Let Me Hear a Rhyme Page 9

  “Yoo . . . you looked good out there, kid,” Jarrell cackles. “Only fucked up once.”

  “Twice,” Ronnie corrects him, shooting daggers at me.

  I can’t believe it—even after everything, she still ain’t happy.

  DJ starts spinning some music. Ronnie runs off with her friends to change into her next dress, and it’s the first time all day I take a real breath. The party is bumping after that. People laughing, drinking, eating. Jarrell’s up in the middle of the dance floor. Rell’s pretty light on his feet for a big guy. My man got all the moves.

  Ronnie returns in this long, poufy, pink dress and one of those gold tiaras like she’s a princess. She holds on to my arm and we walk around the dining tables, greeting her subjects. Everyone is telling her how beautiful she is, how wonderful her party is, how lucky I am to be her boyfriend. I’m fake smiling the whole time ’cause deadass, I’m not really in the mood to party no more.

  The DJ throws on a slow song, K-Ci & JoJo’s “All My Life,” and couples start floating to the dance floor. Even Rell grabs a shorty. I know I have to dance with Ronnie now, but I’m not really feeling how she played me after I saved her. But her pops got that look in his eye, so I take her hand and lead her to the floor. She wraps her arms around my neck and I hold her waist as we sway.

  That’s when I finally notice Jasmine in the corner, sipping out of a black cup. She don’t have her regular two puffs. Her hair is slicked up into one bun and she’s wearing this short black dress that must’ve been her mom’s but still got her leather African medallion necklace. She looks mad uncomfortable, like she don’t know what to do with her arms.

  Ronnie follows my stare and rolls her eyes.

  “Grandma made me invite her. She feels bad for her mom.”

  Jasmine seems as miserable as I feel.

  “That’s nice of you, though.”

  Ronnie shrugs. “Yeah. I just wish she didn’t come so busted looking. Like, don’t she own a hot comb?”

  “Damn, Ronnie, that’s mad foul.”

  “What? You see how laced everyone showed up. She couldn’t leave that Africa shit home for one night?”

  I don’t feel like arguing with her, so I don’t say nothing. A group of girls standing by Jasmine keep whispering and giggling at her. Either she doesn’t notice, or she does and is pretending like she don’t. I don’t know which is worse but all I wanna do is grab her, clock out this wack-ass party with all these fake people, and just chill.

  Ronnie sucks her teeth. “I’m saying, after I bought that dress for her, didn’t think I’d have to teach her how to rock it too.”

  “Hold up, you bought her that dress?”

  She shrugs. “Well . . . yeah. She’s was your best friend’s sister, right? Everyone know they don’t got money like that. Anyways, Grandma dropped it off this morning.”

  Damn. I’m surprised. And that dress don’t look like it came from a thrift store either. Looks like it cost a grip.

  Jasmine catches me staring and smiles.

  Ronnie taps my chin with her finger. “My parents are still going out of town this weekend.”

  That was our signal. We finally, finally, supposed to “do it,” and even though she had me waiting long enough, and she laced Jasmine up, I still wasn’t in the mood.

  The song changes to Monica’s “Angel of Mine.” That’s when her pops taps me on shoulder.

  “Mind if I cut in.”

  He didn’t say it like he was really asking, so I slide to the left. With Ronnie distracted, I don’t even try to be smooth about it—I walk right toward Jasmine.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she says real quiet, and it’s the happiest I’ve seen her.

  “What’s up, y’all,” Rell says behind me. I didn’t peep him following me, and for a split second, I’m kind of disappointed.

  “Nice party,” she says.

  “Quady, while you were getting your Usher on, I was talking to Jazz. Said the pager’s been blowing up—everyone’s looking for Steph!”

  Jasmine nods, grinning.

  “For real! Son, we gotta get busy and make volume three!”

  “Word?” Rell laughs. “You think we got enough for a volume three?”

  “Man, we got enough for a three, four, five, and six if we really wanted to.”

  “There’s a bunch of songs we left off the first two volumes,” Jasmine adds.

  “Jazz, you remember that one where he was talking about stickup kids?”

