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Authors: Hannah Weyer

On the Come Up (6 page)

BOOK: On the Come Up
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The air was crisp and cool. AnnMarie shrugged on her satin hoodie. She scanned the crowd and spotted Brittany’s big head rising above the sea of faces, like a wave rolling toward her. She took a step back, then another, it was that easy, to slip away and be gone.

She wandered some, along Mott Avenue for a ways, until she finally got up the nerve to go into Redfern by herself. The housing project laid out in a grid with paths intersecting, lacing between
the buildings, and up ahead she could make out a group of fellas hanging in a lazy circle by the benches near 12-70. She spotted Raymel among them so she cut across the path. But as she neared, she faltered, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes fell on Darius Greene sitting center stage, leaning back with his arm flung out over the bench. He was saying something and they was all listening. Too close to turn around without looking stupid, she told herself to chill, calling out, Hey Raymel.

Raymel turned. He said, What up, AnnMarie. And it got quiet all at once because Darius stopped talking and was looking at her now. She shifted, the only girl standing there in her snake hoodie and Classic Tims, all them eyes on her like,
who she
but AnnMarie didn’t care, all of a sudden she didn’t care—she stepped right into the circle, and said, What’s good, y’all …

Next thing she knew, she was sitting on the leather couch in his studio room, strobe light flashing, turning the white walls red, blue, green, then black. Raymel had slouched down next to her and she thought, Thank god for Raymel. ’Cause there was six of them and one of her. Darius doing his thing at the console, not once looking her way, all of them restless, red do-rags underneath they ball caps, eyes a mask of indifference until the weed came out, then finally the room start to soften. She told herself to breathe, took another sip from the bottle going around, coughed, then sipped again.

What’s good, y’all
 … Someone had snickered, but Darius hadn’t. He’d leaned forward and said, So you’s AnnMarie. Her heart banging in her chest, like
You know me? You know me?
The way he’d looked at her—that’s all it took. The sidewalk tipped and the whole world just fell away.

She glanced up at the posters on his wall—Busta Rhymes, Lil’ Kim, Janet, all the superstars flashing in the strobe light. She got up the nerve and said, You heard Busta’s new album?

Darius didn’t answer but a boy she knew from up the block, he
said, That one sick and she knew she was taking a chance but she went ahead and spit.

 … Hey yo feel the bass line

Stack the overdrive …

One of the boys jumped in, start up a
thwaka thwaka thwaka
and she had to laugh ’cause he was getting it right, then they all laughing ’cause Raymel was on his feet, popping in the middle of the room, his body moving like a badass mime, limbs like water rippling. She let her eyes drift over to Darius, his fingers playing with the keys of the console. Her skin tingled, watching him and when he glanced over, their eyes met and she didn’t look away.

A week went by and she didn’t see him again. But she looked for him everywhere, hanging out by the White Castle, passing in and out of Redfern and even at Teisha’s house, jotting lyrics in her song book, or getting high with Niki and laughing ’til their guts busted open, she felt it. Heartsick. Gawd, was she in love. Some nights she stayed at Teisha’s. Some nights with Niki. Some nights, she snuck home after lights out, pulled the blanket off the couch and lay there, drifting off on her mother’s floor. She’d hear the buffalo come in. Feel him standing in the doorway, watching her. On these nights, she’d picture Darius punching him in the head, smashing his face ’til it was bloody.

On Thursday, Teisha shook her awake. She sat up groggy, the room still smelling of weed and cigarettes from the night before. What time is it, AnnMarie asked. It’s almost eleven, Teisha said. Ain’t you got school? AnnMarie got up, went into the bathroom, put toothpaste on her finger and brushed. Teisha appeared in the doorway. She said, I got to shower, AnnMarie, hurry up.

When Teisha got in the shower, AnnMarie sifted through a
drawer, borrowed a scarf for her hair. Found her backpack kicked in the corner and went out the door, heading over to the school. But the closer she got, the more she slowed, thinking, What am I doing. All her energy slipping away, she was mad hungry. She looped past the school yard, looking across the street at the building, thought she heard the faint sound of the bell, what period was it, was it lunchtime? But no kids appeared in the yard so she kept going, wandering back up to Mott Avenue and the narrow sidewalks, the street choked with cars and an old lady creeping up the center lane, pushing her shopipng cart like a walker.

