A new pair of rappers came on stage. One wore suspenders, with one unhooked. The beat started, and it was impossible not to bob your head to it. The first rapper started. He was finding his words, pulling them out of thin air. It was freaking art, not silly rhymes about freshman year and Settlers of Catan. Maybe it was fate that he probably wouldn’t go to Copenhagen this year. He would’ve just wound up embarrassing himself.
Denise, who ran Squadron and first met Coop when he wandered in last fall, came over with a clipboard in her hand. “It’s your time, Coop,” she said. “I’m putting you on the list.”
Coop snapped out of his headspace. “I don’t have anything prepared.”
“I have a slot open during open mic. Don’t worry. I’m not throwing you into battle.”
“I’m still new here, Denise. I’m sure there has to be another rapper who would do this slot better service.” Coop turned on his charm, but it was coiled in a desperate tone.
“Coop, you’ve been here enough. You can’t keep being a spectator. You’re ready.” She wrote down his name on her clipboard. She smacked his chest. “You’ll do great.”
“You will,” Matty said. “If you can create the sunshine bomb off the top of your head, you can rap.”
Making up a drink and freestyle rapping were in totally different arenas. The people at Squadron would eat him alive.
“This is an experiment,” Matty said. “I do experiments all the time. Whatever the outcome is, I always learn from it for next time. Some engineers will conduct an experiment, knowing it will fail, just to see how bad it fails and how they can fix it for next time.”
“So you’re telling me to fail my heart out?” Coop looked at the stage with trepidation. Matty waved a hand in his face.
“You have this.”
The two rappers had sweat soaking through their shirts. The man in the white shirt jumped on stage, with the clipboard in his hand. He asked people to make noise.
Coop didn’t make a sound. His thumping heart counted down the seconds until his humiliation. His leg rattled against the box, putting a dent in the cardboard.
The suspenders rapper won a narrow victory of applause.
“And now for our next performer.” The man in the white shirt picked up the clipboard. “Make some noise for DJ Coop.”
Fight or flight was activated, turned on like a light switch.
“Let’s go.” Coop jumped off the box, grabbed Matty’s hand, and pulled him to the stairs.
“Coop, where you at?” The man asked the crowd.
In seconds, they were upstairs. In nanoseconds, they were outside under the cloudless sky.
Coop charged down the sidewalk, trusting that Matty would be behind him. He couldn’t stop to check. He had to keep walking, had to keep moving away from that space. From that moment.
He peeled around a corner and hid in the opening of a Whole Foods, next to a long row of shopping carts.
He washiding.
Footsteps slapped against the sidewalk. They echoed on the walls around Coop. Matty ran past, frantically searching.
“Matty,” Coop called out.
He spun around and joined Coop at the shopping carts.
“What happened?”
“I was ambushed.” Coop was still catching his breath, still hearing his name being called in front of everyone.
Matty put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s over.”
They breathed in and out together, deep breaths that rolled through Coop’s lungs. Matty’s eyes looked deep into his. He didn’t ask for more explanation, but Coop owed him one. Just not yet. Not when he felt so fragile.
“Sorry,” Coop said.
