype,” the cameraman says.
Hype points me to a chair across from his where a mic and headphones await. “Have a seat, Bri,” he says, and I do. “’Preme, you staying?”
“Nah, I’ll be out there,” Supreme says. He kneels beside my chair. “Look, he may try to push your buttons,” he says, keeping his voice low. “That’s Hype though. Don’t let him rile you up too much. Just be yourself and say what you feel. All right?”