Past the Western Union and the 99-cent store and Tina’s hair salon, she thought about weaves and braids and how ringlets be mad cute and soon she found herself on Nameoke where Darius lived. She slowed, glancing at the houses, thinking, Which one was it. She remembered the
FOR SALE
sign. Plywood covering the windows on the next, was it the green one, no, the one next to it yeah, there it is. What would she say. She’d pretend she looking for Raymel, see how it go. But passing the bushes and the stove dumped on the curb, she saw them up on the porch—three older dudes chillin’. She felt their eyes on her all at once, faces vaguely familiar, red do-rags hanging loose, so she cut across the street, the whole while feeling their stares like heat crawling up her back.

In Redfern, she found the bench where she first met Darius and sat down. She kicked out her feet, glancing up past the buildings, way up there the sky darkening. Clouds rolling in with the wind. She stood, tugged her pants out of her crotch, creased and re-creased the fold but knew she was looking ratty—wearing the same jeans for three days and needing a change.

The wind whipped up hard. She squinted against it but saw them coming. Finally.

School out, kids rollin’ up. Patrice and Katelyn walking slow, backpacks half off their shoulders. Patrice got her hair down today. Her mother knew how to fix it. Patrice hair always look nice, even in this wind.

Why haven’t you been at school, AnnMarie? Mr. Preston passed out the sheet music.

Word? How it sound, AnnMarie asked.

Oh, it’s real nice. You heard a “Let Them Sing”?

Mr. Preston says everybody gotta bring five dollars for the trip.

What trip, AnnMarie asked.

Choir Academy, dummy. We all goin’ on Monday.

AnnMarie pictured Mr. Preston on the first day of school. Closing his eyes, listening to her sing. Seemed like ages ago.

Brittany was asking for you, Katelyn said.

Talking how she’s not done yet. How she gonna eff you up.

AnnMarie tsked. So. I ain’t afraid a that girl.

So how come you been skipping—

AnnMarie heard the
CRACK
and saw Katelyn duck. Gunshot, close this time, close enough to make the school kids scatter all at once. It came from the far side of 12-70 and AnnMarie didn’t wait. Got behind a tree and stayed still. She heard footsteps. Rubber on cement. Some kinda scuffle. Homies running. Then the rain came. Big wet drops, and a wash of sound like leaves rustling wild.
Pop Pop. Pop
. She crouched low, making herself gone.
Pop. Pop Pop
. She hugged her arms around her knees and the rain poured, sheets of rain, big drops falling on the back of her neck.

Still she didn’t move but she felt her hands trembling so she clenched them together to keep them still. She thought to start her countdown. Now, she thought, but only got to seven when a boy dashed past with a gun in his hand, his white shirt electric in
the sudden flash of lightning. She stared at her Tims. Watched the mud splotching there, and wished more than anything she could be home.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

She slipped inside the apartment and stood listening. Saw her mother asleep under the blanket. Pulled off her wet shoes and went into the suitcase she kept under the couch for dry clothes. When she last ate something. Peanut butter crackers at Teisha house. Wish she had the sheet music. “Let Them Sing.” Then she could practice. Maybe Mr. Preston’d give her a solo. She talk to him tomorrow. She’d go to school tomorrow. All the days gone, piling up one afer another, she felt a rush, like dread, spread across her chest.

She heard Carlton walk in with his heavy step but she ignored him, bunching up her underwear, hiding it under a clean shirt.

Where you been.

AnnMarie didn’t answer.

Has your mother talked to you?

AnnMarie tsked. My mother ain’t say nothing. Why should she.

Carlton laughed. You like a stray dog. If you was mine, I’d beat you again.

Fuck you, marshmallow.

He lunged and she stepped, putting the TV tray between them. Then she watched, waiting to see what he gonna do.

He went into the bathroom, slammed the door.

AnnMarie waited ’til she heard the shower go on, then went into her bedroom to change. She glanced down, saw a pair of his pants on the floor. She picked them up, dug into the pockets. Empty. Pulled open the dresser drawer, found some folded bills
tucked deep in the back. She hesitated, then peeled off a ten. Punk-ass muthafucker. The front door opened. AnnMarie quickly shoved the ten in her pocket and hid behind the wall, listening to Carlotta go into the kitchen.

AnnMarie stepped into the living room and Carlotta jumped.

Dang, AnnMarie, you scared me.

AnnMarie watched her pull takeout from a paper bag, smelled the jerk spice rising from the container. Made her stomach groan. She turned, reached for her backpack and headed for the door.

Some boy called for you.

