The Rhyme Battle

“Queens! Kings! And our fine cosmic beings! I give you our latest and greatest Rhythm Master, Knockout!”

              The entire room exploded with applause and cheers. Marquise smiled and gave a small clap too, but his mind was too preoccupied with what he’d just experienced. The strange shadow was gone now, and Marquise was convinced it was never real at all. But his nerves were still restless. Marquise had to ask himself: If his mind could create so vivid a delusion as that, then just how crazy was he? Imagining dancing shadows was a huge leap from imagining lights no one else could see. Even if the shadow was real, wanting to walk in the middle of Knockout and Queen Dria’s battle couldn’t have been a good idea. The way that the energy cascaded together as it did, there was no telling what effect it would have on his body or his already fragile mind.

              Marquise was so stirred by the gravity of what he felt compelled to do that he continued standing with a stunned expression on his face for some time. Luckily, Jerome and Renée didn’t notice, just as Marquise didn’t notice Jerome wheeling himself away until Renée elbowed him in the side.

              “Boy, can’t you keep up? Come on, we’re going to the stage.”

The stage was a small, metal platform at the furthest edge of the room. It was only a couple square feet in area, so Marquise immediately saw why it wasn’t used for the Rhythm Battle. From the look of things, it was big enough for maybe for or five, not the nearly twenty Rhythm Battle participants. Maybe if the large set of turntables and speakers weren’t carefully squeezed on the right-hand side of the stage, it might have been able to fit more people.

              From his DJ’s corner, The Duke of Gentilly hopped on the mic again, excited to get the crowd ready for the second main event, “Aight nah! Queen Dria and Knockout got the vibe already for us. Now let’s give Knockout some love as she sets the beat! Go head on, hijabi girl, stomp that beat out.”

              With a wide smile on her face, Knockout stepped onto the stage and held out a hand. “There was a moment when I was battling Queen Dria, where our souls clashed and made beautiful music. The type of rhythm that doesn’t go through your whole body, but your whole generation! But only my real ones heard that!”

              Laughs rang out around the room, accompanied by exclamations of “Okay now,” “Don’t hurt 'em like that,” and “Who you telling.”

              Knockout continued, “Way I see it, the best Rhyme Master can spit bars on anything. So I’ll take a second from our battle, just one second, and I’ll use that to lay the track.”

              From her outstretched hand, a blast of orange light shot up into the air. It mixed with the Funk and provided the perfect, sunset hue as the room began to come alive with a warm, buzzing beat. As he bopped his head and swayed his body a bit, Marquise wondered how it was even possible a track this complex came from stretching one second of sound.

              “Ya’ll heard her now! All you rappers, scatters, and singers, gitcho ass up on this stage!”

              Marquise looked over to the left, where the steps to the stage were. To say he was surprised to see Jerome in the long line of competitors wouldn’t be entirely true. He’d figured out that the Rap Battle was what Jerome wanted to see all along. Still, he found his jaw threatening to fall the moment he laid sight of him. The tall bodies of older students stood over Jerome’s small frame in his only-slightly-larger chair. They weren’t like the kids that had lined up for the Rhythm Battle earlier, some of the kids in the line with Jerome looked tougher, harder. In his life, Marquise had met a lot of people--many who’d been through a reality much harsher than his own--who saw rap as their only hope for a decent life. Marquise felt like he was looking at those same people again, multiplied tens of times and all lined up in front of a stage.

              “Just what does he think he’s doing?” Marquise shouted. The beat of the Funk above and all around them helped to drown out his voice, so no one noticed. But even if they had, it’s not like they would have cared, they were all too busy vibing with the party.

              “He’s competing in the Rhyme Battle,” Renée explained, “It’s like the Rhythm Battle earlier, but instead of direct energy manipulation, you use your voice.”

              Marquise was about to clarify what he meant but then surmised from her grin that she was being sarcastic.

