On the Come Up (2 page)

She pictured herself in the Cinderella dress, the Polaroid camera strapped around her neck, walking right up to couples,
You wantcha picture, I take your picture
. Last summer the people giving her a extra dollar or two, saying how cute she was. But last summer was before the stroke and she’d been out there with Blessed who sat on the bench stringing beads into necklaces and it was okay then to play, the two of them together, mother and child.

She stepped off the elevator and into the lobby. You wanna buy a icy? I got peanut butter punch. I got grape Kool-Aid. Which one you want.

The security guard swiveled around in his chair, giving her the up and down.

Well, you a no-nonsense type, ain’t you.

From behind, she’d thought it was Devon sitting there. Devon who was her fake uncle but this was some other fella, younger with a chip in his tooth. He looked like the boy Antwan’s cousin. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. He was smiling at her now, so she dropped her hand from her hip and shifted, wishing for just a second she wasn’t still wearing the halter with the words
Sexy Sweet
spelled out in glitter gold.

Come on then, mister, you want one?

What you charge?

A dolla.

Whoa, you a scrambler now, little shortie like you?

That how much they cost.

He tipped his head back and laughed. He said, Gimme one a them peanut butter punch.

She plucked the bill from his hand, then went out the door, stepping into a wave of heat that rolled up the sidewalk and smacked against her skin. Gawd
dang
. It caught her off guard and
she stood for a moment in front of 1430, letting her eyes adjust to the white-hot glare, wishing she could dig into one of the icies herself. Wishing, for just a second, she could go back inside, curl up with a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, chill for a while longer in front of the window fan. But she had back-to-school to think about so she told her feet to move, dragging the cart behind, and went on up through Cripdaville. Around the corner on Mott Avenue, a few of them already standing in the shade the tree made, leaning against the rail, smoking. Sleepy eyes looking her way. She could feel her underwear bunching up in her crack and wanted to reach around and pull the elastic down but she didn’t dare. She cut across the street quick and got inside Crystal’s building where she could adjust herself.

Inside the vestibule AnnMarie buzzed, then waited, her eyes drifting to the street just as that hater Brittany came skating into view. Fat thighs jiggling, wearing some ugly neon-blue skates. Maybe she fall. I hope she fall.

Who’s there? The voice came crackling through the intercom.

It’s me, Grandma Kay. AnnMarie. Crystal come down?

Grandma Kay didn’t answer.

Grandma Kay. It’s Ann-
Marie
.

AnnMarie waited, then buzzed again, keeping an eye out, trying to glimpse where that girl gone to. But instead of Brittany she saw a group of older boys coming up the block. She pressed her face up to the glass, watching. What they doing over here. She knew them only by sight and from the fact they Bloods who hung out by Nameoke. She knew one of them was named Darius and boy was he fine. One time he looked at her passing on the street. At least she thought he did. Darius Greene. His hair in dreads, looking like a lion the way he moved—not caring two cents he passing through Cripdaville.

AnnMarie turned, put her finger to the buzzer and pressed
hard, leaning on it this time, the electric hum filling the vestibule. Come on now, Grandma Kay, AnnMarie thought, when the sudden
Pop Pop
of gunfire cut through the air, making her flinch and duck both at the same time. Shoot. What is going on. She edged to the door, trying to look out—it’d come from a distance, at least a block away but still … 
Pop. Pop Pop
. She wondered what beef getting settled first thing in the morning.

Who’s making that noise?! Take your finger off my bell.

AnnMarie pushed her mouth up to the intercom.

Grandma Kay, it’s me, AnnMarie.

AnnMarie, what do you want.

Crystal come down?

Crystal’s
GONE
child. Crystal’s wit’ her mother!

Oh.

She felt the air go out of her chest. Oh. That’s the way with Crystal. Sometimes here, sometimes gone when her mother lift up to some other place. Last time was to a hotel by the airport.

