Westhaven Arts Academy – Thursday Afternoon
The final bell hit like a cymbal crash, echoing through the vibrant halls of Westhaven. Zaylen slung his backpack over one shoulder, nodding to the beat of some unknown rhythm playing in his head. A low synth loop, some dusty percussion, maybe even a faint guitar lick. It hadn't even been a week, and already the air in this school buzzed with potential energy—like every hallway was a track waiting to be laid down.
He passed bulletin boards littered with flyers:
OPEN MIC FRIDAY – DO YOU EVEN SPIT?
BEAT WARZ – SAMPLE FLIP CONTEST!
ART VS SOUND: THE MULTIMEDIA BATTLE
JOIN THE STUDIO CREW – LIMITED PASSES!
But it was the last one that caught his eye. Taped to a beat-up door at the far end of the Performing Arts wing: Studio B – Authorized Access Only.
And standing outside that door?
Lenny.
"Thought I'd see you," he said, pulling one ear of his gold headphones down.
Zaylen stepped up, glancing at the keypad next to the handle. "So how do I get in?"
Lenny held up a lanyard with a magnetic passcard. "Earn this."
Zaylen raised an eyebrow.
"Studio B ain't just a room," Lenny continued. "It's a rite of passage. You don't just use it—you respect it. You walk in there with trash, we lock you out for good."
Zaylen nodded slowly. "So what's the test?"
Lenny smiled. "Follow me."
He tapped the card. The lock clicked.
Inside, the room opened like a secret cave. Foam-padded walls. A DIY vocal booth made from a closet lined with blankets and egg cartons. A secondhand laptop ran Ableton Live. MIDI controllers stacked like weapons. A reel-to-reel player sat in the corner like a relic.
And the smell—dust, vinyl, and anticipation.
Zaylen turned in place, letting it soak in. "It's beautiful."
"It's home," Lenny said. "We all get one shot to record our first official track here. If it hits, you're in. If it doesn't… you try again, somewhere else."
Zaylen stepped up to the mic, heart racing.
"Hold up," Lenny said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You get one hour. No help. Just you, the mic, and your message. Studio B don't do filler. We want soul."
Zaylen nodded.
Lenny shut the door behind him.
Zaylen stared at the mic, then sat at the beat station. Fingers hovering, he thought about home. About burning out in that cubicle. About Echo, the Singing God, and the strange echo still thumping in his heart.
He laid down a kick-snare-hat combo. Then, a sample—an old vinyl scratch he remembered from his dad's collection. Some jazzy chords. A trumpet loop.
He closed his eyes. Pressed record.
🎤 "Back from a silence you can't explain,
Heartbeat turned drum, now I ride that flame.
From death to desk, now decks and delay,
I lost my soul—but I found my say." 🎺
Layer by layer, he painted sound.
🎤 "Don't chase charts, don't need your likes,
I'm vinyl static in a world of spikes.
Press play, no skip, let the whole thing run,
'Cause truth don't loop—it bleeds and stuns." 🔁
One hour.
When the door reopened, Zaylen was sweating. He looked up at Lenny and hit spacebar.
The track played.
A full minute of silence followed the final note.
Then: "You're in," Lenny said simply. "That's real."
---
Havenridge Streets – Thursday Evening
Zaylen walked home with his earbuds in. His track on repeat.
Track 003: "Found Frequencies"
SoundCloud gave it ten plays already. All anonymous. Probably just random clicks.
But he didn't care. Not yet.
What mattered was the feeling. He was building something. Slowly. No hype. No gimmicks. Just authenticity.
As he passed the corner bodega, he saw a familiar figure leaning against the wall.
Joy.
"Didn't think you walked this way," she said, pulling a candy bar from her hoodie pocket.
"I don't. I took the long route. Needed to… decompress."
Joy nodded. "Studio B'll do that to you."
"You knew?"
She smirked. "Why you think I vouched for you? I knew Lenny would test you."
Zaylen smiled. "You play chess, huh?"
"Only in four dimensions," she said, tossing him a lollipop. "Congrats, Zay. You're part of the frequency now."
---
Westhaven Academy – Friday Morning
The whole school vibrated with anticipation.
The Showcase was more than just a performance. It was legend. Freshmen whispered about seniors who blew up after one set. Teachers even canceled last-period classes so students could prepare.
Zaylen sat in the music lab during free period, scribbling bars into his worn composition notebook.
He had one shot to leave a mark.
Joy walked in, holding a disposable camera. She snapped a photo of him mid-verse.
"What's that for?"
"Yearbook, maybe," she said. "Maybe album art. You'll thank me later."
"You always see ahead?"
She shrugged. "Nah. I just document the glow-up."
He smiled.
"Got your verse ready?" she asked, sitting across from him.
"Yeah. But I want to surprise people."
"Then don't rehearse it. Just feel it."
---
Westhaven Auditorium – Friday Night
Dim lights. A buzzing crowd of students, parents, and even some local musicians.
The backstage area pulsed with nerves. Zaylen stood between two dance crews and a punk band arguing over guitar tuning.
Lenny appeared, clipboard in hand. "Zay Kai, you're up fourth."
Zaylen nodded.
Joy found him just before he hit the stairs. "Go light the fuse."
He stepped out into the spotlight.
A single mic. A quiet crowd. A loaded beatpad beside him.
He tapped it.
Kick. Snare. Crackle.
He grabbed the mic and let go.
🎤 "You ever wake up twice in the same life?
Reborn with bars and no fear of strife.
They buried my will in a 9-to-5 cage,
But I dug it up and rewrote the page." 🔥
He spun the beat—triggering vocal chops, reversing loops, dropping bass.
🎤 "This ain't rap, this is resuscitation,
Heartbeat sync'd to the soul's vibration.
No gimmicks, no girls, no ghostwritten ghosts,
Just me and this mic—I love it the most." 🎶
The crowd roared.
Lights flashed. Students rose to their feet. Teachers leaned forward.
By the end of his verse, a chant had started:
"ZAY-KAI! ZAY-KAI! ZAY-KAI!"
He stepped offstage, heart thumping.
Joy met him with a fist bump. "Told you."
---
SoundCloud – Saturday Morning
Track 004: "Live & Looped (Showcase Version)"
Uploaded at 2:03 AM.
Plays: 127
Comments:
• "Who IS this?"
• "Underground ain't dead."
• "This beat made my chest tighten. In a good way."
Zaylen leaned back on his bed, headphones still on. Outside, the world moved on, unaware of the tremor he'd just sent through it.
He smiled, whispered under his breath—
"This time, I'm staying awake."