On the Come Up

by Angie Thomas

  “Yes I do!” It’s the thingy that goes on the thingy on a gun.

  “Sure you do. All that aside, this is a distraction on so many levels,” he says. “If you put this much energy into school, you know how far you’d go?”

  Not as far as this song could take me. “This is our way out, Trey.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Bri, that’s a long shot. Look, if you wanna be a rapper, fine. I personally think you can do something even better, but it’s your dream. I won’t get in the way of that. However, even if your song does blow up, it’s not the lotto. It doesn’t mean you’ll be rich all of a sudden.”

  “But I could be on my way.”

  “Yeah, but at what cost?” he asks.

  Trey pushes away from the table and kisses the top of my head before he leaves.

  There are only two people on the bus when I get on—Deon and Curtis.

  “Bri, you really got kicked out of the Ring?” Deon asks, soon as I step on.

  “Why, good morning to you as well, Deon,” I say, fake smile and all. “I’m just dandy; how about yourself?”

  Curtis busts out laughing.

  “For real though,” Deon says as I take my usual seat. Curtis happens to be in front of it today. “Did you really get banned?”

  It’s like I said nothing at all.

  “D, you saw the video, you know the answer,” says Curtis. “Ease up.”

  “Dawg, some people think that was staged,” Deon says. “It wasn’t though, was it, Bri? You really be hanging with GDs like that, huh? You claim it or you just affiliated?”

  “You know what? Here.” Curtis tosses a water bottle all the way to the back of the bus. “For your thirsty ass.”

  I snort. Ever since he talked to me like a decent human being at church, my tolerance levels for Curtis have been much higher. I even laugh at some of his jokes. It’s weird. And I never thought I’d say this, but—“Thank you, Curtis.”

  “No problem. I’ll invoice you for my bodyguard work.”

  I roll my eyes. “Bye, Curtis.”

  He laughs. “Cheapskate. It’s all good.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “What are you doing on the bus this early anyway? You’re usually one of the last pickups.”

  “Spent the night at my dad’s.”

  I’m pretty sure my face says what I don’t. I had no idea he had a dad. Wait, I mean, of course he has a dad. I didn’t know he had a dad who’s around.

  “He’s a truck driver,” Curtis explains. “He’s always on the road, so I live with my grandma.”

  “Oh, my bad.”

  “It’s cool. At least he’s not around for a good reason.”

  I’ve always wanted to ask him something, but frankly, it’s not my business. Curtis kinda brought it up, so maybe it’s okay? “You don’t have to answer this,” I say. “For real, you don’t, but do you get to see your mom?”

  “I used to go every couple of weeks. I haven’t been in months. My grandma goes every weekend though.”

  “Oh. What did she do?”

  “Stabbed an ex-boyfriend who used to beat her up. She snapped one night and stabbed him in his sleep. But since he wasn’t doing anything to her at that moment, it wasn’t self-defense or whatever. She got locked up. Meanwhile, he’s still around the Garden, probably beating somebody else’s momma.”

  “Damn. That’s messed up.”

  “It is what it is.”

  I’m being super nosy. “Why don’t you go see her?”

  “Would you wanna see your momma as a shell of herself?”

  “I already have.”

  Curtis tilts his head.

  “Back when my mom was on drugs. I saw her strung out in the park one day. She came up and tried to hug me. I ran off screaming.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah.” That memory is still fresh. “It was weird though. As scared as I was, part of me was happy to see her. I used to look for her, like she was some mythical creature I wanted to spot or something. I guess even when she wasn’t herself, she was my mom. If that makes sense?”

  Curtis rests his head back against his window. “It does. Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing my mom, but I hate that I can’t save her. Shit’s the worst feeling in the world.”

  I can practically hear Jay’s bedroom door closing. “I get it. I’m sure your mom will, too.”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I been away so long, I’m hesitant to go back. I’d have to tell her why I’ve been away, and that shit wouldn’t help her at all.”

  “I doubt she’d care why, Curtis. She’d just care that you’re there.”

