crowd, moving toward the big man at the center of the throng. Sunshine nudged her, passing her a silver flask. AnnMarie sipped, then sipped again, felt the heat in her throat. The house music had gone dead, feedback screeched and bounced off the walls, then a bass line start to thump and somebodyup there freestyling. AnnMarie lifted up out of her heels to see over shoulders and sure enough a cypher had begun, loose circle forming, homies ramped up, rocking they heads to the rhymes.
She could see Darius up there too. What he doing. Behind the turntables, next to Big Mike—lifting vinyl from a crate. Getting ready for the next thing. Must be. AnnMarie felt Niki step up next to her and she turned, hugging her tight.
What up, what up, what up, Niki said.
We been waiting for you, AnnMarie hollered, then saw that she’d come with the plump girl Latania who she’d met one time before.
Sunshine flicked her gaze at Latania, then yanked Niki aside. AnnMarie couldn’t hear nothing what they saying but Sunshine’s mouth was moving like
What you doing? What the fuck you doing?
Niki back up in her face, both of them mad tight, then she gone. Through the crowd, gone, leaving Latania to follow after.
And as quickly as it started, the cypher ended, circle broke apart, fellas reaching for their cups, lighters hitting blunts, Big Mike’s voice amplified, saying, Yeah, yeah, yeah … We got some fine young shorties in the house tonight, call themselves the Night Shade. Sunshine pushed AnnMarie from behind. Go on, go up there.
AnnMarie stumbled in the high heels but worked her way through the crowd to the front of the room.
Darius looked up and they eyes met but Nadette was saying, Where’s Niki. Where she at? Sunshine in Nadette’s ear and AnnMarie saw all them fellas out there, staring, like
Who the fuck these chicks. What the fuck can they do
. Then the microphone was in her hand and Teisha was saying, We ain’t got Niki. Go, go, go …
Out the corner her eye, she saw the needle drop and knewthe song before the first few bars reached her ears—a slow-jam instrumental Darius liked to play and he was looking at her now, nodding his head,
uhn
,
uhn, uhn
, so she raised the mic to her lips and sang.
Yeah, she hushed them.
“Goin’ Down.”
She sang the lyrics but made it her own, finding the backbeat as the pulse, her voice lifting, pushing toward the ceiling, spreading sweet and clear. And when she opened her eyes, she saw it—all the people sway, Darius stepping up next to her, his mouth close to her ear, he said, Damn girl, you made them dumb.
And then she was his. Feet tucked up on the couch, watching him behind the console. People coming in and out the little studio room. Rappers freestyling, some a them with pieces a paper, song words on a napkin, some a them good, but some rhymes so terrible, AnnMarie just had to cringe. It didn’t seem to matter though, down there in the studio room, ’cause they all wanted it—the stripped-down beats, samples from “Renegade,” “Die for You,” “Phat Burn”—flowing from the speakers, Darius saying, Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s go again.
Wallace came by one day. His fade grown out, thecovered by a black do-rag tied snug around his head.
What up, AnnMarie … How you feel, he said smiling, but he seemed nervous, shifting a old gym bag from one hand to the other. She stood up from the couch and hugged him. She’d heard his father was back in Far Rock, living again with his mother. Wallace hadn’t been to choir in weeks.
Where you been, Wallace.
Nah, nah, nah … Call me Stack.
AnnMarie laughed. Oh, okay … you stacking now?
Word. Hustle for the stack, you know it.
How come you ain’t been to choir. Everybody miss you.
Been working on a mixtape and whatnot, trying to put something together.
He pulled a CD from his gym bag, the zipper broke, and passed it to Darius. Here’s the track I was telling you about. Check it.
Darius put the CD in the player and
She could see Darius up there too. What he doing. Behind the turntables, next to Big Mike—lifting vinyl from a crate. Getting ready for the next thing. Must be. AnnMarie felt Niki step up next to her and she turned, hugging her tight.
What up, what up, what up, Niki said.
We been waiting for you, AnnMarie hollered, then saw that she’d come with the plump girl Latania who she’d met one time before.
Sunshine flicked her gaze at Latania, then yanked Niki aside. AnnMarie couldn’t hear nothing what they saying but Sunshine’s mouth was moving like
What you doing? What the fuck you doing?
Niki back up in her face, both of them mad tight, then she gone. Through the crowd, gone, leaving Latania to follow after.
And as quickly as it started, the cypher ended, circle broke apart, fellas reaching for their cups, lighters hitting blunts, Big Mike’s voice amplified, saying, Yeah, yeah, yeah … We got some fine young shorties in the house tonight, call themselves the Night Shade. Sunshine pushed AnnMarie from behind. Go on, go up there.
AnnMarie stumbled in the high heels but worked her way through the crowd to the front of the room.
Darius looked up and they eyes met but Nadette was saying, Where’s Niki. Where she at? Sunshine in Nadette’s ear and AnnMarie saw all them fellas out there, staring, like
Who the fuck these chicks. What the fuck can they do
. Then the microphone was in her hand and Teisha was saying, We ain’t got Niki. Go, go, go …
Out the corner her eye, she saw the needle drop and knewthe song before the first few bars reached her ears—a slow-jam instrumental Darius liked to play and he was looking at her now, nodding his head,
uhn
,
uhn, uhn
, so she raised the mic to her lips and sang.
Yeah, she hushed them.
“Goin’ Down.”
She sang the lyrics but made it her own, finding the backbeat as the pulse, her voice lifting, pushing toward the ceiling, spreading sweet and clear. And when she opened her eyes, she saw it—all the people sway, Darius stepping up next to her, his mouth close to her ear, he said, Damn girl, you made them dumb.
And then she was his. Feet tucked up on the couch, watching him behind the console. People coming in and out the little studio room. Rappers freestyling, some a them with pieces a paper, song words on a napkin, some a them good, but some rhymes so terrible, AnnMarie just had to cringe. It didn’t seem to matter though, down there in the studio room, ’cause they all wanted it—the stripped-down beats, samples from “Renegade,” “Die for You,” “Phat Burn”—flowing from the speakers, Darius saying, Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s go again.
Wallace came by one day. His fade grown out, thecovered by a black do-rag tied snug around his head.
What up, AnnMarie … How you feel, he said smiling, but he seemed nervous, shifting a old gym bag from one hand to the other. She stood up from the couch and hugged him. She’d heard his father was back in Far Rock, living again with his mother. Wallace hadn’t been to choir in weeks.
Where you been, Wallace.
Nah, nah, nah … Call me Stack.
AnnMarie laughed. Oh, okay … you stacking now?
Word. Hustle for the stack, you know it.
How come you ain’t been to choir. Everybody miss you.
Been working on a mixtape and whatnot, trying to put something together.
He pulled a CD from his gym bag, the zipper broke, and passed it to Darius. Here’s the track I was telling you about. Check it.
Darius put the CD in the player and
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