Past few weeks they’d been in and out of Grandma Kay’s apartment, riding bikes on the boardwalk, selling icies and splitting the profit. Best friends for life, they’d pinkie-swore it. Crystal was whip thin and small but it don’t matter, someone say something, she be up in they face.
What you say? You say something, shut yo’ mouth
. AnnMarie’d laugh and laugh. Up and down the stairs of 1440, running errands for Crystal’s cousin Teisha and the older girls—female rappers they called themselves. Those girls slipping them sips of the St. Ides and laughing when it go down burning.

She thought to buzz again, ask when Crystal be back, but she didn’t. She reached for the door handle, pressing her face up to the glass, and listened. A trickle of sweat slid down her back. Nothing. Nobody. She licked her tongue across her lip, then counted back from ten the way Blessed had taught her. She felt the latch click and she was out again, stepping into stillness. Bloods had disappeared,
Crips gone from the rail. No one out now except the blue and white crawling ’round the corner so she decided to cut back down Gateway, take Beach 19 all the way to the boardwalk.

She dragged the cart along, eyes squinting against the brightness, a little tune rolling around in her head. She didn’t get far before a sound made her swing around just as Brittany slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the pavement.

Oh, ’xcuse me
, Brittany said, laughing as she spun past on her skates, disappearing along the path next to the vacant lot.

She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. She wanted to shout, Bitch, get back here. I fight you now. Baboon-ass muthafucker.

But she didn’t. Not without Crystal. She brushed the dirt and pebbles from her palms, the pink gash on her knee pooling into a strip of blood. She looked around, glanced up at the buildings, all the black bars cutting lines across the open windows. Curtains hanging limp. Not even a breeze to make them move. She picked herself up, glad no one had seen, and kept going.

Fat bitch. Tail end of 7th grade, they’d followed her. Brittany and a couple other haters. All the way home, talking shit, running they mouths and AnnMarie’d been afraid but hid it behind a wall of fuck-y’all silence, until one of them had shoved her, just like that, pushed her from behind and she knew it’s what they wanted but she did it anyway—spun around and cracked the girl with the flat of her hand. She saw the look of shock turn mean and ugly, but it’s what they’d wanted, all of them darting in then, fists and blows, smacking and kicking. AnnMarie put up a fight but that helpless feeling start to seep in and there was the one blow that brought tears to her eyes and she heard them laughing. Laughing. Jabbing and slapping. Then like a miracle she saw Brittany’s head snap back and there was Crystal gripping a fistful a Brittany’s hair,
shouting
Get offa her, bitch, I fuck you up
, and Teisha, striding forward with a razor in hand, sent all the girls scattering.

AnnMarie’s shirt had got ripped clear down the front, her ta-tas hanging out, even though they was just little nublets blowing in the wind. Teisha had covered her up but was laughing too, saying, Look how small you be. It was embarrassing. So dang embarrassing.

Icies!

Peanut butter punch! Grape icies. 50-cent icies.

What kind you want? Grape be 50. Peanut butter a dolla, you want the milk? I got condense milk for that extra sweetness.

No napkins. Sorry. You got to lick it fast, girl …

Lemme take your picture. You put it in this nice frame, give it to yo’ girlfriend.

Lemme get the two a you together, come on now. Record the moment.

She’d set up near Beach 19, selling half the icies and two Polaroids, each in a frame, by the time Raymel showed up close to noon. It was hotter than a poker stick. She’d gone ahead and ate two icies herself, the Kool-Aid ones, then switched over to munching what was left of the ice. Her stomach growled with hunger. Maybe she’d get a hot dog. Spend a dollar, get a dog. Her hand went to her stomach. She liked how it felt, flat and not pudging over her shorts like it done last year when she was eleven.