              “Come on, there’s no need to worry about him. Jerome’s an Orator prodigy and one of the best rappers on this side of the Gulf. He can hold his own against these guys.”

              “But what if he loses? He’ll be the laughing stock of the whole school!” Marquise pushed.

              Renée shrugged, “He knew the risks. Besides, so long as the Funk stays stable – I hate you for making me say that word, by the way – he’ll be alright. No one will even care so long as they get to keep partying.”

              Marquise knew that she knew both Jerome and the world of NOLA much better than he did, but it didn’t stop him from worrying.

              The Rhyme Master stepped forward. She was a bigger girl, with a very high complexion covered in part by silver, metallic makeup. Marquise immediately recognized her. Magnifike, a south LA rapper, had been getting praise on every social media platform there was. Though not yet signed to a record label, she made a name for herself on music-share and video streaming sites like YouTube and SoundCloud. Marquise couldn’t believe how lucky he was to see her perform live and in person.

              “For our first round,” Magnifike said, “we have Della de la $oul, and Secretidentity!”

              Marquise sighed. He should have realized that nothing ever went the way he wanted it to. He’d have to wait to see Magnifike.

              “Okay so, unlike the Rhythm Battle,” Renée began to explain.

              Marquise cut her off, “Yeah, yeah, I worked it out myself. The Rhyme Master only battles the winner at the end, right?”

              Renée nodded, “The Rhyme Battle is a real fight. The Orators are allowed to use their magic against their opponent. There’s no way anyone, even the Rhyme Master, can go against that many opponents at once.”

              Secretidentity and Della de la $oul stepped up to the stage. The first girl wore a huge, fake, rainbow afro-wig that covered most of her face. A long cape of roses and rhinestones was draped around her shoulders, and beneath the cape, Marquise could see she a rainbow leotard and high-heeled, rainbow boots.

              “I ain’t know the circus was in town!” Della de la $oul exclaimed. Marquise couldn’t believe how short she was. She looked older than him, clearly more of an adult than a girl at that point, but Marquise guessed that if they stood next to each other, she would only barely meet the top of his head. But the way she strode up the stage with an elegant, supermodel walk and patented hair flip indicated a strong personality. Though she was some yards ahead of him on a stage, Marquise felt like Della de la $oul was right next to him, about to crush him under the weight of her large presence.

              Secretidentity began to giggle uncontrollably as she heard Della’s words. Of course, she found nothing funny, the laughs were caused by Della de la $oul’s magic. Secretidentity tried to form the words for a retort, but they only came out as “haha” or “hehe.” Tightening a fist, she let the feeling of sharp acrylic nails cutting into her skin shock her back into reality.

              “Girl, get off me, I am not a ladder!

              Your excuse for a hex fills me with laughter.

              Best take off them shoes when you in my house,

              me and my ancestors boutta take you out!”

              Was it her best work? No. But Secretidentity was still struggling against the effects of Della’s taunt. Every word she spoke fought back a monstrous tide of guffaws. It was difficult for Secretidentity to recall the exact lyrics she’d prepared ahead of time if she ran into a situation like that.

              Marquise squinted his eyes. The color of Secretidentity’s voice was too vibrant. In a way, it appeared more solid than other voices Marquise had seen before. Given her color scheme, Marquise was almost expecting a rainbow pattern, but instead, Secretidentity’s voice was orange. It contrasted entirely with the leaf-green blast that shot from Della de la $oul’s mouth when she spoke.

              At the end of Secretidentity’s rap, Della de la $oul collided with the stage floor. She landed directly on her face and grew hot. She willed her nose not to bleed and struggled to pick herself up. Secretidentity’s rap had caused the heel on her right shoe to break, but that wasn’t all it did. Della found that her head felt foggy and the world seemed to spin all around her. Della didn’t feel like she just stepped off the world’s wildest roller coaster, she felt as if she was still riding it.