  She smiles. “Yeah yeah! That’s like a DMX banger. What about that one about the Brevoort courts? You know, that one you said sounds like Jay-Z’s ‘Can I Live?’ What we call it?”

  “‘B-City Blues’?”

  “Ha, that’s it! That’s it!”

  We laugh, and Rell raises an eyebrow. “Aight, I see you two got the catalog down.”

  “Um, yeah. But for real, we gotta get to . . .”

  Steph clears his voice on the mic before the song starts playing, and there’s an “Ohhhhhh” from the crowd as they rush the dance floor. The three of us look at each other in shock.

  “Oh shit!” Rell laughs. “Yoooo! What y’all waiting for? Come on!”

  We head to the dance floor, and just as I reach for Jasmine’s hand, Ronnie snakes between us.

  “Oh snaps, I love this song!” Ronnie laughs, dancing up on me.

  Jasmine don’t say nothing. She just gives me a small smile and bobs her head on the edge of the dance floor. Ain’t nothing I could do. Ain’t like I could push Ronnie away.

  They run Steph’s song back twice, just like at E. Roque’s party. The spot is popping. I swear they loving him as much as they love Big. Before the DJ can run the song again, another DJ takes over.

  “Yo yo yo yo . . . can I have your attention please. Can I have your attention please!”

  His voice sounds familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Ronnie’s pops jumps onstage with another mic.

  “Hey, y’all! I wanna thank y’all for coming to celebrate my baby girl’s sweet sixteen.” Everybody cheers and claps.

  “Now. I got a special surprise for my baby. A friend of mine came to show some love, so show him some love. Y’all give it up for my boy Fast Pace!”

  Fast Pace strolls up from backstage, giving Ronnie’s pops a dab while the room wilds out.

  “Oh my God!” Ronnie screams and rushes to the stage.

  It’s really Fast Pace, hitting that tiny stage with his squad. I ain’t never seen, you know, a real celebrity in person before. He’s much shorter than he looks on TV, his voice raspy like Rakim.

  “Aye yo, what’s up, everybody! Happy birthday, Ronnie! Man, you grew up fast! When your pops told me it was your birthday, you know I had to come through! Yo, B-Voort, where you at? Brooklynnnn!!!!”

  Fast Pace performs his hit single “Dirty Dozen.” It’s been all over the radio. I mean, it’s aight. Steph shit is better, though, and I ain’t just saying that ’cause he’s my boy. Even Moms says she don’t see the big deal.

  After he wraps up, Ronnie runs onstage and gives him a big hug. This party is going to be legendary. Everyone is gonna be talking about it for years. Exactly what she wanted. He takes a few pictures, signs autographs, and heads for the exit. The DJ scratches into a reggae set, and everyone starts dancing again. I thought I’d see Rell on the floor with his peoples, but instead he comes running up to me.

  “Yo, kid, now’s our chance!”

  “Huh?”

  “Son, come on!”

  We rush out the doors, where Fast Pace and his crew are climbing into a caravan of Escalades parked out front. Rell pulls a CD out his blazer pocket.

  “Son, what you about to do?” I ask.

  “What d’you think? I’m about to give it to Fast Pace!”

  “Nah, he ain’t gonna take that seriously.”

  “Son, he’s from Brooklyn. Steph’s from Brooklyn! Why not put him on?”

  Why put on his competition? I don’t know if I would. Especially
as weak as he is. I check out all the people Fast Pace rolled with and spot the DJ loading up his stuff in the first truck.

  “Yo, you got another one of those?”

  “Of course!” He slips out another copy, volume one.

  “Aight, you give one to Fast Pace and I’ll give one to the DJ.”

  “What? How come?”

  “Trust me!”

  Rell shook his head. “Aight, let’s go.”

  We split, and I rush over to the DJ as he slams the trunk closed.

  “Uh . . . excuse me . . . um, sir?”

  He turns, surprised to see me. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, uh, nice job in there. Um, don’t I know you from somewhere? You sound . . . familiar.”

  “Ha, maybe. I be around, nah mean?”

  Suddenly it hits me. “Yo, you’re DJ Rex! You on HOT 97! I recognize your voice, you be on the late-late-night show during the weekdays. You be spinning that ill West Coast set.”