  “Maybe,” he mutters as Zane climbs on the bus. Curtis nods at him. “Since you got all in my business, now it’s my turn to get into yours.”

  Here we go. People love to ask me what it’s like to have Lawless as my dad. They don’t realize the question should really be, “What’s it like having a dad that everyone seems to remember but you?” I always lie and tell them how great he was, even though I barely know.

  “All right, be honest with me here.” Curtis sits up a little more. “Who are your top five rappers, dead or alive?”

  That’s a new one. I appreciate it, too. It’s nothing against my dad, I’m just not in the mood to fake about a stranger. “That’s a hard-ass question.”

  “C’mon, it can’t be that hard.”

  “Yes it is. I have two top five lists.” I hold up two fingers. “One for goats, aka the greatest of all time, and one for what I call could-be goats.”

  “Damn, you’re a serious hip-hop head. All right. Who are your top five could-be goats?”

  “Easy,” I say. “In no order, Remy Ma, Rapsody, Kendrick Lamar, J. Cole, and Joyner Lucas.”

  “Solid. Who are your top five goats then?”

  “Okay, disclaimer: I actually have ten, but I’m gonna keep it to five,” I say, and Curtis chuckles. “Again, in no particular order, Biggie, ’Pac, Jean Grae, Lauryn Hill, and Rakim.”

  He frowns. “Who?”

  “Oh my God! You don’t know who Rakim is?”

  “Jean Grae either,” he says, and I nearly have a heart attack. “The Rakim name’s familiar though . . .”

  “He’s one of the greatest to ever touch a mic!” I’m probably a little too loud. “How in the living hell can you call yourself a hip-hop head and not know Rakim? That’s like a Christian not knowing John the Baptist. Or a Trekkie not knowing Spock. Or an HP head not knowing Dumbledore. Dumbledore, Curtis.”

  “Okay, okay. Why is he in your top five?”

  “He invented flow as we know it,” I say. “My aunt put me on to him. I swear listening to him is like listening to water—he never sounds forced or choppy. Plus, he’s a master at internal rhymes, which is like a rhyme in the middle of the line instead of at the end. Every single rapper with skills is his offspring. Period.”

  “Damn, you’re really into this stuff,” Curtis says.

  “Have to be. I wanna be one of the goats one day.”

  He smiles. “You will be.” He eyes me from head to toe over the seat, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was checking me out. “You look cute today, by the way.”

  Well, damn. He was checking me out. “Thanks.”

  “You look cute every day, honestly.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  Curtis laughs. “What?”

  “You pay attention to me like that?”

  “Yeah. I do. For instance, you always wear dope hoodies, but it’s not like you’re trying to hide or something. You’re just being you. You’ve also got this one dimple, right here.” He touches my cheek, right near the corner of my mouth. “That shows when you’re laughing, but not when you’re smiling, like it only wants to appear for special occasions. It’s real cute.”

  Why are my cheeks suddenly warm? What do I say? Do I compliment him back? How do I compliment him back? “Your hair looks nice.”

  Wow, Bri. Are you saying the rest of him doesn’t look nice? Okay, but his hai
r is on point. He clearly got a line up within the last day or so.

  He runs a hand over the top. His waves are gone, and it looks like someone twisted the ends by hand. “Thanks. Thinking ’bout growing it out this summer for some locs or cornrows. Just gotta find somebody who can do them.”

  “I can do them,” I say. “The cornrows, I mean. I don’t know how to do locs.”

  “I don’t know if I could trust you in my hair like that.”

  “Boy, bye. I know my stuff. Sonny’s momma is a beautician. She taught me ages ago. I used to hook my baby dolls up.”

  “Okay, okay. I believe you,” Curtis says. He leans a little closer over the seat. “So, what? I’ll sit between your legs and let you do your thing?”

  The corners of my mouth turn up. “Yeah. But you gotta let me do them however I want.”

  “However you want?”

  “However I want.”

