would come from her room when she first got sick. It was like rotten eggs and burning plastic mixed together. Crack reeks.
The room is covered in darkness—the lights are off, and the blinds and curtains are closed. But I can make out the lump beneath a mound of bedding that’s my mom.
“I just wanted to say bye,” I tell her. “The bus will be here soon.”
“C’mere.”
I inch over to the side of the bed. Jay’s head pokes out from under the comforter. About half of her hair is protected by a silk bonnet. It partially slid off at some point, and she doesn’t seem to care enough to fix it. Her eyes are puffy and pink, and there’s balled-up tissues on the nightstand and scattered around her pillow.
She reaches up and runs her fingers through my baby hairs. “You’re starting to outgrow these braids. I need to do some new ones soon. Did you eat?”
I nod. “You want anything?”
“No, but thank you, baby.”
There’s so much I wanna say but don’t know how to say. I mean, how do you tell your mom that you’re scared you’re losing her again? How selfish is it to say, “I need you to be okay so that I’ll be okay”?
Jay cups my cheek. “I’m okay.”
I swear, moms are equipped with mind-reading abilities.
Jay sits up and pulls me closer. I sit on the edge of the bed. She wraps her arms around me from behind and kisses the back of my head, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“It’s been a dark couple of days,” she admits softly. “But I’m getting through it. Just needed some time. I’m thinking about going downtown to see Pooh tomorrow. You wanna come? We can go after your ACT prep.”
I nod. “Any word from Dr. Cook yet?” It’s been over a week since she gave him her résumé at the PTA meeting. I get it, that’s not a long time, but days feel like years lately.
“No,” Jay says, and sighs. “Those folks at the school district probably don’t want a former drug addict working with them. It’ll be okay. I gotta believe that.”
“But will you be okay?”
I sound five. I feel five. I sat on her bed once back then, stared into red eyes hazy from drugs, and asked her that same question. A day or so later, she left me and Trey at our grandparents’ house.
She stills when I ask it now. Several moments pass before she responds.
“I will be,” she says. “I promise.”
She kisses my temple to seal the deal.
My mom’s up and getting dressed when I go outside and wait for the bus.
She’s doing it for me, I know it. Making herself be strong so I won’t be scared.
I sit on the curb, slip my headphones over my ears, and hit Shuffle on my phone. J. Cole’s “Apparently” starts. I rap along as he talks about all the hell his mom went through. Then that part where he says he wants his dream to rescue him? I don’t think I’ve ever repeated truer words. It’s like he knew I’d be sitting on a curb in front of my house, listening to this song and needing it.
I used to say I wanted to do that for some kid. Have them listen to my music and feel every single word, as if I wrote it just for them. Lately, though, I just wanna make it.
The song stops as my ring tone goes off. Supreme’s name appears on the screen.
“Li’l Law!” he says the second I answer. “I got big news.”
“Another radio interview?” I’d rather eat all the leftovers in the world, and I hate leftovers.
“Bigger!” he says. “I got some execs that wanna meet you.”
It’s like I’ve suddenly broken into a sprint, that’s how much my heart speeds up. I almost drop my phone. “Ex—” I can’t even say it. “Execs? As in record execs?”
“Hell yes!” Supreme says. “This is it, baby girl! This is your chance!”
“Wait.” I hold my forehead. This is too fast. “How—why—when—”
“When? This afternoon,” he says. “Why? The interview! The song! How? They hit me up. Thing is, they wanna hear what else you can do. I know you don’t have any other songs recorded, so I thought we could meet them in the studio, right? Let you record some shit while they’re there. Then they can really see what you’re capable of. A contract will be as good as ours!”
Ho. Ly. Shit. “You’re serious?”
“As hell.” He laughs. “I can pick you up after school