On the Come Up Quotes

Mrs. Murray's expression softens. "Following your dad's footsteps, huh?"

It's weird. Whenever other people mention him, it's like they're confirming that he's not some imaginary person I only remember bits and pieces of. And when they call him my dad and not Lawless, the underground rap legend, it's like they're reminding me that I'm his and he's mine.

"Carrying the torch for Law, huh?"

Not really. More like making my own torch and carrying it. I say, "Yeah," though, because that's what I'm supposed to say. It's part of being royalty.

Five years back with her, and yet I still dream about her leaving us. It hits me out of nowhere sometimes. But Jay can't know I dream about it. It'll make her feel guilty, and then I'll feel guilty for making her feel guilty.

"It was nothing," I tell her.

Not that the Garden was ever a utopia, hell no, but before I only worried about GDs and Crowns. Now, I gotta worry about the cops too? Yeah, people get killed around here, and nah, it's not always by the police, but Jay says this was like having a stranger come into your house, steal one of your kids, and blame you for it because your family was dysfunctional, while the whole world judges you for being upset.

He graduated with honors. Worked his ass off to get there in the first place, only to have to come back to the hood and work in a pizza shop.

It's bullshit, and it scares me, because if Trey can't make it by doing everything "right," who can?

Sometimes she babies me, like it's her way of making up for when she wasn't around. I let her do it, too. I wonder though if she only sees me as her baby girl who used to snuggle up with her until I fell asleep. I don't know if the snuggles are for who I am now.

This time, I think the snuggles are for her.

I mean...I don't think she is.

For one, eight years is a hell of a long time to be clean. Two, Jay wouldn't go back to all of that. She knows how much it messed us up. She wouldn't put me and Trey through that again.

But.

She put us through it in the first place.

I almost roll my eyes. How would these people feel if they knew Milez was here to see how messed up we are to remind him how good he's got it? He's gonna go to his nice house in the suburbs and forget this in a week, tops, while we're still struggling.

My situation shouldn't be his after-school special.

"I don't want you to grow up too fast, baby," Jay says. "I did, and it's not something I can ever get back. I want you to enjoy your childhood as much as possible."

"I'd rather grow up than be homeless."

"Hate that you even have to think like that," she murmurs.

There I am, on the front page of Blackout. They posted a picture from when I was in the Ring. The headline? "Teen Daughter of Murdered Underground Rap Legend Lawless Just Killed Us Her Damn Self with This New Heat!"

Side note: Do I have a name or nah? It's short enough that it could've fit, too.

"What's wrong with what you say?"

"I talk about guns and stuff, Curtis. He doesn't want people to think that's me."

"They're gonna think it anyway. If you can get something from this, forget the nonsense and go for it."

"You know who the biggest consumers of hip-hop are?"

"White kids in the suburbs," Miles answers dryly, as if he's heard this before.

"Exactly! White kids in the suburbs," Supreme says. "You know what white kids in the suburbs love? Listening to shit that scares their parents. You scare the hell outta their folks, they'll flock to you like birds. The videos from tonight? Gonna scare the hell outta them. Watch your numbers shoot up."

It actually makes sense that white kids in the suburbs will love the videos. But Long and Tate called me a "hoodlum," and I can't seem to shake that word.

"Pooh and her drug-dealing money, saving the day."

It is kinda messed up. Here my brother is, doing everything right, and nothing's coming from it. Meanwhile, Aunt Pooh's doing everything we've been told not to do, and she's giving us food when we need it.

That's how it goes though. The drug dealers in my neighborhood aren't struggling. Everybody else is.

"But," he says, in a way that tells me to wipe the smile off my face, "although I get the song, now people are gonna take your words at face value. And let's be real: You're clueless about half the shit you rapped about. Clips on your hips?" Trey twists his mouth. "You know damn well you don't know what a clip is, Bri."

"Yes I do!" It's the thingy that goes on the thingy on a gun.

She's still not listening to me. "If you would just listen to the song—it's not what they made it out to be, I swear. It's about playing into their assumptions about me."

"You don't get that luxury, Brianna! We don't! They never think we're just playing!"

But it's like how when she does stuff I don't like and says it's "for my own good." This is for hers. I'm willing to do anything to keep that sadness in her eyes from becoming permanent.

"That's right, fuck censorship," I say, to three hundred viewers. "They don't get it because it ain't for them to get. Besides, if I am strapped like backpacks, maybe it's 'cause I gotta be, bitch. Ain't my fault if it makes you uncomfortable. I'm uncomfortable every goddamn day of my life."

"The worst thing I've done is become poor, Mrs. Jackson! [...] The worst thing!" she says. "That's it! Excuse me because I have the audacity to be poor!

[...]

You think I want my babies sitting in the dark? I'm trying, Mrs. Jackson! I go on interviews. I withdrew from school so these kids could have food! I begged the church not to let me go. I'm sorry if it's not enough for you, but good Lord, I'm trying!"

"I want you to look at her for a second, Dr. Cook," Jay says. "Really look at her."

She sets her hand on my back so I have no choice but to stand straight and look him in the eye, too.

"She's sixteen, Dr. Cook," Jay says. "Not a grown woman, not a threat. A child. Do you know how I felt when I was told that two grown men manhandled my child?"

"Me and my twin know all the words to your song!" this snaggle-toothed girl pipes up.

I scribble my name for her. "Oh, for real?"

"'Strapped like backpacks, I pull triggers,'" she and her sister squeak. "'All the clips on my hips change my figure.'"

I stop writing.

How old are they? Six? Seven?

It's like having a bucket of ice water thrown into my face.

Ratchet hood rat.

Thousands of people just heard me act like that. Millions more may see the video. They won't care that my life is a mess and I had every right to be mad. They'll just see an angry black girl from the ghetto, acting like they expected me to act.

Supreme laughs to himself. "You played the role," he says. "Goddamn, you played the role."

Problem is, I wasn't playing. That's what I've become.

"I think about everything we've been through, and if I'd gone through it by myself, I'd probably be where Pooh is right now."

Damn. Aunt Pooh did say she became a GD because she didn't have anyone. Now she's in a jail cell without anyone again. I never realized that Trey could've been like her, with a record instead of a diploma. I know there's so much else that made their lives turn out differently, but he makes it sound like the difference between them was me.

"Do you know what your aunt's biggest problem is?"

I look at the jailhouse. That's kinda obvious at the moment. "She's locked up."

"No. That's not even her biggest problem," says Jay. "Pooh doesn't know who she is, and by not knowing who she is, she doesn't know her worth. So, who are you?"

"What?"

"I'm done being who my dad wants me to be," Miles says. "It's not worth it."

Does he mean what I think he means? "You're giving up your rap career?"

Miles slowly nods. "Yeah. I am. Besides, is it really mine if I'm not being myself?

"But I believe she's smarter than that," he says. "Don't you?"

"I know she is."

"Can you act like it then?" I ask, and my voice is super soft. "It's not like anybody else does."

This look of surprise quickly appears in my mom's eyes. Slowly, it's replaced by sadness and, soon, realization.