Her Future
Wyn, age 16
It was hot as hell, even for early July.
And somehow, it was cooler next door on Turkey’s porch than it was inside the house.
I sat in an old barber chair, bouncing one of the twins’ babies on my lap while eating an ice cream cone. They were out in the blazing sun with their other kids, getting more treats.
The block was lively, more lively than it had ever been. For whatever reason, some boys at school started up their own gang. The Parcside Crips.
Lame.
But one of the founders lived on our block, across the street, so the niggas were outside. On their porch, too, but outside, nonetheless.
The kids ran inside with their treats, while Rain grabbed the baby from my arms and settled onto the brick opposite me.
“What’s the plots? It’s Renelle’s turn to babysit and I’m ready to find a stepdaddy for my baby.” Rain flicked her tongue while her sister Rian slapped hands with her.
Between the three of them, they had four kids.
Renelle and Rain had just had a baby each, while Rian had two by two different men.
Pops had turned the den into a bedroom for the little crumb snatchers, but still, it was way too many people in that house.
Another reason why I was perched on the stoop.
Those were the days I wished Rico was a normal boy, who lived in a normal house.
Something had shifted within their gang, because he was almost never around, not even at night.
I worked up the courage to ask Fredo twice, but he wasn’t any help.
The only good thing that came out of it was whenever I asked, Rico would show up the next night.
The last time had been the day after Autumn’s birthday. I was pissed he missed my sixteenth birthday, but when he gave me a gold chain with Snow attached, I melted, like I always did.
The chain was stuck to my chest in the summer heat, but I never took it off, not even to shower. It was my little piece of him when he was off doing whatever he did.
“Whatever we do, can it not be somewhere we might get shot at? And somewhere with some AC.” I fanned myself for extra effect before licking my popsicle stick clean.
Rian grinned, and I instantly knew she would be on bullshit. “You feel like busting a mission to the East?”
“Yes! Let me put on my shoes!” Rain ran inside the house, while her sister laughed at her.
They’d been passed around the crips in East Kenton since high school, with Rain even getting a concussion from fighting with one of the girls over her man once.
They swore they knew Grimey and Sheisty, the heads of the G$ crips, but neither of them niggas were either of their respective baby daddies.
But sad bitch recognized sad bitch. The twins and Renelle were just as lost as the rest of us, so I didn’t call their bluff when they regaled me of their tales of fucking actual rappers and niggas with money.
“You sure you not gon’ get in trouble?” Rian asked me, a devilish smirk on her face.
I made the dumb ass mistake of asking her to drive me to the clinic to get birth control, and ended up blabbing about having a boyfriend.
If it weren’t for my poker face, she’d have known it was Rico, but all she got was it was one of Turkey’s friends, and I planned to keep it that way.
I waved her off while grabbing my phone to shoot him a text, since I knew she’d have me all over her social media. “What about you? Yo baby daddy ain’t from G$?”
Rian stood. “That nigga up in county. Shit, maybe my forever nigga could break me off something for his bail.”
“You so ratchet,” I cackled, slapping hands with her. She twirled and bent over to give me a mini twerk as Rain floated out the house with a backpack holding our bottle and some sunglasses. Renelle began to yell as we ran to the car they all shared, an old caravan.
Blasting the new Native Sons CD, we peeled off, and I couldn’t hide how giddy I was as I took my first shot of the day. I’d never been to East Kenton, but I’d heard the same stories as everyone else. That they were a different breed.
Even the air was different as we crossed over. The streets were cleaner, and more people were walking around. Even when we turned onto a gravel road, there were people milling about in front of a warehouse looking building.
The Kenton skyline was spraypainted on the front, with Geronimo Land on top of it in gothic font.
Rain swerved into the dirt parking lot and parked closer to the gate. I handed her the bottle, and we all took two shots each.
“Grimey’s mine, sissy.”
“Bitch, can you even fuck? Shouldn’t even be drinking anyway. Yo’ ass better had pumped.”
“I did,” Rain whined. “Before Wynnie come over. I’m good. And I’m not tryna fuck him.”
“Then why you want him?”
“‘Cause. I’m single, and you not.” Rain winked before she turned to me. “It’ll be some young niggas in there, but you don’t go disappearing with none of these niggas, Wynnie. Take this.”
She handed me a switchblade, and my jaw dropped.
“How did you even get this?” I asked, taking it and tucking it inside my high waisted cut off shorts.
She rolled her eyes. “Grandpa insists.”
