The fire that drives Flau'jae Johnson

FLAU'JAE JOHNSON was determined.

Her late father's birthday was approaching and so was the party that her mother, Kia, threw every year to honor him. It felt like everyone in Savannah, Georgia, and its surrounding cities would show up and show out in December to honor Jason Johnson, best known as «Camoflauge» to those who followed his rap career. Performances lasted through the wee hours of the morning. Flau'jae, who was 8, wanted in, too.

She approached Kia confidently, took a deep breath and stated her case: «Mom, I want to go there. I want to rap. I want to perform at this party.»

Kia looked at her daughter and laughed. This was a party for grown-ups. It would be at a club. So, she delivered the bad news: «Girl, you're not performing at this party. You're a kid.»

Flau'jae wouldn't take no for an answer. She recruited her uncle, Dominique, who would do anything for his niece — and together the two begged Kia, who eventually gave in. She agreed to help sneak Flau'jae inside, and Dominique helped her write songs

On the night of the party in 2011, Flau'jae transformed into one of the flyest kids in Savannah. She picked her own outfit: camo pants, a red puffer vest with the Georgia Bulldogs logo and a matching hat that gave way to a long curly ponytail in the back. Her black shirt read «Georgia Swag.» She completed the look with a black fingerless glove on her right hand and stunner shades.

Kia snuck Flau'jae in through a back door and had her wait in a dressing room. Hours rolled by as Flau'jae waited. It was around 10 p.m., way past her bedtime, so she dozed off, until feeling a tap on her shoulder.

It was showtime.

Once Flau'jae hit the stage, she came alive. She took command of the room with her high-pitched voice,