              “Get my name out your mouth!” Della de la $oul declared. It was a common chant, but an effective one. Just as she’d hoped, it dispelled the power that Secretidentity placed her under in a matter of seconds. Della de la $oul quickly rose to her feet and launched a counterattack against her opponent.

              “Nerdy ass Black girl too scared to be real,

              better get away now cause I go for the kill!

              Cover your face with that wig, cloak your body, and hide.

              Imma mean old lion and you just caught the wrong side.

              I obliterate, eviscerate, nigga I’ll take you down,

              de la $oul got you running with the tears of a clown!”

              An emerald light shot forward and collided with Secretidentity. She stumbled backward for a second then straightened herself. Just as Marquise thought she was going to respond, the girl began to cry. It wasn’t one of those quiet, slow cries either. Secretidentity cocked her head back and let loose a horrifying wail as a shower of tears spilled from her face. Awkwardly, Secretidentity picked her legs up one after the other, until she eventually found herself off the stage entirely.

              The next competitor stepped up to face Della de la $oul. It was a boy this time, a tall one dressed in a blue hoodie, jeans, and shoes.

              “This Lil Boy Blue and Imma blow this horn,

              I kinda wanna talk to you, but girl are you even grown?

              Saw the shit you just pulled on identity,

              but baby girl, I’m forreal, that ain’t gon’ work with me.”

              True to his name, Lil Boy Blue’s voice echoed across the room with the sharp indigo of the deep sea, and the melodic inflection of the deep South. The crowd began to hoot and holler in support of Lil Boy Blue. But Della de la $oul didn’t seem affected at all.

              Renée leaned over to Marquise to explain, “He’s using his powers on the audience. A Rhyme Battle is just as much about audience support as anything else. Get the crowd on your side, the magic mist is on your side, and it makes your attacks stronger.”

              “Boy, your rhymes are lame!

              Nigga you know you can’t hang with greatest,

              check the latest newspaper with my picture on the cover.

              Ain’t no other girl out here just as bad at me,

              you can’t throw hands at me,

              I think you’d better leave.

              I got that real-real magic I can make you fraid,

              and I got two tough hands that’ll cross your fade,

              I’ll make your colors fade,

              I got your fabrics frayed.

              Abracadabra bitch,

              I spoke and you unmade!”

              Marquise watched the green light shoot forward from Della de la $oul and hit Lil Boy Blue dead in his chest. Just as she’d said, the blue of his clothes grew lighter and lighter, until the color was so faint that Marquise could barely make it out. Tears began to form all across his hoodie and jeans as if Lil Boy Blue was being sliced up by some invisible attacker. Lil Boy Blue took a step back in surprise and immediately regretted it. The second his right foot hit the ground, he stumbled and tripped. The sole had been torn from the bottom of his shoes.

              Marquise excitedly pointed at the stage and turned to Renée, “Did you just see that?! She destroyed his whole outfit and didn’t even touch him!”

              Renée nodded, “You didn’t know Orator magic could do real damage?”

              Marquise shook his head, “I mean, I knew because Jerome told me about it, but he said that it was a rare power.”

              Renée shook her head, “No, not rare. Just very, very difficult to master. I think being in a space like this helps, so you may want to prepare yourself, you’re about to see more.”

              Renée was more correct than even she knew. As the Rhyme Battles went on and the line grew shorter, Marquise saw all kinds of sights. In the very next round, Della de la $oul was defeated after her opponent, Nommo, turned her into a pig. Nommo got theirs immediately after when their next opponent made all their hair fall out. Perhaps the cruelest magic Marquise saw performed occurred in the fifth battle after Della de la $oul’s defeat, when a wannabe comedian named Papa Omega and his hypeman worked together to transform a young lady into an elderly crone. The young girl ran off the stage in tears as the entire room laughed at her. Marquise would always wonder how many of those that laughed were being influenced by the vibe of the Funk like him and how many would have laughed even if no Funk was manipulating them.

