Today is the day I get to meet this representative of Atlantic Records. Flex was underplaying it yesterday, it was definitely a big deal. He's worked with so many artists at the top of the charts and today instead of doing something insanely more important, he wants to give me his undivided attention. I wore some leather pants and a silk white top that was loose but exposed my stomach. I curled my hair and played with a little make up and lip gloss. I thought I looked nice but in just a few minutes, I would be completely wrong.

Flex picks me up in a really nice car. I loved how I didn't remember Flex was stacked. He doesn't boast or wear multiple chains around his neck. He was calmly wealthy. Something I hoped to be one day, something I respected.

We walk into a building with wide stairs that spiral up in an elegant and somewhat futuristic arrangement. We walk only to the first floor which opens up a large space of grey lounging chairs before us. The ceiling is high and lets in copious amounts of light, the light glistens off of the silver ornaments that hang from it. There are tables in the center of each of the comfortable and fancy looking grey chairs. I almost don't want to sit on them. I take a seat and fold my hands on my lap.

I look around at everyone else who seems to be dressed in full suits. I suddenly feel under dressed and stupid. I think Flex can see that I am beginning to panic because he takes my hand into his and kisses it.

"Chanel, relax." He says soothingly.

I nod but my shoulders feel like they are all the way up to my ears and I realize I've been holding my breath. Flex wasn't dressed up either. He was only wearing a button up shirt and some jeans. His dreads were pulled back in their usual fishtail behind him and he began plucking at his beard.

A few moments pass and he looks over at me again.

"You don't look relaxed at all. You actually look a little creepy. Take a deep breath." He laughed.

I let out a laugh myself and take a few deep breaths, attempting to shake the nerves. My heart seems to beat through my throat.

"Don't be nervous, i'm 100% sure he will see what I see in you." Flex is leaned forward on the table but my eyes leave his and stare shakishly at the flowers in the vase centering the table.

"Which is?" I look at him now, nerves still showing on my face.

"Raw talent, beauty..." He pushes my chin up. "Confidence." He enunciates the last part since I didn't seem to have much at this point. I straighten up and put my game face on. I'm just meeting another human being. There is no reason to be nervous. It's just a representative. I take a few more deep breaths. Just a representative of one of the biggest record labels in the world.

No big deal.

Whew, calm down Chanel, calm down.

Before I can properly calm all the way down, the doors behind the lounge area open and a middle aged white man with a full head of gray hair walks right out and heads towards us. His suit is tailored to his body and he is fit and slim. He walks like he owns the entire building. As he approaches Flex and I, I try to turn away so I am not staring blankly at him but it doesn't work.

"Ayyy, Richie. What's good?" Flex greats the man with a hand out.

"Hey, Flex. How's it going?" Richie's voice is higher than I expected it to be. They shake hands and Richie smiles with a smile that meets and surpasses his eyes. Almost like he was too happy. He had great teeth. I briefly used my tongue to examine mine. They were straight, were they as white as his? Did anyone have such naturally white and straight teeth?

I can't help but think this is what the entertainment business is, I'm getting a peak at it right now. The necessary perfection expected from people at the top. The way I was far from perfect, sitting in my $10 leather pants and cream colored top from Forever 21.

"It's going good, these kids got me working on my vacation." He says looking at me. I smile at Richie as nicely as I can manage.

"This is Chanel Little." He introduces me then Rich and I shake hands.

"Ms. Little, I've heard so much about you. You're as gorgeous as Flex said."

I accept his compliment even though I don't fully believe him. Maybe he was just being polite. He is more beautiful than I am, it almost looks like he is wearing make up.

"Thank you. Pleasure to meet you too."

"Call me, Richie." He mentions.

"Richie." I smile.

Richie joins us at the table with the beautiful center piece and sets down a few sheets of paper ordered into one pile. He even sits perfectly. His posture was upright and he was poised but somehow still completely relaxed. I noticed I was slouching and took a second to sit up, mirroring him.

I notice that I am in the middle of the two. Richie is right across from me and Flex is on my right. His legs are folded and he looks so casual it makes me relax just a little more. Thank God Flex is here.

"Okay so, let's get right down to business so you can both get back to your busy schedules. My name is Richard Flow and I have been working as a talent scout for Atlantic Records about 10 years now. " He speaks directly to me, eye contact, body posture and hand motions. Flex already knew the information being said, so I held his attention. Richard seems to be looking directly into my eyes, which never passed in the hood. Direct eye contact for so long was threatening. I was starting to see why. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as he talks.

"I've found many artist you have seen on the big screen and worked with quite a few. I am also a publicist and the son of the founder of the entire record label. That being said, I don't want you to be intimidated by me. I want you to be inspired, think as big as you can, no more Brownsville mindset." He laughs when he says this and immediately I want to defend my hood, but he was right, many of them were small minded. But not all of them, he was stereotyping. I try to look past it, he's never been there and this is not the time to get ghetto and defend my hood.

"I'm sure Flex has told you that the reason he is passing you over to a different producer is so you can properly be trained and built into a great singer. But the only reason you are sitting here today is because Troy MacWayne, also known as 'Mac' or 'The Mac' has heard your music and poetry." My eyes almost bulge out of my head. Troy MacWayne needed no introduction. Even without researching his name, I knew he was one of the top producers of all the artists that influenced me. I look at Flex more excited than anything.

The smile on Flex's faces warms and angers me at once.