  He smiles. “Yo, what you doing up so late, young king?”

  I shrug. “Thinking. Man, I listen to you all the time!”

  He laughs. “Aight, well, my bad, yo, we gotta dip. Fast Pace is performing tonight at the Moxey. This was just supposed to be a quick stop ’cause he owes shorty’s father a favor, and we already running late.”

  I glance over at Rell, trying to talk up Fast Pace’s bodyguard. He don’t look too interested.

  “Word, well, I know you probably get this a lot, but my mans . . . he got this demo. I was hoping you’d check it out. He . . . uh . . . couldn’t be here tonight, but he’s the truth! Everybody in the hood be rocking to his shit. He’s from Brooklyn, just like Pace.”

  Rex raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

  “I’m not asking no favors or nothing, but maybe you can take a listen, and if you like it, I don’t know, maybe you can share it with some of your peoples.”

  He laughs. “Aight. Only ’cause you rock with me. But I can’t make any promises.”

  I smile and give him the CD. “Either way, appreciate you.”

  “But you said you’d come over after school,” Ronnie says, real hard. If we weren’t on the phone I’m sure I’d see her neck rolling. “How you gonna be a man if you can’t keep your word?”

  “What you want me to say?” I groan at my desk. “Coach added another hour of practice.”

  Aight, that’s a lie. Rell and I were collecting money from vendors on Fulton Street. I’ve been so caught up running around selling Steph’s demo, going to school, practice, and homework, I haven’t had much time to be the boyfriend Ronnie wants me to be.

  “So why didn’t you page me?”

  “I didn’t have change for the pay phone. I didn’t know you were looking for me like that. Damn.”

  “Well, if you had a cell phone, you’d know.”

  This again. She always starting. If my bedroom had a bigger window, I swear I would jump out it.

  “You know,” she adds. “Even Derrick down the hall got a cell phone, and his parents ain’t making no money.”

  “Yeah, so how he get it?”

  “You know how! He got that work in.”

  “I ain’t with that, Ronnie. I keep telling you, I’m not down with your pop’s business.”

  “Ain’t like you’ll be selling. I told you, my dad can hook you up with something else.”

  “We shouldn’t be talking about this over the phone,” I warn.

  She sucks her teeth. “You sure you were at practice? ’Cause Naomi said she saw you and Steph’s sister walking and talking like you go together or something.”

  Busted. I knew someone was gonna spot us eventually.

  “Go together?” I say, trying to act real surprised. “It ain’t even like that. She just lost her brother. I’m just trying to be there for her, that’s all. You trippin’ for real.”

  “Am I? You don’t think I’ve peeped you been acting mad distant lately?”

  “Maybe because I just lost my best friend,” I mumble.

  “That ain’t it,” she snaps. “Quady, we been going together for a year. I know you. Something else is up.” She sucks her teeth. “You skipped coming over when you knew my parents weren’t gonna be home, and now you acting brand-new. I just don’t know why you won’t tell me what’s going on. We used to talk about everything.”

  It’s funny how girls be peeping the small stuff. I mean, I didn’t think I was acting different. It’s like she got some type of superpower and can see inside my head. And if she could, I wouldn’t know how to explain my weird feelings about Jasmine.

  The front door opens.

  “Quady!” Mom shouts. “I’m home! Got some KFC!”

  “My moms home. I gotta get ready for dinner.”

  “Baby,” Ronnie says, real soft. “I miss you. I know practicing for that dance was mad . . . stressful. But I miss hanging out with you. Kicking it, just me and you.”

  I don’t even know what to say. I mean, Ronnie don’t ever show this type of emotion. Damn, maybe she’s right. I haven’t been paying her a lot of attention, and it’s been hard living a double life, trying to keep Steph’s music under wraps.

  “I miss you too, baby. I promise, we’ll go to the movies next weekend. Just me and you. Okay?”

  “Aight. That’s what’s up.”

  I hang up and head into the living room. Mom’s already made my plate and setting up the TV trays.

  “Hey, baby, how was your day?”

  “It was cool. How was work?”

  “Fine, already busy and it’s not even November! Sad I missed my shows, but I’m right on time for Living Single. You know I love me some Regine! That girl can wear some wigs.” She giggles to herself and plops on the sofa next to me. “Oh! Picked up a magazine for you.”