We nearly killed the bottle before leaving the van. My tolerance was like a grown man, much like them, so we had a nice buzz instead of being sloppy drunk. Men catcalled us, but since the twins didn’t care, neither did I.
We were let in without issue, and the blast of AC that ruffled my weave made me grin.
The space was open, with a bar, a stage, and sparse seating throughout.
A short man walked up to us, his eyes focused on me. I kept his gaze, even though my lip wanted to curl up immediately.
He wasn’t ugly, and he wasn’t even shorter than me.
But he was thirsty as fuck, and thirsty guys rarely handled rejection well.
“Wassup Twins. Y’all nigga not here,” he joked, hugging them both.
“Fuck you.”
“Shut up, Tim.”
Tim kept his eyes on me, making me feel naked. “What’s crackin’? I’m Fave.”
“Wynter.” I placed my hand in his waited one, but he tightened his hold over my fingers.
“I’m heading to the studio. Y’all should ride with me.”
“Sure,” Rain said, smacking his hands away from mine. “As long as Grimey’s there.”
Fave cut his eyes to Rain before shaking his head. “Yeah, thirsty. Who you think I’m goin’ to see? C’mon, cuz. Wynter ridin’ shotgun.”
The twins pleaded with me to be cool. They’d seen me cut a nigga down more than once, so I swallowed my attitude and followed them back out into the unforgiving sun.
If I was curious at Geronimo Land, I was in awe at the studio.
It was a rectangular two-story building, once again looking rough on the outside, but state of the art on the inside.
The recording equipment had to be in the six figures. And we had passed three rooms before we came into this one.
There were some more younger guys in there, while another was in the booth sounding like shit, but the vibes were still fun as blunts and drink were passed around.
Soon, I was faded, faded enough to let Fave wrap his arm around my shoulder.
“So wassup, Wynter?”
“I’m chillin’,” I replied, trying to focus on the beat playing in the background, and which flow would sound better on it.
“I’m askin’ is you fucking with anyone?”
I smirked, cutting my eyes to him. “Do you care?”
“Shit, not really.” He scooted back to sit up, right as the doors open.
My eyes flitted toward the door, just to see, but the gasp that escaped came out of nowhere.
“Oh shit,” I whispered. The music turned off, and all the air was sucked out of the room.
Grimey. In the flesh.
He was a superstar. Rap’s bad boy, bringing West Coast gangsta rap back into the forefront.
Sure, the Native Sons were from G$, too, but the producer/rapper duo wasn’t on that gangbanging shit.
PC’s smooth game over mellow beats and real instruments was a different breed, allowing him to crossover overseas, where they were more famous, though I had every album.
Grimey was different. Flashy as fuck, even then with multiple iced out chains around his neck, though they were long enough that they didn’t cover the obscene G$ tatted on it.
In every video, he was throwing up his signs, twisting his fingers, and speaking in the thickest Southern California accent someone could have.
His aura was just as magnetic as it was deadly, and being associated with the Native Sons made him an overnight celebrity as soon as he stepped on the scene this year.
He walked more into the room, his scowl deepening by the second. Donning a simple Chanel tee, acid washed skinnies sagged low enough to show Versace boxers, and some limited edition shoes Turkey had a picture of in his room, he looked… whoa.
Braids pristine, six on his head and probably tied in the back. He licked his lips, before wiping his giant hand down his face, pulling on his chin hairs. “Why is it bitches here?”
Rain scoffed, but she shrunk when his eyes landed on her. He cataloged everyone in the room, but when his dark brown eyes got to me, he narrowed them.
Fave tightened his arm around me, and even though Grimey didn’t take his eyes off me, I knew he saw it.
“You gotta go.”
“Excuse me?” I blurted, shaking off Fave’s arm to fold mine.
“You heard me, cuz. Yo’ hot n’ ready ass gotta go. Now. And whoever brought you, too.”
“Whatever.” I stood and stomped out, fully intending on shoulder checking his arm, since he was that much taller than me. “You can’t rap anyway.”
He grabbed my arm surprisingly gentle for how fast his hand was, and when I looked up, amusement colored his face. “What was that, cuz?”
I jutted out my chin. “I said, you can’t rap.”
Murmurs filled the room. Rain stood, but one look from Grimey, and she sat back down.
I knew he was a big dog, but fuck him. He singled me out for no reason, and while he could rap, I definitely could spit way better than that nigga who was in the booth, so it counted.
“You think you can do better?” he asked, reading my mind.
I snatched out his grip and pulled my bandeau up. “I know I can.”
“Aight,” he nodded, before looking at the twins. “I’ll be back for y’all in a lil’. After you, Freckles.”