"You sent him my stuff?" I ask half angered, half in disbelief.

"Just some snippets of different songs we've been working on. Some of your poetry, some of the rapping. Basically a little bit of everything so he could get the feel of who you are." Flex explains, using his hands to motion for me not to get upset. Not right now. I listen. The last thing I want to be called is quick tempered. I wonder if that was a part of the "Brownsville mentality."

"Wow." Is all I say. I sit back in my chair and allow the disbelief to run its course.

"And he liked it?" I question looking to them both.

"He loved it." Richie corrects me.

"Wow, wow, wow." I say again, this time a little bit louder. I put my hands to my forehead which caused both Flex and Rich to chuckle.

"I'm sorry." I laugh. "Just, wow." I say again.

"You should be excited, Chanel. This could mean big things." Richie took out a few sheets of paper and slid them over to Flex. Then took out a few more and passed them to me.

I could barely pick them up let alone read them. Electricity was running through my body. Troy MacWayne liked snippets of something that took me minutes to write. Imagine if I actually tried. Imagine if I put my all into it. Then what?

"Now to get down to the complicated boring stuff, do you know what college you will be attending in the Fall?" Richie asks. Flex was looking through the papers, his eyes moving fast across them, scanning.

"I'm not sure yet, no. I can let you know by the end of next month. Is that too late?" I ask. My voice sounds eager, I want to correct it but I don't know how.

"No, that's perfect. We have main studios in three areas upstate. There is one in Albany, Syracuse and another in Binghamton. Hopefully you stay within range of those so we can get you to and from Mac without too much trouble. When you do get your schedule of classes, write down your free days or evenings on one of the papers I gave you right there and give them to Flex. He will get them to Mac."

" The other papers..." He continues, " assigns you a vocal coach and again, a schedule for practices which you will also get to Flex. The rest of the papers basically cover the company and protects us from lawsuits. To sum it all up, anything recorded in our studios with our producers and so on, is under our copyright so until you sign with Atlantic Records, you don't receive profits for work done with us. You aren't a signed artist as yet. There is also a form there that says you are not guaranteed a record deal through working with Troy, but it is possible. So just read through the forms, make sure you understand everything. If you have any questions, check with myself or Flex. My number is on the front of each form." Richard watches my face to see if I am overwhelmed but I have been following his every word and listening closely in case anything sounds sketchy.

Flex continues scanning over the last page of the many papers and Richie gives him some time, not rushing at all.

"Any questions as of now, Chanel?" He asks with a sweet voice.

"No, not right now but I am sure I will have a few sometime later." I reply with a smile that I have adopted from him, where my eyes wrinkle at the top. It makes Flex chuckle but he hides his laugh.

We spend a few minutes talking about me and my life, which I realize is a little interesting to Richie who I feel doesn't know the definition of struggle. I let him know of anything remotely devastating I have been through and ensure that he feels my urgency to get out of the hood. I perform two of my poems for him and the last one leaves him speechless and close to tears. At the end of it all, he asks me to sing the verse and chorus of my favorite song.

I chose 'Fallin' by Alicia Keys and sang right there in the middle of this fancy building with men and women in suits. My voice echos throughout the building and the people don't seem to be bothered by it. I even earn an applause at the end.

"Well there you have it." Richie says, motioning around me. The strangers loved my voice but that wasn't out of the ordinary. I wondered if they heard my poems.

"You sound a little bit like Jazmine Sullivan. The rasp and raw emotion are going to make great soulful songs. Goosebumps." He comments while nodding his head, eyebrows curved in.

"Your voice is unique and with vocal training, I really think you can be something special."

"I love Jazmine Sullivan." I try to keep my composure as the compliment felt so beyond me.

"Yea?" Richie chuckles. "She's a great lady, I'll let you meet her one of these days."

"Damn, y'all sure know how to make a girl excited." I say reverting back to my hood for just a quick minute.

Richie and Flex laugh in unison.

"Don't get too excited yet. You still have a long way to go. Your voice needs to be stronger, your look, shyness, posture- everything will evolve along with the experience. But I believe in you, that's why I'm sitting here."

"And I believe in you, that's why my damn vacation out the window." Flex adds, his lips still turned up. I hug on to Flex's arm. "I love this little rugrat man. It never felt like work."

"No, I completely understand." Richie gets up from the table. Flex got up and so did I.

"Chanel, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you soon." I shake Richie's hand and return the compliment. "Here's my card if you have any questions about those forms."

He turns to Flex. " What do you always say to me? It's been real?" Richie says sticking his hand out.

Flex laughs loudly. "Don't white it up, man." He joked.

This alone almost killed me. I tried not to laugh too loud or too hard but I desperately wanted to strange Flex.

He mocked Richie. "It's been real there, ol buddy, ol pal." He teases barely audible through his cackling.

Richie stood there a playful grin on his face. "How do you want me to say it?"

"Just be like, yo man. It's been real." Flex says.

Richie tries it again, but it is worse this time. Unable to contain myself, I was laughing hard now and Flex was pushing me unable to breath. Richie, I guessed was laughing at himself.

"Take care, the both of you. I'll see you around." He says between chuckles.

He heads back to the side door from where he came, and Flex and I joked about Rich all the way home. It was amazing how Flex is still able to be himself, even with the amount of high profile people he works with. He hasn't changed up at all. I take note and I make a promise to myself to never let it all get to me.