On the Come Up Read Free Page A

me.
Sexy Sweet
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    Shut up, Raymel … She pushed him and he grabbed her hand, holding on to her fingers.
    Stop buggin’. Let go my hand.
    He held on though, lacing his fingers through hers, looking at her with that dopey smile, saying, Come on now, AnnMarie …
    And she let him play until her palms start to sweat and he’d stepped into her, talking in her ear: I buy you some clothes. Go out to Five Town. They got all the stores you like out there.
    She smiled into his shoulder and felt the smallest twinge, something move down there, making her chest pound. It felt good. But still she pushed him away, saying, Step back, Ray. It’s too hot.
    Raymel backed up, straddled the bike and sat there for a moment in the heat, both of them not speaking.
    He’d told her he was fourteen but she knew he was older. Crystal had let it slip. Sixteen years old and embarrassed ’cause he was still in the 9th grade at Far Rock. She watched him push off, pedaling now in slow wide circles, rattling the planks.
    Where you going, AnnMarie asked.
    Raymel shrugged. Nowhere, away from you.
    AnnMarie tsked, halfways smiling.
    He’d told her once he thought she got talent. One time at Teisha’s—the older girls bugging out a cypher. Rapping they rhymes in turn and she’d jumped in with a three-line hook she’d come up with on the spot. He looked at her later when they was alone and said, Damn, girl, you got some pipes. But in that moment, she hadn’t cared about Raymel—the older girls were what mattered. Teisha, Niki, Sunshine. Called themselves the Night Shade. Female rappers, with they mad style and breezy takecharge attitude. Listening to them talk about clubs and open-mic night, mixtapes and producers, how they the only female rappers in Far Rock. How they gonna bust out. After she sang, Niki’d reached over and gave her daps.
    They hadn’t heard her sing at IS 53 June Talent. None of them had. Hitting every single note of “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston, singing so beautiful, the whole auditorium had gone wild. Her choir teacher, Mr. Preston, had walked across the stage and hugged her, then turned her to face the crowd. First time she won a ribbon. First time she won anything.

    She gazed out at the sand and the sea. Couldn’t hear the surf. Man with his transistor listening to some ballgame. A girl shrieking, getting a bucket dunked on her head. Raymel riding farther down the boardwalk now, pulling his bike up alongside some fellas who’d come up the ramp and were settling in the shade of the gazebo. Who that. That him? Had his dreads pulled back now, shirt off, tucked into his back pocket. Yeah, it was him—the boy Darius Greene, giving Raymel daps. Dang, she didn’t know they friends.
    She suddenly felt dizzy, dots popping in front of her eyes. She leaned over the fountain and drank. First days living in Far Rock, Blessed had brought her down to the street to meet some kids. AnnMarie didn’t know nobody. All of them in a loose cluster up the block, playing some game with a rope.
    Make friends, Blessed had said but AnnMarie refused to leave her side so when the ice-cream truck pulled up, her mother drew the food stamps from her purse and started waving them around. She said, Who want ice cream. Who want ice cream? Miss Blessed buying you ice cream. All the kids crowded in then, calling, Me, Miss Blessed! Me. Me. Me. Thank you Miss Blessed! That yo’ ma? Oh, my gawd. She the nicest ma in the world.
    AnnMarie had looked up at her then, standing tall, with hair she kept natural, styled that day with a iron and eyes that stared straight, not dragging. Those chinky eyes. Veiled smiling eyes.
She the nicest ma in the world
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    All the kids sat on the rail, licking they rocket pops and rainbow sherberts and chocolate crunchies, AnnMarie right there with them, the ice cream melting across her knuckles, dripping onto her knee. Even still, she tried to make it last.
    She took another drink from the fountain, then turned