              “Jerome’s up next!” Renée suddenly exclaimed, excitedly.

              Marquise whipped his head around to the line. Sure enough, Jerome had made his way to the front of the line sometime when Marquise hadn’t been paying enough attention. Now the boy was pulling his arm back and forth, beckoning Marquise to go towards him.

              Marquise looked over to Renée and saw that her eyes had gone blank as she stared into space. Her mouth hung slightly open as she began to nod her head and mouth some words Marquise couldn’t hear. In a moment, she turned towards him with a sinister grin on her face, “Just heard from Jerome that you’re up, Blood. He wants you to be his hypeman.”

              “Me?!”

              Renée nodded, “Yeah, unless you know someone else named—you know what, I’m not even going to use that joke. There isn’t anyone else in the whole world named Blood.”

              “Okay, Imma need you to use your powers and tell Jerome that just because I like rap doesn’t mean I can do it. Why can’t you be the hype man? You’ve known him longer.”

Renée’s face turned sad as she locked eyes with Marquise, “The truth is, I’ve always wanted to. But the cruel tradition here…a challenger’s hypeman has to be the same gender as them. And I’m not friends with any girls other than Khadija because they think I act too much like a boy. Jerome’s probably my best friend and I can never perform with him because I’m caught between being a girl and not being enough of a girl!”

              Just as he was about to apologize, Marquise remembered who he was talking to. A part of him felt a little bad for doubting her, but his more rational mind told him to wait to see if she laughed before he felt too guilty. The rational mind won out.

              Renée doubled over laughing as she slapped Marquise on his back, “Boy don’t play! I could tell you believed that for a second!”

              “So there is no rule like that?” Marquise asked with a blank, unamused face.

              “Nope! And other than Jerome and X, all my friends are girls.”

              Marquise was annoyed, but also suspicious. Renée had either insinuated that she didn’t see him as a friend (which he was okay with, since they’d only met that day) or that she was including him as one of her girl friends (which he most definitely was not okay with). He suspected it was the latter, but he didn’t address it.

              “All I heard was a list of reasons why you can go instead,” He pushed back, “Again, why me specifically?”

              Renée shrugged, “Boy, I don’t know! Maybe Jerome likes hanging with you and wants to do something fun together. Maybe he thinks you’re funny or something. Maybe he needs someone to help him get his chair onstage and he thinks you’re stronger than me. It could be any reason!”

              “I feel like that last one was the right answer,” Marquise said.

              Renée shrugged again, “What part of my tone makes you think I care?”

              Marquise sighed as he made his way towards the stage. It wasn’t long before he reached Jerome. Upon seeing his roommate, the young rapper said, “Bout time you showed up! Beginning to think you was gonna flake on a brother.”

              “Heard you’d need help with your chair,” Marquise said. Before he could comment that helping with the chair is all he was going to do, Jerome cut him off.

              “My chair? Nah, bruh it’s all good there. Look, Hakim already had that handled,” Jerome pointed a few feet away from the steps, and Marquise followed his finger to one of the tiles. At first, it seemed ordinary, but as Marquise looked away from it, a flicker of light caught his eye. After moving closer, he realized there was the faint reflection of a pictograph painted on the tile: a line-art drawing of a person in a wheelchair.

              “That’s an elevator or something?” Marquise asked.

              “Or something,” Jerome said as he wheeled his chair to the tile. “I’ve seen one of these before. Once I put my chair in the center the magic will activate and the tile will float up to the stage with me on it.”

              “So what am I here for?” Marquise asked.

              “I need a hype man and you seem cool,” Jerome explained. He wheeled himself to the tile and let it carry him up the stage.

              Marquise stood for a moment, seriously considering off. But he didn’t want to do Jerome like that. He still thought Jerome was about to get on that stage and embarrass himself, for sure. But Jerome was the only friend Marquise had at the school, so what kind of friend would Marquise be if he let his friend embarrass himself alone? He climbed the stairs to join him.