Say what?

I said, some boy was calling for you.

Who was it?

I don’t know. He called last night, a couple times. I said you were out.

She heard the shower go off, saw the steam curl out the crack of the bathroom door like some kinda phantom-ghost.

When Niki opened the door, she looked at AnnMarie and laughed. What’s the matter with you?

AnnMarie scowled. Nothing, she said. You gonna let me in?

Niki motioned her inside and AnnMarie followed. Niki leading the way, clunking down the hall in some shiny black combat boots, a Knicks cap riding high up on her head. AnnMarie knew how she looked—chapped lips, baggy eyes and hungry. She was hungry. Tears stung the back of her nose, any second she gonna lose it.

In the kitchen, Niki sat her down in a chair, put a sandwich on a plate and slid it across the table. Niki said, I comb it out for you but you know I can’t do no braid, gotta get Nadette to do that. You see the zigzag she put in Dennis hair, now that be crack-snapple-dope.
AnnMarie laughed. She took a bite of sandwich, chewed and allowed a single tear to pop out, run silent down her cheek. Niki didn’t notice, standing behind her, stroking the comb through her hair, the whole time talking about the order a songs, how the order matter on a album, so there be flow.

8

The next day, she went to school. In through the blue doors, past the metal detector, clocking in before first bell. She went straight to Ms. Henley’s class, took a seat. Ms. Henley looked up and said, Hello stranger.

Brittany breezed by in the hallway, did a double take then backed up, her big-ass frame blocking the doorway. She was wearing a too-tight velour sweat suit, matching, black on black with a neon purple zipper. Smiling now, staring right at her. AnnMarie just tsked and looked straight ahead. Knobby-kneed bitch. Cameltoe muthafucker. Better get yourself to the Big and Tall.

Second bell rang, Ms. Henley crossed to the door as Brittany danced away, laughing. Ms. Henley shushed them, then read aloud from a book about a girl who dress in cutoffs and T-shirts when all the other girls be wearing skirts and dresses, ain’t afraid a nobody judging her. This girl can run fast, faster than all the boys and they hate her for it. Ms. Henley said, Write a paragraph about someone you know, use descriptive language,
de-scrip-tive
language.

AnnMarie took her pencil out and got serious. She thought for a moment, then wrote:

My home-girl Niki is like the karacter. Got the baggie jeans, white tees hangin down. She dont care what no body think
she just is her self. Niki be comfertabul. Smile easy. Rah, rah, raspy voice, Niki got atatud for shore. Thats how the karact

Somebody belched like a sea lion and she glanced up, losing her train of thought. She drew a small heart in the corner, then turned it into a skinny-waisted girl. Lil’ Kim came to mind, squatting in the bikini, that little pose a hers, up on Darius’ wall.

At lunch, AnnMarie looked for Mr. Preston but he wasn’t in the music room or the classroom where he taught math 2nd and 3rd period. She caught a glimpse of Brittany across the cafeteria and decided to cut out to Mel’s for lunch. Took the ten-dollar bill from her pocket, slid it across the counter. Got herself a hero and a Coke.

AnnMarie kept her eyes open in the hallway. Drifted through pre-algebra, then earth science. Sixth-period choir. AnnMarie took a seat in the front row away from Brittany. Substitute teacher walked in five minutes late, said, Mr. Preston is out. Do homework ’cause I’m a sub, not a singer. Brittany slung her backpack over her shoulder, dropped a note in AnnMarie’s lap and walked out the classroom. AnnMarie didn’t bother reading it. She crumpled it up, let it fall to the floor.

Bell rang, school out. AnnMarie sprang up and headed for the doors. She knew what was coming but she went out anyway, Reeboks squeaking, lockers slamming, kids pushing out the doors, their voices loud and happy the day be done.

Outside, Mr. Stubbs was already on the street, walkie in hand, his eyes on a group of boys gathering across the street. Uh-oh,
something up. Five, six, seven of them standing, ain’t saying nothing, got that bored look they must practice in the mirror. AnnMarie glanced away, saw Brittany pushing out the door, Tag-along 1 and Tag-along 2 trailing in her wake like she the queen a queens.
Fuck
that girl. Ain’t no way she backing down. AnnMarie’s eyes cut to Mr. Stubbs who was crossing the street, moving toward the boys on the corner and it was then that she saw him, Darius Greene, leaning against the fence, looking her way, into the crowd where she stood.

BOOK: On the Come Up
10.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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