  “Bet! Thanks, Mom!” She tosses me the November issue of Vibe. Magazines were the only things I looked forward to every month.

  “Mm-hmm. Now you got that, you gonna hand over last month’s? That one with my other fine-ass husband, DMX, on the cover.”

  “Ew, Mom!”

  “Listen, we all got our one. And he’s mine. Oh . . . but let me tell you what happened today!”

  I kinda want to chill in my room alone and read, but I can tell Mom wants to talk to someone. With my dad gone all day and night sometimes, she can get lonely. So I let her tell me about all the crazy customers in the shoe department while I flip through a couple of pages, knowing I’ll do a more thorough review later. I’m just at the Mariah Carey feature when I flip past a picture I recognize. There, in the bottom right-hand corner, is Steph, under the Who’s Got Next? column. I jump to my feet.

  “OH SHIT!”

  “What! What!” Mom screams, frantic, pulling her feet up. “What? A mouse? What! What!”

  I calm down, biting my fist to keep from exploding.

  “Oh nah, Mom . . . it’s, I mean, uh, nothing. They just, talking about . . . this new Nas album I’ve been waiting for!”

  Mom slaps my arm. “Jesus, Quady! You scared the hell out of me. Anyways, what was I saying?”

  16

  Jasmine

  I still can’t believe it. Even when Quady ran over with the magazine yesterday, I couldn’t believe it.

  My brother . . . in Vibe. Like, for real!

  Some journalist reviewed his demo. Quady thinks he got it from that DJ that was rolling with Fast Pace. I don’t care how it happened, I’m just happy it did! If Steph was alive right now, man, I don’t know what he would’ve done. We probably would still be celebrating. I like to think he’s celebrating in heaven, with Daddy. Wish I could show Mom, but I don’t know how she’d react. She still thinks I’m working at the shipping company.

  After school today I bought two issues. One to keep, and one to put in Steph’s room on the wall, where it belongs.

  Bzzzz Bzzzz

  The pager goes off. It’s been going off nonstop since Ronnie’s party.

  212-558-2838

  Hmm. A Manhattan number?

&n
bsp; I walk into the kitchen to use the phone. As soon as I pick it up, I notice there’s no dial tone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello? Jasmine?”

  Someone must’ve been calling at the same time. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Kenny.”

  “Kenny! How’d you get this number?”

  “They . . . um . . . gave it to me.”

  “‘They?’ They who . . . ?”

  Oh . . . them. I plop down on the kitchen stool, twirling the phone cord between my fingers.

  “Right. Uhhh . . . what’s up?”

  “Um, yeah. They wanted me to call to see when you plan on returning to continue your . . . initiation.”

  I gulp hard. “I . . . um, I’ve been . . . kinda busy, helping my mom and stuff.”

  Kenny sighs. It’s quiet. Doesn’t sound like he’s at his dad’s place. He must be with them . . . and I bet they listening in on this convo.

  “Well, they just wanted me to remind you that you made a commitment that you need to . . . fulfill.”

  My neck tightens. “I understand.”

  “So see you at the next meeting, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  There’s a long pause until he says, “Peace, Jasmine. My black is beautiful.”

  “And so is mine,” I recite back the practiced line and hang up, putting my head between my knees, breathing in hard. I look up at the picture of Daddy on the windowsill.

  “What should I do?” I ask him, wondering what he’d think of them. I mean, they believe in everything Daddy ever taught me. Just their methods are . . . different.

  My mind is spinning so fast I almost forgot why I came into the kitchen, until I feel the pager in my hand.

  “Oh damn.” I dial back the Manhattan number and squeaky voice answers on the third ring.

  “Hi, um, someone paged from this number?”

  “Oh! Hello, this is Gordon Fletcher. Can I speak to Architect?”

  “What’d you need?”

  “I’m calling on behalf of Pierce Williams at Red Starr Entertain—”

  “Red Starr? Oh shit!” I clear my throat and put on my best white-girl voice. “I mean, yes. Hi. This is, uh, Q . . . JJ Entertainment. How can I help you?”