On the Come Up

by Angie Thomas

How the hell do you confuse Star Trek and Star Wars? How? Unfortunately to some people in the Garden it’s “nerd shit,” or as some fool at the swap meet said, “white shit.” Folks need to get their space opera life right.

Sometimes I dream that I’m drowning. It’s always in a big, blue ocean that’s too deep for me to see the bottom. But I tell myself I’m not going to die no matter how much water gets in my lungs or how deep I sink, I am not going to die. Because I say so. Suddenly, I can breathe underwater. I can swim. The ocean isn’t so scary anymore. It’s actually kinda cool. I even learn how to control it. But I’m awake, I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to control any of this.

Usually when we go somewhere in Midtown-the-neighborhood we gotta abide by the rules. They’re unspoken but understood: 1. If you go in a store, keep your hands out of your pockets and out of your backpack. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re stealing. 2. Always use “ma’am” and “sir” and always keep your cool. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re aggressive. 3. Don’t go in a store, a coffee shop, or anything unless you plan on buying something. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re gonna hold them up. 4. If they follow you around the store, keep your cool. Don’t give them

a reason to think you’re up to something. 5. Basically, don’t give them a reason. Period.

“Considering how you’ve written some of the best rhymes I’ve ever heard in my life, I bet it is,” he says. “Like, ‘There’s a beast that roams my streets—’” “‘—and he goes by the name of crack cocaine—’” I say my own lyrics. “‘It’s kinda strange how he gets in the veins and turns mothers into strangers who only share the same name.’” Malik finishes. “Can’t forget my ultimate favorite, ‘Unarmed and dangerous, but America, you made us, only time we famous—’” “‘Is when we die and you blame us,’” I finish for him.

“When you two fight, it’s like Captain America versus Iron Man, and my ass is Peter Parker, in awe of both of you,” he said. “I can’t pick sides, dammit.”

Trust me, baby, Uncle Sam ain’t giving anything for free. He’s gonna strip you of your dignity to give you pennies.

“Yeah, people leave us,” he says softly. “But it doesn’t mean we alone.”

Gift. One word, one syllable. I don’t know if it rhymes with anything because it’s a word I never thought could be used when it comes to me.

I look up. “I’m not him.” Three words. I’ve thought them plenty of times. Honestly, people act like I’m my dad more than I’m myself. I’ve got his dimples, his smile, his temper, his stubbornness, his rap skills. Hell, I got his room. But I’m not him. Period.

I’m somebody’s hope. And I’m somebody’s mirror.