On the Come Up (5 page)

Pass me my Percocet.

AnnMarie hesitated. Percocet first thing in the morning. Her mother be sleeping before she wake. They used to do things. Go to the rec center. Cook food. Her mother humming a little tune. AnnMarie leaned over to look at the labels. Pills for cholesterol, pills for pain, tremor pills, depression pills. Pills for the heart.

Ma, why you need this, first thing in the morning.

Just open it for me, AnnMarie, my leg painin’ me.

AnnMarie opened the pill bottle, then passed it to her mother, sitting down next to her on the bed. Her mother struggled to get the pills out with her shaky fingers but AnnMarie didn’t move to help.

Instead, she bent and picked Blessed’s wig up off the floor, bits of lint and a snarl forming. You want me to brush it out for you?

Just set it down, AnnMarie, her mother said sharply, and get out me room. Soon as me get me Medicaid fixed, Miss Jessica be back. She know exactly how me like things.

Her mother’s accent flaring. What you got to be angry for, AnnMarie thought. Acting like a invalid. Fuck that. She stood up and stepped through the doorway, saying, Fine, I hope you get your Medicaid fix. Miss Jessica come back, all y’alls can have a fucking party.

You hear that, Carlton. You see how she talk?

I hear it, Miss Blessed. Back home she get a cut ass for that. A cut ass.

AnnMarie scowled. Sitting there like he some kinda crowned prince. She said, Who you. Who the fuck are you?

Then Blessed was trying to stand, her good eye glaring. What you say? What did me hear you say? You must want me to box you down. That what you want?

AnnMarie cut her eyes away but kept her mouth shut.

Her birthday came and went with the blow of a candle. August became September and there was no stopping school coming on. 8th grade, first day, AnnMarie strolled up to the yard, looking mad o.d. fine in her brand-new Diesels and black satin hoodie. First day easy, forgetting all about Carlton and Carlotta in the house, with all the
hey y’alls, what up, how your summer go
and fake cheek kisses, looking to see who got coupled up and who still alone. Kids filing into classrooms, teachers and their first-day speeches, the
what I expect from you
speeches, no one paying attention ’cept to each other—who gonna be best friends, who gonna be beefin’, textbooks going around, pages ripped, marked-up and torn from the year before. Take one, everybody need a book.

Assembly, principal gave a speech, the expectation speech, the behavior speech, the
we’re all one community
speech … Crystal was still gone so AnnMarie had taken a seat next to Patrice and Katelyn, girls she’d known since 3rd grade, PS 197. Choir girls. Good girls who could sing “Lord Take Thy Hand” and “Come to Me” on key, every note clear and beautiful. She spotted Brittany sitting three rows down front. What she got on. Fat bitch. Sitting between Shaquanna and Ashley. Tag-along 1 and Tag-along 2. Got her hair straightened, pulled up into a sweep. Spent some money on that, AnnMarie thought, but still she ugly. Suck-face ugly. Baboon-ass ugly. She watched Brittany lean in and
whisper something to Tag-along 1, the girl laughing, her mouth moving ’til Brittany tsked and she shut up.

She didn’t know why Brittany hated her, just that she did. It all got started sometime last year, Brittany saying, Stay away from Rashad. AnnMarie’d said, Rashad? Who the fuck Rashad? But it didn’t matter, they jumped her anyway and it went on from there.

AnnMarie sat forward and re-tucked her Glitter Girl T-shirt, watching Brittany now, turn full around in her seat, her elbow flying. Tag-along flinched, cupping a hand to her cheek where Brittany had clocked her but Brittany act like she ain’t done nothing, neck craning, eyes scanning the auditorium. Tag-along just sat there, dumb.

AnnMarie stared daggers into that girl. She hope they eyes meet so Brittany could feel the cut, all them blades slicing her apart. But Brittany didn’t notice. Her arm shot up, waving to somebody across the auditorium. Fuck that girl.

