Flow (Grip, #0.5)

by Kennedy Ryan

I’ve never actually met any of the Gray family except Rhys and his Uncle Grady.

Five years. I haven’t seen Rhyson outside of a courtroom in five years,

“Bristol, Amir. We grew up together. He made sure my car wasn’t towed while I

Just a few years after that picture was taken, he would find a way to leave us. To leave me.

he emancipated from our parents, not from me,

he moved to California to live with my father...

He opens the passenger door and I slide in, catching a whiff of him as I go. It’s fresh and clean and man. No cologne that I can detect. All Grip.

My father and his twin brother, Grady, weren’t close before,

“We don’t cry in front of strangers.” My mother’s voice echoes back to me from childhood.

“you were telling me about the School of the Arts. You’re a musician?” “I write and rap.”

“A rapper’s flow is like . . .” He chews his full bottom lip, jiggling it back and forth, as if the action might loosen his thoughts. “It’s like the rhythmic current of the song. Think of it as a relationship between the music and the rapper’s phrasing or rhythmic vocabulary, so to speak. You make choices about how many phrases you place in a measure. Maybe you want an urgent feeling, so you squeeze a lot of phrasing into a measure. Maybe you want a laid-back feel, and you leave space; you hesitate. Come in later than the listener expects.”

“I am perceptive, though.” Grip takes one of the last bites of his burger. “Like your face when Skeet—” “Dropped the N-word in front of me like it was nothing?” I cut in, knowing exactly where he’s going. “Yeah, like what’s up with that? I don’t understand anyone being okay with that word.”

“We’ve already established that I don’t listen to the hippity hop very much,”

“I can fight a dude who calls me the N-word,” he says. “It’s harder to fight a whole system stacked against me.”

“It’s not bad that you ask why we call each other that, Bristol.” The sharp lines of his face soften. “There’s just bigger issues that actually affect our lives, our futures, our children, and that’s what we want to talk about.”

I look up and grin to lighten the moment. “But don’t think you’ve changed my mind about the N-word. That still doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Are you one of those people who thinks hip-hop belongs to Black people?” I ask. “Of course it does.” He smooths the humor from his expression. “We made it. It’s ours in the same way jazz and the blues and R&B are ours. We innovated, making sound where there was no sound before. The very roots of hip-hop are in West Africa from centuries ago. But we share our shit all the time, so you’re welcome.”

And I’m leaving in a week.

We both gave each other space to be misunderstood, because we really wanted to understand.

Grip. He’s an unexpected fascination,

I guess he is as obsessed with music as my brother.

I learned early on that people aren’t careful with your emotions.

They’re too self-involved to consider how their actions affect others.

“Machiavelli?”

“He hasn’t said much at all, actually.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Grip says after a moment of my silence. “I can tell you and Rhyson have a lot to work out.”

“Anybody do good empanadas around here?”

“So are you Piggy in this analogy?” I pour false indignation into my voice and prop my fists on my hips. “I ain’t Jack.”

“To be so skinny, you put it away,” he says once he’s finished laughing at me.

“Was it so different from your old one?” “Uh, night and day. Growing up in Compton is no joke.”

“Was I flirting?” He lifts one brow. “I wasn’t trying to. I wasn’t gonna bother because I assumed you weren’t into the brothers.”

“You telling me you’ve dated a Black guy before?” Surprise colors the look he gives me. Surprise and something else. Something warmer. I wish I could surprise him, but I can’t. “No, I’ve never dated a Black guy.” An imp prompts my next comment. “What am I missing?”

I like the color of smart, the shade of funny, and sexy is my favorite hue.”

“So what color am I then?” I ask before thinking better of it. He’ll probably just say I’m white, obviously. “What color are you?” he repeats, his eyes never leaving my face. “You, Bristol, are a freaking prism.”

I NEED TO put the brakes on this. It’s one thing to be secretly attracted to Rhyson’s sister. It’s another thing altogether to encourage her attraction to me.

I don’t think she knows it about herself, and it’s a shame some man hasn’t taught her, but I can’t be that guy.

We talked about things we don’t understand and aren’t sure we ever will.

“Go see for yourself,” I say. “When was the last time you saw her?” “Four, five years,”

“Is that what she told you?” Rhyson narrows his eyes. “If we didn’t spend time together, it wasn’t my fault. She got to go to school and parties and shop and have friends. Be normal. Do whatever the hell she wanted while my parents tracked my every step, dragging me all over the world

Even before I met Rhyson, I’d seen the news about the courtroom battle he endured to emancipate from his parents.

“You look . . .” Rhyson tilts his head, studying his sister with sober eyes. “You’re beautiful, Bris.”

No, she isn’t the kind of girl you mess over. A guy needs to be very sure he wants her, and just her, before he makes a move.

“Do I get anything else?”

“How dare you?” Indignation tremors through me and makes my voice shake. “I call you. I write you. I text you. I fly to freaking Los Angeles and am hauled around the city all day while you Liberace in the studio, and you have the nerve to think I want your money? I don’t need your money, Rhyson. I have a trust fund that will take care of me for the rest of my life if I don’t want to work, which I do.”

At least I’ve knocked out my internship application. Machiavelli is all done.

Really? I don’t remember Rhyson ever watching movies.

Like he wants a taste of something. Like he wants a taste of me.

“An internship I’m applying for with Sound Management.”

“They manage some huge acts. What’s your major?” “Business. But my emphasis will be entertainment. Entertainment management is what I want to do.”

“Not right now. They’re your dreams for him. The same way your parents worked him to death doing their dreams. It feels the same to him.”