              “Are you sure you want to do this,” Marquise asked.

              Jerome turned his head towards his friend, “Bruh. This was the whole reason I let X recruit me!”

              Jerome began to move closer to the center of the stage. Marquise was still nervous about joining him, but he picked up his feet and followed anyway.

              “Look at em, they scared!”

              For the first time since the Rhythm Battle, Marquise had no trouble telling the rhythm of the music from the pounding in his chest. His heart began beating furiously, causing jerky movements that ran throughout his body. His core felt hollow. A hole opened in his stomach and replaced all the slowly digesting food with complete terror. His entire body burned with the heat of a thousand stares turned on him. In his mind, he found himself questioning how he’d even gotten there.

              “Don’t fall for it, they’re just trying to rattle us. Remember, this type of magic is basically a Jedi mind trick. Stay determined and it won’t affect you,” Jerome reassured. He cleared his throat next, then whispered something Marquise couldn’t exactly make out.

              “It’s ya boi!” Jerome called out to the crowd. Marquise saw the familiar, purple bubble of light come out from his mouth. The shockwave created when it popped rippled through the Funk, and Marquise saw its effects immediately.

              The crowd, who had only been blissfully indifferent to Jerome’s presence on the stage thanks to the effects of the Funk, was suddenly roaring in applause. People pointed at Jerome and jumped up excitedly. Chants of Jerome’s name rang throughout the crowd, interrupted randomly by other shouts of approval. A young man in a Saints jersey cupped his hands together and bellowed, “You know!” A girl with long locs weaved together in a single, tight braid screamed, “Aight, lil cousin!” Marquise heard Jerome being claimed by the Ninth Ward, the Seventh Ward, by Broadmoor and Gentilly. Then Brooklyn called out to him, followed by Detroit, Los Angeles, Flint, Chicago, and even Accra, Ghana. With just a single phrase blessed by the power of the Negro Spirit, Jerome was being claimed by every ghetto around the world.

              What truly surprised Marquise, though, was that even he felt a stronger familiarity with Jerome than he had before. Sure, he already considered Jerome a fast friend, but what he felt then was deeper. Jerome didn’t feel like a cool new friend anymore, he felt like a reliable, old one. The type of guy that Marquise could always depend on and trust. Marquise didn’t feel nervous after Jerome spoke those words, and why would he? He was with Jerome; his friend, his cousin, his boy.

              Papa snarled at his minor opponent and was about to make his next move, but Jerome expertly outmaneuvered him and kept the spotlight fixed on himself.

              “Oh, what’s that? I thought a punk said sumn!”

              With a clenched jaw and fist, Papa’s voice remained stuck in the back of his throat.

              Jerome turned to the audience again and began his set.

              Niggas best step off when Jerome pull up,

              I gotta trail of blood, you niggas outta luck.

              Now with my booming baritone, I will make you quake,

              I’ll have ya bopping to the rhythm witcha life at stake!

              I know you feel the hate, your eyes glowing green,

              but ya boy been feeling vicious since I hit the scene.

              So don’t you derogate, and don’t you step to me,

              because I got the type of bodyguard that come for free.

              The ladies call him Marquise.

              He’s tough, he real mean

              and he can hit you so you’ll be spitting Eighteen!

              And now I got you Scooby-Doo, I see you shake and shiver,

              When I beat you with my bars your body start to quiver!

              Papa Omega!

              Aren’t you mister bad?

              Aren’t you the baddest baby boy your mama ever had?

              I’ll give you just one chance; come put me in my place.

              Tonight I’m praying that a nigga get up in my face!

              You’re up next, little man, but Jerome just won the race!

              The crowd erupted into cheers as Papa and his boy stood back, fidgeting in their fresh, clean sneaks. As Jerome spoke, Marquise witnessed a number of bubbles erupt from Jerome’s mouth until they became a single, endless wave of purple that permeated the room. The light washed out and drowned everyone in the room until all their halos took on a slight, purple hue. It was faint, and it flickered in and out, but there was no denying that it was there.