Sixth-period choir. AnnMarie filed in with the other kids, called
Hey, Mr. Preston
, and took a seat next to the boy Crystal had been crushing on all summer. Wallace, who was leaning back in his chair with a new low fade and crisp white Polo. She said Dang, Wallace, you look nice, let me see. He turned his head, showing off the design the barber’d shaped into the side of his head—a swirly
W
ending in a curlicue. Is that a clef symbol, she asked. Nah, that be a dollar sign. Word, AnnMarie said, that is dope.

Mr. Preston rapped his baton on the edge of a music stand and everyone got quiet. He didn’t do no speech giving. He got right to it. Follow me one at a time, he said, and he sang a melody—high up for the girls, medium low for the boys. And when Brittany walked in ten minutes late, Mr. Preston just motioned her to the
back of the room. AnnMarie ignored her. Eyes on Mr. Preston, she stood and took her turn, her voice rising sweet and clear until Mr. Preston said, We’re gonna go again, AnnMarie. He didn’t do that with none of the others. He said, This time we’re gonna harmonize, you and Wallace. Then he counted out a beat and nodded first to AnnMarie, then to Wallace who took the cue, his voice coming up underneath hers, blending deep and rich and beautiful. AnnMarie felt the vibration, like a living thing passing through the room. She watched Mr. Preston close his eyes and listen, swaying like he gone to heaven.

AnnMarie smiled, pushing out the door, first day done. A few blocks from the school, she hooked up with Raymel and Jason who were walking over to Redfern, heading to 12-70 where they claimed a bench. Backpacks flung to the ground. High-school kids passing in clusters, and the air was warm and breezy even as the sun sunk behind the low-rise buildings, casting shadow blocks along the pathways.

Her mother had told her to come right home but there was no way she leaving ’cause in the midst of all the chatter and weed smell and laughter, Darius Green rolled up, taking a seat three benches down, joining a group of older boys, Bloods, in their own little circle. Raymel’s hand went up in a
What up y’all
to somebody over there but no one seemed to notice, not even Darius, and AnnMarie wondered if they true friends or not.

She felt Raymel’s arm go around her shoulder as he leaned forward to take the blunt someone was passing. She said, Ain’t that your homie over there.

Who dat.

Darius.

Raymel didn’t answer, sucked in the weed smoke and held it in.

Why ain’t you introduce me.

Don’t be a slut, Raymel said.

Say what? AnnMarie turned and stared. She shrugged off his arm, stood up and he reached for her, coughing up smoke, saying, I’m playin’ with you, AnnMarie. I’m playin’ … Off the bench now, he pulled her into an embrace, and she let him, ’cause she wanted the attention, even though she knew it was wrong, that it was Darius she was thinking of, feeling her brand-new Diesels snug against her skin, glancing now, down the path, past the kids roaming, to see if he was looking.

The days rolled up with change in the air, the October wind blowing damp and cool, night sky dropping early, sweeping daylight off like a blanket. They’d moved her bed next to the window, making room for the mattress they set out on the floor. She came home one day to find her room no longer her own, Carlotta’s clothes hanging in the closet, Carlton’s in the dresser, her clothes in a pile, spilling from a chair in the living room. AnnMarie blew up, screaming at her mother, Why you let them do that? What do you care, Blessed said. You never home anyway. Fuck you, I’m never home. Comatosin’. How would you know? Up in her mother’s face ’til Carlton had clamped one of his big hands down on her arm and was beating her with the belt he’d wrapped partways around his fist. Or at least he was trying to ’cause AnnMarie yanked herself loose, screaming all the
fuck y’alls
and the
muthafuck bitch fuck you
s she could muster, her hands and arms getting lashed each time she reached out to stop the belt. Her mother leaning on the walker, yelling,
Whip she tail, whip she tail
. Whip she tail.

Carlotta got a job at BJ’s working the register nine to five. Home by six o’clock, she’d sit on AnnMarie’s bed, filing her nails down, listening to the gospel station on the radio. Carlton worked odd hours as a dollar van driver, sometimes the split shift, walking in at midnight with his heavy step. One night, she’d been dreaming.
She was asleep on the foam mattress in Grandma Mason house up in the Bronx. But in the dream she was grown, not a child, and she felt the sensation, like someone laying next to her, pressing up against her ass, a hand moving between her legs. Rubbing and cumming. She jerked awake and found herself alone on the couch. Carlton was standing in the kitchen, overhead light on, casting his face in shadow.

