The cafeteria at Westhaven Arts Academy was a symphony of chaos—voices layered over clattering trays, laughter harmonizing with the squeak of sneakers on linoleum. But beneath it all, there was rhythm. Always rhythm.
Zaylen stepped through the double doors with a cautious swagger, trying not to draw attention but failing anyway. New kids always stood out—especially ones with an old-school aura and headphones that weren't just for show.
He scanned the room. Tables clustered with mini-crews: dancers popping to silent beats, painters hunched over sketchbooks, and the self-proclaimed music elite crowded in the back corner where the vending machines flickered.
Joy caught his eye before he could look away. She sat confidently with her feet up on a bench, balancing a lunch tray on her lap and nodding along to a track no one else could hear. Her braids—dyed purple with streaks of silver—were tied in a loose ponytail, and she wore a sleeveless hoodie that said "VIBE FIRST" in graffiti font.
She waved him over. "Zay, over here."
He blinked. She remembered his name.
"Uh… hey."
She nodded toward the corner. "You already meet the cafeteria cypher crew?"
He shook his head, adjusting his hoodie. "Didn't know there was one."
"Now you do," she said, hopping off the bench. "C'mon. I got you."
That's when he realized—Joy wasn't just friendly. She had reach.
"Yo! This the new kid I told y'all about," she said to the group forming near the vending machines. "Zaylen. He's got a pen game."
A few heads turned. One of them, a short kid with red-rimmed glasses and a high-top fade, scoffed.
"We get new emcees every semester. Most ain't ready."
"He is," Joy said. "He spit something in homeroom this morning. No mic, just vibe."
Zaylen blinked. So she'd been listening. His scribble session during roll call hadn't gone unnoticed.
The short kid smirked. "He better step into the cypher, then. Lunch rules still apply. You show up, you show out."
The crowd parted. Near the vending machines, kids formed a loose circle. A table drummer tapped out a beat with pencils, while another slapped bass tones on a plastic tray. It was raw, gritty, alive.
A girl with green-dyed locs stepped forward first, bobbing her head to the rhythm. She pointed to the imaginary mic in the middle.
🎤 "I'm lava on this floor, I erupt when I rhyme,
You ringtone rappers barely spit on time!" 🔥
Laughter. Cheers. Someone waved a hand fan dramatically.
She bowed and backed off. The rhythm looped again. Everyone turned to Zaylen.
Joy gave him a look. Not pressure—permission.
He took a breath, stepped forward, and adjusted his sleeves.
"Lemme catch that beat again."
The drummer snapped back into rhythm—boom, bap, bap—slightly slower, just as Zaylen liked.
He didn't have a verse memorized, but the words came naturally.
🎤 "Dropped from clouds, now I cruise these halls,
2010, where the real ones brawl.
No gimmicks, no filters, no front-page fame,
Just beats, bars, and a no-gloss name." 🎧
A few gasps. Eyes widened.
🎤 "Woke up with echoes, a rhythm in my chest,
Scratchin' vinyl thoughts, I'm rewritin' the rest.
Not here for clout, or to flex a chain,
I'm here for the feel, not the fame or the game." 🌀
Silence. Then—
"YOOOO!" someone shouted.
Phones were raised. Not to record—too early for that to be normal—but to light the screen like lighters.
Joy stepped forward, dapping him up. "Man, you ain't rusty. That was polished."
Before he could reply, another voice spoke up. Calm. Controlled.
"You spit like you've been here before."
Zaylen turned.
A tall figure leaned against the vending machine. His dark hoodie was unzipped, revealing a black tee with a pixelated cassette logo. Over his neck, big gold headphones rested like a crown. The varsity jacket he wore had "STUDIO CREW" stitched down the arm.
"Name's Lenny. I run Studio B after hours. You ever record, or just freestyle?"
"Mostly freestyle," Zaylen replied. "But I'm learning fast."
Lenny nodded. "Friday night. Showcase. One verse, no tracks. Bring that same energy."
Zaylen locked eyes with him. "I'll be there."
The bell rang, slicing through the moment. Kids scattered, buzzing about the verse, the vibe, the new kid who brought bars.
---
That night, back in his room, Zaylen booted up his battered laptop. A free DAW loaded slow, but steady. He plugged in his old keyboard and began layering sounds.
Low kicks. Jazzy chords. A dusty sample: "You feel that? That's time rewinding."
He smiled, then pulled out his rhyme book and added another page:
🎤 "Burnout reborn, with a verse in hand,
Dropped in the past to rebuild my brand.
No chains, no girls, just mics and grace,
I spit for the silence the world replaced." 🎵
He hit save. Uploaded it to his fresh SoundCloud account:
ZayKai - Track 002: Frequency Freestyle
Tags: #2010 #underground #lyrical #nohook #nointimacy #flowstate
He leaned back, letting the beat loop.
The rhythm was real.