Rythm & Grind

The sun was setting as I made my way down the familiar streets of my neighborhood. The air was thick with the kind of heat that only came during late summer in the city. It was the same heat I'd felt before, the kind that didn't just come from the sun, but from the tension hanging in the air. It had been a while since I'd felt it this strongly, but I could sense it now. The streets were buzzing—people were talking, and not all of it was positive.

Rico and I had been bouncing ideas off each other about the next track when I decided to take a walk, clear my mind, and catch some fresh air. The music was still stuck in my head, but so was that look Marcus had given me. It was like everyone knew I had potential, but now that the pressure was on, I had to make sure I wasn't just a one-hit wonder. I needed more than that.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't notice the group of guys standing near the corner of the alley until I was almost right up on them. One of them was leaning against the wall, arms folded, a look in his eyes like he'd been waiting for something—or someone.

The guy was maybe a couple years older than me, but something about the way he looked at me made it clear he thought he was somebody. I couldn't place him right away, but his face was familiar. I'd seen him around the neighborhood before, but we'd never really crossed paths.

As I got closer, the guy pushed off the wall and stepped in front of me. His crew, about four guys in total, stood behind him, all eyeing me with that same judgmental glare.

"Yo, yo, yo. Ain't you that kid who dropped that diss track?" the guy said, his voice low and almost mocking. His tone wasn't questioning, it was like he was already trying to size me up, decide if I was a threat or a joke.

I stopped in my tracks, my instincts kicking in. I hadn't seen this coming.

"What's it to you?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, though my heart was already racing. I didn't back down.

He smirked, eyes flicking over me as if looking for a reason to cause trouble. "I don't know, man. I think you got a little too big for your britches. Your little diss track? Ass, you ain't on Blaze's level. You just a hype beast."

I wasn't about to let him get under my skin. I knew what he was trying to do. The diss track had clearly gotten to him, and now he was trying to play me like a fool, like he could take me down a peg. But I didn't let the words land. Instead, I just looked at him, unblinking, waiting to see how far he'd take this.

"I'm not here for that, man." I raised my hand slightly, trying to keep things from escalating. But the guy wasn't done yet.

He took a step closer, his chest puffed out. "Yeah, well, the way I see it, you're just another soft-ass rapper who thinks he's tough because he got a little attention. Ain't nothing but a little kid talking big behind a mic. And now you think you're special?"

His crew chuckled behind him, egging him on. But then, he stepped even closer, his face inches from mine. "You don't belong here, Kj. Not on these streets. Not with the real ones. You ain't nothing but a little gimmick."

My hands curled into fists. I could feel the heat in my chest, the anger building up, but I held it in. I wasn't going to let myself fall into the trap of showing weakness. That's what they wanted.

And then, out of nowhere, I heard someone from behind me shout.

"Yo, get the fuck away from him!"

The guy who'd been talking took a step back, clearly not expecting the sudden interruption. A few of his crew looked over, and for a split second, there was a tense silence. But then, a few more guys stepped out from the shadows—members of the local gang in the neighborhood. The Hill Street Kings.

One of them, Dre, was the first to step forward. He was a big dude, always carrying that confident swagger that said he wasn't someone you messed with. Dre was the kind of guy you knew had been through it all—grind, struggle, pain—but he still had that commanding presence. He wasn't someone you'd want to catch the wrong side of.

"What the hell you think you're doing?" Dre's voice was deep, the kind that carried weight.

The guy in front of me, whose name I still didn't know, immediately stiffened. He looked at Dre, then back at me, like he couldn't believe what was happening. The disrespect was real, but now it was getting checked.

"Nah, man, it ain't even like that," the guy muttered, though his voice shook slightly. "We just talking. Ain't no beef."

Dre stepped closer. "You better watch who you talk to like that. Kj good with us." He pointed at the rest of his crew, and the other members took their places behind Dre. It was clear—I was protected.

I didn't move, but I felt a rush of relief, the tension I hadn't realized I'd been holding slowly fading away. These guys had my back—had my back because of the music. I was starting to realize just how much respect I'd earned just by dropping one diss track. But that wasn't just because of the track. It was because I wasn't just another kid on the block anymore. I was somebody.

The guy who'd been talking to me was visibly nervous now, his hands twitching as if unsure whether to back off or try to argue his way out. His crew had gone silent, unsure of how to react.

"I didn't know you rolled with them," the guy said, trying to play it off, but his words were shaky now.

"Next time, stay in your lane," Dre warned, his voice steady, cold. "You don't want to catch the wrong kind of smoke. Especially not with Kj."

With that, the guy and his crew turned and started walking away, casting a few glances back over their shoulders. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to.

Dre turned to me, a slight grin crossing his face. "You good, kid? Don't let these fools talk down to you. You've been putting in work, and they're just jealous."

I nodded, feeling a little lighter now. "Yeah, I'm good. Appreciate it, Dre."

As the group started to disperse, Dre slapped me on the back, his hand heavy but full of support.

"Just keep doing your thing, Kj. You've got a future ahead of you. Don't let anyone tell you different."

I watched as Dre and his crew disappeared down the street. In that moment, I understood something more than just the street hustle. Music wasn't just about getting on stage or dropping bars. It was a way to claim respect. To stand up for who you were.

And right then, I had it. I wasn't just Kj anymore. I was somebody.