What’s the matter, AnnMarie, he said. I wake you?

She said, Fuck you, punk ass. Stay away from me.

She couldn’t see his expression as he moved toward her, shoving her back into the cushion, his knee grinding into her shoulder. Get offa me, she hollered.

Watch your mouth, he said, clamping his hand over her mouth. Or I beat you again.

A picture forming in her mind. Like heat folding over her, making it hard to breathe. Grandma Mason’s belt swinging, cracking down across her spine.

At school the next day, in between 5th and 6th periods, Brittany came down the hall, bumped her shoulder, saying ’Xcuse me. AnnMarie slammed her books to the floor. She said, Bitch don’t touch me.

Brittany nearly got her on the floor but AnnMarie yanked free and threw a solid, feeling bone against her knuckle. A crowd quickly formed, laughing with the
hooo shits
and the
ooohhhs, bitch fuck her up
’til Mr. Preston pushed through and pulled the girls apart, his nose bloodied by one of their elbows. Then Principal arrived with security, asking for an explanation. AnnMarie stood staring at the floor, breathing hard, not able to look at Mr. Preston. She’d caught the disappointment in his eye, she’d seen it—an expression that made all the protest and rage bunch up in the back of her throat.

Principal gave them both five-day suspension. Her mother didn’t know. School so stupid, never bothered to call. In the mornings, AnnMarie got herself up off Blessed’s bedroom floor where she’d started to sleep. Five thirty, everything dark, made it into the shower and dressed before the light even went on in her bedroom. She’d slip out the door and hook into a group of kids walking up Gateway. In The Donut Shop, she’d take a seat facing the window and watch the sky brighten, late-pass kids trickling by ’til the street was empty and the lady in uniform start to hover, asking why she ain’t in school. She need to get to school.

She made wide loops through the neighborhood, wandering down to the boardwalk, or in the other direction past the expressway; one day all the way clear up Mott Avenue to where the sidewalk ended and way over there, across the bay, she could see Inwood Country Club spread out like a bright green blanket.

One night she went by to see Niki. They hung out for a while but soon Niki got restless. She said, Come on. Let’s go to Nadette’s. So AnnMarie followed her out the door, the whole while Niki telling her about a new rap she come up with, spitting the verse while they walked and AnnMarie said, That sound dope. Then she told Niki about a song she was writing called “Avalanche” and do she want to hear it and Niki said, Yeah, sing it. So AnnMarie sang softly, stumbling over a couple lines she hadn’t worked out yet but mostly it sounded good, Niki giving her daps, saying it was sweet.

But at Nadette’s, Niki seemed to forget all about her. They smoked weed and Nadette put on some music, then started dancing in front of the mirror. AnnMarie cracked up, thinking she got to be joking, moving her silly ass like a stripper would but Niki wasn’t laughing. She was watching, her and Nadette’s eyes on each other through the reflection.

Then Dennis came home and Nadette stopped dancing. She
sat down next to Niki on the couch and said, Hey baby, but she didn’t get up, even though he her boyfriend.

AnnMarie watched Niki and Nadette sitting there and for a little while no one spoke, the music playing from the stereo. But AnnMarie could tell they was talking, saying things to each other with they eyes. She wondered how you got like that. How you got close like that to someone else.

On Friday, she went back to school. After first bell, she saw Mr. Preston in the hallway moving through the swarm of kids, saying,
Get to class. Y’all need to get to your classrooms
. She pushed away from the locker, walking toward him, wanting him to take notice, ask how she doing, but she kept her eyes forward and when she felt a hand on her shoulder, she glanced up, saying, Oh hey Mr. Preston. He said, So you back, AnnMarie? Saying it stern, like he still angry. Right away, starting up a lecture, the
I expect more
lecture.
Stay away from … keep your head down … girl … trouble you get into … all that business … singing, am I right?
And when he let her shoulder go, she stepped back into the crunch and jam of middle-school life, one of a thousand kids who scraped back their chairs 5th period when the fire-drill bell rang, the whole school pouring out onto the sidewalk.