              Marquise looked back at Papa. He wasn’t fidgeting anymore. A sneer took shape across his face as he pointed an accusatory finger at Jerome and Marquise. Then he lowered his finger and directed it towards Marquise’s shoes. Marquise felt knots begin to tie in his stomach again as he realized what Papa was about to do.

              “NIGGA! Triflin, Aladdin lookin-ass nigga! Those the new Tubmans?”

              A burst of yellow light popped and overpowered Jerome’s purple much faster than it had taken the young Negro Spiritual to cast it in the first place. Marquise felt like Michael and Nipsey quaking in auspicious fear as the Wiz’s mighty voice boomed down upon the Emerald City and turned it gold. Worse, he felt like hiding his dirty, tattered, beaten up shoes before Papa could say anything else.

              “Oh what? What? Ya ass ain’t got shit to say now?” Papa taunted at Marquise. Of course, he knew that hype-men weren’t allowed to retort, but Papa didn’t want him to. If the Jerome wanted to play hard, Papa was going to make him work for it by removing the best weapon in any Orator’s arsenal; their hype man.

              The magic taunt worked. Marquise fumbled with his lips as he struggled to figure out what to do. He willed the stammering to stop, but it was as if his own mind wasn’t listening to his thoughts. “b-b-b-b-b….” was all he could get out.

              “Ayo Forest,” Papa began again, “Why don’t you take Sergeant Dan over there for some ice cream and call it a night? He tried his best and his lil rhymes were cute, but it’s a quarter past real nigga hours and we need ya’ll on a healthy sleep schedule for when class starts up again.”

              Jerome and Marquise then locked eyes for one second. They didn’t need Renée or X’s telepathic powers at that moment, they could easily tell what the other was feeling, and they knew precisely what to do.

              Marquise pulled out a hand and laid it flat, palm to the air, then he pulled up the other hand out and slapped the back of it down onto his palm as he shouted, “Boy!”

              “I know you ain’t challenging my intelligence, boy! This was a rap battle and you just rage quit it? Ya need to take your ass back a few grades and remember that cat rhymes with bat.”

              Marquise slapped his hands together again and screamed, “Boy!”

              Jerome wheeled himself closer to Papa, chest puffed up and eyes screaming for blood, “You ain’t nothing but another fake rapper. Fake paper, fake chain, fake tats, fake news! Even that lid you wearing ain’t shit but a cheap fake. Got fifteen thousand points on Wish lookin-ass boy!”

              As soon as he spoke, the familiar purple bubble exited Jerome’s mouth. But this time, when the bubble hit Papa, Marquise watched happily as the bull logo from their opponent’s hat fell to the ground.

              “You ain’t real, you ain’t hard, you cain’t never hope to compete with Magnifike! Nothing but another posing ass nigga!”

              Marquise slapped his hands together with each syllable as he spoke, “You cannot win this!”

              “Now stop disrespecting this stage with your lame-ass presence. Go down to the barbershop to fix that fade, enroll in an online college, and never disrespect the hip-hop genre again.”

              Marquise raised his hand high into the air.

              “You no talent, unverified Instagram, ‘yo check out my SoundCloud’ ass boy!”

              At the very moment Jerome spoke the last word, the back of Marquise’s left hand met the palm of his right. Marquise’s eyes peered wide at the white wave that left his hand. Before he knew it, the wave stretched as far as Jerome’s bubble, at the exact moment the bubble popped.

              Marquise heard a sound, unlike anything he ever had before. It came from his bones and echoed through his body, then projected itself all around the room and back into his ears. Like a laughing drum, it screamed a large, looping ‘o’ sound. The two shock waves merged into one, and the air around it transformed into a ring of streaks the color of the noon and midnight skies.

