The Kingston Kid

Turner stands to the left of the stage, crying, as thousands of fans help him sing the song. He's bouncing all over, crooning with raw emotion. It's a powerful moment, marred only by the fact that the sweatshirt his stylist picked for him is too short.

After the performance, everyone in his family seems elated to have finally seen for themselves what all the fuss is about. When Kingston sang his signature "Beautiful Girls" just minutes earlier, the house lights were up, the crowd was on its feet, and the teenager looked like a seasoned pro.

Back in the dressing room, compliments are coming in droves. Kingston is shifting in and out of patois, depending on whom he's talking to, and laughing with friends. As he sits, he takes off a sparkling chain and hands it to a family member for safekeeping. It's a huge, 64-carat, multicolored diamond pendant in the shape of a Crayola crayon set. Two weeks earlier, he performed on Live with Regis and Kelly. After Regis Philbin asked him in a joking fashion how much his necklace cost, Kingston, showing his age, shouted, "$150,000."

When it's time for Kingston to greet his fans again, to sign CDs at a merchandise table, it's difficult not to notice that every moment of his time is accounted for by someone from Epic Records. He dons his massive chain and turns to head out the door, but apparently he's not moving fast enough for a few label reps. "Sean, come on!" someone yells, and without pausing, he retorts, "I'm coming, shit!" It's the first profanity he's uttered all day.

From the moment Kingston steps off the elevator for the CD signing, flanked by security, teenage girls scream his name, swept up in hysteria worthy of the Beatles circa 1965. His handlers rush him to a table as fans try to reach him, touch him, grab him: "I love you, Sean!" "Sean, I love you!"

Kingston makes sure his mother is seated right beside him as he spends the next 15 minutes writing his name. Girls in line snap his picture. The bolder ones flirt.

One girl, about 13, looks at Turner. "Are you Sean's mom?" she asks.

"Yes," Turner says, smiling.

"I love you for making him," another fan says. "Good egg!"

As Turner laughs, a fan is mouthing, "I love you, Sean, I love you."

For Kingston, this is life six nights a week. For Turner, this is unbelievable.

At six-foot-three and at least 260 pounds, with mahogany-dark skin, Sean Kingston looks more like late rapper Notorious B.I.G. than any prefab American teen idol. Kingston also shares some of Biggie Smalls's charisma, Jamaican heritage, and quick, lyrical wit. Now he's in the running to portray Smalls in a planned Hollywood biopic, along with Compton rapper Guerilla Black. Kingston, who has read for the part, says he's honored to be considered. Before he got noticed for his Caribbean crooning, rappers like Biggie and Jay-Z were big influences.

"In the early days, he was a serious freestyler," says friend Raheem "Hype King" Robinson. "He loved to just rap, rap, rap. He wasn't into the reggae chanting or the singing he's doing now. It was more Jay-Z-type, the Biggie or Nas feel. He could rap about your shoes or girls or whatever you told him to, right on the spot.... It was crazy to see a little boy doing that. Even back then, everyone knew he would be a star.... It was like, damn, how old is this dude?"

At the time, he was 12.

Robinson, who frequently works and travels with Kingston, was his childhood buddy. They met in Miami at Bayfront Park, at a reggae festival, and quickly bonded through their love of music. They began performing as a duo, with Robinson making beats in his dad's home studio and Kingston rapping over them. "We'd be at talent shows around the neighborhood," Robinson says. "The USA Flea Market on 79th Street, the SeaEscape cruises. We performed at concerts together in parks around North Miami Beach, block parties. It was all small stuff, but it was a start."

"By the time I was 13, I used to do whatever little promotions I could," King­ston says. "I'd go to the barbershop, and if it would say there was gonna be a talent show here or there, I'd just call up and register myself. The highest I ever got was second place. I thought that was pretty dope."

Kingston began making demos when he was at Congress Middle School. He'd sell them to other students, while Robinson pushed his music late at night on South Beach.