  “All right. So, what do you want?”

  I try not to smile too much. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Is this flirting? I think this is flirting.

  Wait. I’m flirting with Curtis? And I’m okay with the fact that I’m flirting with Curtis?

  At some point, Mr. Watson pulled up at Sonny’s and Malik’s houses, and they climbed on board. Sonny’s in the aisle, his eyebrows raised about as high as they can go. Malik’s near one of the front seats. Shana’s already sitting down and seems to be talking to him, but he’s looking straight at me. And Curtis.

  He turns forward and slinks into the seat.

  Sonny slowly lowers himself into a seat ahead of us, staring at me the whole way down. He wiggles his eyebrows just before he disappears.

  I won’t hear the end of this. I won’t.

  Eventually, the bus pulls up at our school. I let Curtis get off before I do because Sonny is waiting for me at his seat. He just looks at me with those raised eyebrows.

  “Zip it,” I tell him as I climb off the bus.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your face says it all.”

  “Nah, your face says it all.” He pokes my cheeks. “Aww, look at you, blushing and shit. Over Curtis though? Really, Bri?”

  “I said zip it!”

  “Hey, I’m not judging. I simply ask that you name your son and daughter after me. Sonny and Sonnita.”

  This boy didn’t. “How the hell did we go from talking on the bus to having two kids, Sonny?”

  “Two kids and a dog. A pug you’ll name Sonningham.”

  “What goes on in that head of yours?”

  “It’s better than whatever has you flirting with Curtis.”

  I punch his arm. “You know what? I’ll let you and Rapid name your kids those ridiculous names instead. How about that?”

  Sonny’s eyes cast down. “Uhh . . . I kinda ghosted on Rapid.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I did my SAT practice test the other day and couldn’t focus on that shit for thinking about him. I can’t fuck this up, Bri.”

  Nobody’s harder on Sonny than Sonny. I’ve witnessed him have straight-up panic attacks over his grades and even his art pieces. “It was only a practice test, Son’.”

  “That reflects how I’ll do on the real test,” he croaks. “Bri, if I get a low score on that shit—”

  I cup his cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

  He does. My eyes won’t let his look away. I’ve witnessed him have so many panic attacks that I can spot them before they fully form. “Breathe,” I tell him.

  Sonny takes in a long, deep breath and lets it out. “I can’t mess this up.”

  “You won’t. That’s why you ghosted on him?”

  “That’s not all. Malik and I were hanging out the other day and did more research. We found out Rapid’s IP address doesn’t trace to the Garden.”

  He and Malik hung out without me. That still gets me in my feelings a bit. But I gotta shake it off. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Rapid had me thinking he lived in the neighborhood. That’s where all of his photography is from.”

  “Wait. Did he actually say he lived in the Garden or did you assume he lived in the Garden?”

  “Okay, I assumed. But it shows me how much I don’t know about him.” Sonny stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s not worth the distraction.”

  Yet the way his voice dips says otherwise.

  There are more people outside the school than usual. Mainly near the front doors. There’s lots of chatter. We have to push through the crowd to try to get a glimpse of what’s happening.

  “This is some bullshit!” somebody shouts up ahead.

  Sonny and I find Malik and Shana. Malik’s height helps him see over the crowd.

  “What’s going on?” Sonny asks.

  Malik’s jaw ticks as he looks straight into the school. “They’re back.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Long and Tate.”

  Seventeen

  “What the hell?” Sonny says.

  There is no way.

  I stand on my tiptoes. Long ushers a student through the metal detectors, as if he never left, and Tate checks a backpack nearby.

  My whole body tenses up.

  Dr. Rhodes said there would be an investigation and that disciplinary action would take place if the administration saw fit. Long and Tate throwing me to the ground must not have “fit” their idea of bad behavior.

  Dr. Rhodes is near the doors, telling everybody to come inside in an orderly fashion.

  “How the hell can they be back?” Sonny asks.

  “There wasn’t enough noise made about what they did,” Malik says. He looks at me.