Raymel was pedaling his bike slow, moving toward her up the boardwalk with Wallace and Jason. All of them riding one-handed, holding super soakers with the other. Raymel so ugly, his head dented in on one side but funny too—that boy could make her laugh. Just yesterday calling that muthafucker what was
eyeballing her
twig leg. Twig leg muthafucker—his mama musta got fucked by a tree
. She’d laughed and laughed. He was Crystal’s half brother. Different moms, same daddy.

Don’t you fucking shoot me.

Come’re AnnMarie, come’re.

Don’t get water on my stuff, you get the frames wet, you buy ’em.

That’s some ugly shit right there.

AnnMarie shoved Jason who toppled from his bike, laughing.

Shut up. Now you got to buy one. You insult me like that.

Where Crystal at, Wallace said.

She with her mother. They left off to somewhere … AnnMarie paused, then said, I tell her you were asking though, Wallace.

And before she could blink, he’d pulled the trigger, sending a stream of water arcing through the air, smacking wet and cold against her skin. AnnMarie shrieked, laughing. He was nothing to look at but she knew why Crystal liked him. That boy opened his mouth to sing, his voice flowed like silk.

You been by to Teisha house, Raymel cut in.

Huh-uh.

They said they gonna cypher, I’ma bust a rhyme for you. Something new.

Word, I be there, AnnMarie said. But let me take y’alls picture. I give you a discount.

I ain’t got no money for a damn picture.

Come on now. A dolla each, I know you got a dolla.

So the boys rolled up their bikes, Raymel, Wallace and Jason all in a row.

Nah, nah, scoot in, scoot in, make like a V.

Raymel leaning an elbow on his knee, his patent leather Reebok slanted against the pedal, throwing up Blood
—blat, blat, blat
.

Stop moving Raymel. Hold your hands still.

Looking at her with his funny-shaped head, Wallace and Jason holding their super soakers like Uzis. She start to laugh, dropping the camera from her eye they look so silly.

Take the damn picture.

She took the picture and when the shutter clicked, something clicked like joy inside, this feeling like she springing out.

They rolled around some. Raymel pedaling and she held on, one hand on his waistband, a finger touching skin. AnnMarie packed up her things and hid the cart beneath the stairs. Then they all went down to Beach 9, got into a water fight with the super soakers and water bottles and cups they dug out the trash.

They went down to the shore. Took their shoes off, went in with shorts and tanks on, jumping waves and throwing seaweed at each other. Laughing.

On their way back across the sand, they saw it. Just a dark bulky shape at first, they was so far away. Didn’t look like bodies. But that’s what it was, two people humping in the sand underneath the boardwalk. The man’s body on top, pants down to his knees, his bare butt thrusting and clenching, their legs entwined, one of her breasts flopping and jiggling when he rose up and thrust.

Ooohhhh, what they doin’.

They fucking.

Oh, shit.

Laughing. Laughing.

Look at AnnMarie gaping.

I ain’t gaping. Shut up, stupid.

But AnnMarie had to pull her eyes away. Never seen nobody doing it before, not like that, kids making out, sure, but nothing like this. A long, low moan floated toward them and AnnMarie couldn’t help it. Her eyes flit back to the shadowy underside of the boardwalk just as the man clutched his shorts and rolled offa her, round breasts in full view, the small brown triangle glistening between her legs.

Four o’clock in the afternoon. It was hot. Even with the breeze coming off the sand. Pushing clouds high up there. Too hot to stand in the sun with no shade. No one wanted a picture. Icies melted to mush. The other boys had gone to the rec center. She’d wanted to go too but knew Blessed would ask how much she made, and expect a dollar or two. She turned and saw Raymel coming around again, pedaling slow up the boardwalk.

How’d you do?

She didn’t need to pull the bills from her pocket. She’d been keeping track.

Thirty-seven dollas, she said.

He dropped his bike and crossed to where she stood. He said, we could buy some weed wit’ that.

Huh-uh. This is for my back-to-school.

Why you need new clothes, you look good to me.
Sexy Sweet
.

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.