              The wave plowed through their bodies with impossible strength. Marquise felt every individual hair on his body wiggle under the power of the blast. When it passed through him, his mind was fuzzy but his senses were clear. Marquise could feel, see, and hear just about everything, but his mind didn’t process any of it. Reality just washed over Marquise, and he couldn’t be sure he didn’t prefer it that way.

              The shock wave didn’t stop at Marquise, though. It rang out from the stage to the crowd surrounding it, and throughout the room. It bounced around bodies, objects, and walls like a happy toddler playing with itself. The shockwave overpowered every halo it encountered, and soon the beautiful lights were gone from the people’s bodies. Before anyone knew it, rainbow sparkles were falling from the ceiling, and the entire room seemed a little bit clearer.

              Jerome’s eyes were wide as he screamed to Marquise, but the words didn’t hit the young Blood’s mind properly. Still dazed, he continued looking around the room, awestruck by what he was seeing. Just a few seconds ago, the room had been full of excited, jumping bodies glimmering like Christmas trees. Then it all went away, and Marquise was surrounded by a mob of people. No sparkles, no lights, nothing that made them look special or unique. They were just regular humans.

              “You broke the Funk!” Jerome called out again. Marquise, slowly coming out of his daze, looked over to his friend, who was beaming at him like a child at Christmas.

              “What?” Marquise asked. He was surprised at how clear his voice sounded. That was when he realized that the room had entered a calm silent completely unlike the loud symphony that had been going off around them for the longest. The very air itself had stopped to relax and enjoy its time.

              “You killed the vibe!” Renée screamed from the audience. Marquise saw that she was shoving her way through still, blissful bodies as she came towards the front of the stage.

              Jerome continued ranting about spiritual harmony and rare vibrations. Marquise found it difficult to follow him, and not only because he was using big, magical words that Marquise hadn’t encountered before. Marquise was too busy taking in the odd scene around him. Papa and his hype man were standing to the side, their eyes glossed over as they stood with their mouths agape in small smiles. Everyone in the crowd was poised similarly, with quiet smiles and unfocused eyes. It was like they were hypnotized, each of them dreaming the most spectacular fantasy deep under their trances.

              Renée joined them on the stage, just as Jerome was reaching the end of his explanation. As soon as he’d finished speaking, Renée clarified for Marquise, “When you clapped at the same moment Jerome spoke, your psychic energy merged and grew so strong that it overpowered all the other psychic energy drifting around. The Funk is gone, and there is no vibe to help build a new one! We’re in completely dead air right now.”

              “My nigga!” Jerome exclaimed as he clapped Marquise on the back. Marquise still wasn’t sure exactly what he did, but he was happy that Jerome was happy. Jerome held up a hand, and Marquise slapped it, grasping it tightly in the process.

              “My nigga,” Marquise agreed.

              Just then, Marquise, Jerome, and Renée heard the Duke of Gentilly’s voice over the speakers, “You stupid mother—RUN!”

              A voice called out from the crowd below. The older students were starting to break free from their daze. Their memories were hazy, and their logical reasoning was dramatically slowed down. They knew they were happy before, and then something happened. Something bad. Something that took their happiness away. As they looked up at the stage, all they saw were the kids that did something they knew was bad. And all they felt was…

              “Cruelty,” Marquise said as his eyes widened in horror. All around him were white and red halos. Marquise couldn’t believe it. Less than a second ago, no one had halos, but in the next moment, the room had turned into a sea of the same lights he’d seen during his fight with CJ. But these weren’t children his age, Marquise and his friends were standing down an angry mob of adults. Young adults, yes, but close enough to be real trouble.

              “We gotta get out of here,” Marquise muttered, not talking to any of his friends in particular. He didn’t know how they were going to get out. The L’Ouverture they walked through was on the other side of the room, and there was no way they could fight or run their way past the crowd.

              “What’s the plan here, Jerome?” Renée asked.

              Jerome didn’t respond. He was completely at a loss.