  No, hell no. “This is not on me.”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “You may as well have!”

  “Y’all!” Sonny says. “Not now, okay?”

  “We need to do something,” says Shana.

  I glance around. Half the school’s out here, and most of them eye me.

  Am I pissed? Doubt that’s even the word for it. But whatever they want me to do, I don’t have it in me to do. Hell, I don’t know what to do.

  Malik watches me for the longest. When I don’t say or do anything, he shakes his head. He opens his mouth and starts to shout, “Hell no, we won’t—”

  “‘Pin me to the ground, boy, you fucked up,’” Curtis yells over him. “‘Pin me to the ground, boy, you fucked up!’”

  Malik tries to start his own chant over him, but Curtis is loud and angry, and it becomes contagious. A second person yells out my lyrics. A third. Fourth. Before I know it, I’m hearing my words from everybody but me.

  And Malik.

  “We will not tolerate that type of language,” Dr. Rhodes calls over them. “All students must stop at—”

  “‘You can’t stop me, nope, nope!’” Curtis yells. “‘You can’t stop me, nope, nope!’”

  The chant shifts to that.

  I have a moment. Of all the places and times to have one, I do. See, those words started in my head. Mine. Conceived from my thoughts and my feelings. Birthed through my pencil and onto my notepad. Somehow, they’ve found their way to my classmates’ tongues. I think they’re saying them for themselves, yeah, but I know they’re saying them for me.

  That’s enough to make me say them, too.

  “‘You can’t stop me, nope, nope,’” I yell. “‘You can’t stop me, nope, nope!’”

  It’s hard to say this is a protest. So many of my classmates who look like me are rocking to a beat that’s not even playing. They’re jumping around, bouncing, dancing. Locs and braids shake, feet won’t stay still. There are ayes and yahs mixed in, upping the hype. It’s different from what happened in the Ring parking lot. That was a mini concert. This is a call to war.

  “‘You can’t stop me, nope, nope! You can’t stop me, nope, nope!’”

  Long and Tate appear in the doors. Long has a bullhorn.

  “All students must report to cl
ass,” he says. “If you do not, you risk suspension.”

  “‘Run up on me and get done up!’” someone yells out.

  That becomes the new chant, and it’s definitely a warning.

  “‘Run up on me and get done up! Run up on me and get done up! Run up on me and get done up!’”

  “This is your final warning,” Long says. “If you do not disperse, you will—”

  It happens so fast.

  A fist connects with Long’s jaw. The bullhorn flies from his hand.

  Suddenly, it’s as if that punch was the green light some students were waiting for. A cluster of boys charge Long and Tate, taking them to the ground. Curtis is one of them. Fists fly and feet kick.

  “Oh, shit!” Sonny says.

  “We need to go!” says Malik.

  He grabs my hand, but I tug away and rush forward.

  “Curtis!”

  He stops kicking and whirls around toward me.

  “Cops!” I say.

  That one word is enough. I bet everything that the police are en route. Curtis hurries over to me, and we run with Sonny, Malik, and Shana. Sirens wail nearby, and the chants behind us are replaced with screams and shouts.

  We run until we can’t hear them. When we do stop, it’s so we can catch our breath.

  “This is bad,” Sonny says, bent over. “Holy shit, this is bad.”

  Malik marches up to Curtis and shoves him so hard, Curtis’s hat flies off. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Curtis catches himself midstumble and shoves Malik right back. “Man, get your hands off me!”

  “You started a riot!” Malik screams in his face. “You realize what you’ve done?”

  “Hey!” I push Malik away from Curtis. “Stop it!”

  “Oh, you’re on his side now?” Malik yells.

  “Side? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I guess it’s fine ’cause he was chanting your song! Forget the fact he incited a riot!”

  “It’s not his fault somebody threw a punch!”

  “Why the fuck are you sticking up for him?”

  “Malik!” Shana says.

  Sonny snatches him back. “Bruh, what the hell? Chill!”

  A patrol car zooms by.