Page 16

Age 20

“So y’all rolling with me to that party in Raleigh Park tonight? Moms letting me drive her car since I still haven’t gotten one. I just gotta get her from work in the morning.”

I look over and shake my head at my best bro. He met some Parkside ho at the mall the other day and I’m sure she’s the one who told him about the party.

“Nigga barely just got his license and wanna be seen in a station wagon. We don’t need to be nowhere near Parkside.”

“Yeah, Sean,”

Sincere mumbles, playing a game on his phone.

Sean rolls his eyes.

“Shutcho scary ass up, Sin. Tryouts coming up, and yo ass need to come, since you wanna be down so bad. Shit, Weasel made it through.”

“Weasel was in the hospital for three days,”

Sean stresses.

“I don’t see why–”

“Because, Foe, yo ass want all the perks of hanging with us, but don’t wanna put in no work. It ain’t all about gang banging and moving weight. Shit, Set, Turk, and Nut don’t even do that shit no more. But you can’t be out here claiming Foe Dub and you not down, bro. If Nut and ‘em hear about it–”

“Fuck them–”

“Ay, watch that shit, foreal.”

I cut my eyes at my other bro, and he pipes down, like I thought.

“I’ll catch y’all tomorrow,”

Sincere mumbles, before getting up off the bleachers and heading into his building.

“Remind me why we hang with that nigga again?”

Sean says as he watches him retreat.

I sigh and rub the top of my head. I need my hair braided bad.

“He’s our homie, Sean. He’s not all that bad.”

“That nigga scary, and a hater. He only fucks with us because he knows we not finna let no one fuck with him, but we not eleven no more, dy. We gotta remove the dead weight.”

“He don’t have nobody, Sean.”

He kisses his teeth.

“That’s always been yo problem; worrying about other muthafuckas’ problems. Everybody can’t go with us, dy, and you can’t feel bad about that. You halfway done with school, and been making waves selling yo beats. I been stacking as much as I can; shit, even got Moms at church praying for us. Our studio is right there, so close I can taste that shit. Every show I’m getting better. We got dozens of songs in the vault, not counting the videos and songs that go viral. We finna blow the fuck up, brodie.”

“Sincere–”

“Don’t do shit, Dub. Nigga don’t record with us no more. Nigga don’t invite us to his sessions. And the nigga ain’t put in no money toward our studio at all. Face it baby boy, this trio is a duo, and I ain’t mad at it. Sheeit, mo’ groupie bitches for us.”

The nigga winks before pocketing his phone and standing up.

“Matter fact, let’s hit the stu. I’m feeling inspired. My wife out there somewhere, and I need to have a song on deck for when I meet her. You gone sing on the hook?”

For now, we rent a room at this hood studio off Proctor and Hemlock, while saving every penny we get for a building and the best equipment out there. I know if I’d asked my brothers, they’d help, but Sean and I want it to be all us, something we built brick by brick since I was eleven and he was ten.

I stand and wipe my hands on my sweats.

“I gotchu.”