No Way Out

Malik- Dreams and Delusions

Malik had always been the dreamer of the crew—the one with his head in the clouds, convinced he was just one rap verse away from blowing up and leaving the hood behind. While Shay was tutoring, Keisha was scheming, and Trey was getting into who-knows-what, Malik was laser-focused on his rap career. Not just any rap career either. He was convinced he would be legendary, the next big name to escape the block. All he needed was that one shot.

And today, he was convinced, was the day.

For weeks, Malik had been gearing up for the talent show at Club Eclipse, a local spot infamous for its terrible sound system and overpriced drinks. Most people went there to kill time, but for Malik? This was his stage. He could already picture the crowd going wild, a big-time producer hearing him spit bars and signing him on the spot.

"Yo, y'all better be ready for this heat," Malik grinned at himself in the cracked mirror of his bedroom, adjusting his oversized headphones. He bobbed his head to a beat only he could hear, muttering lines to himself like he was rehearsing for a sold-out concert. "I'm about to blow up tonight."

But his friends? Well, they weren't as convinced.

"Man, don't get your hopes up too high," Trey said from across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "Ain't nobody gettin' signed off a talent show at Club Eclipse. That place barely pays their DJ."

Keisha, lounging on Malik's bed, lazily scrolled through her phone, nodding. "Facts. That spot is a dump. You'd have a better chance performing at the barbershop down the street—at least there, people gotta sit through your whole set."

Malik shot her a look, unphased. "Y'all are some haters. Just wait till I'm headlining Coachella and you're all on my VIP guest list."

Trey snorted. "Coachella? Man, if you don't chill."

Just then, Shay walked in, her shoulders tight with stress from all the drama with Rico that had gone down earlier in the week. She eyed Malik's outfit—a chaotic mix of neon yellow and orange, topped with a chain that looked suspiciously fake.

"Malik, are you ready?" Shay asked, clearly exhausted. "Let's get this over with. I'm still dealing with enough stress to last me the rest of the year."

Malik, undeterred by the lack of faith, grabbed the mic he'd been practicing with and grinned. "Y'all can laugh all you want, but tonight? I'm going to shut this whole city down."

Club Eclipse was exactly as Malik had imagined—and by that, I mean it was a mess. The floors were sticky, the neon lights buzzed like they were about to short out, and the crowd was already halfway to drunk when they walked in. The place reeked of sweat and bad decisions, and Malik's first thought was that if he made it big, this would be the story he'd tell in interviews: how he came from the bottom.

There was a kid juggling flaming batons onstage when they arrived, and Malik had to force himself not to look at the amateur fire show about to go horribly wrong. "This is it," he whispered to himself as he passed by a dude who seemed to be yodeling. He'd seen weirder things in his neighborhood, but this? This was a whole new level.

"Yo, we got this," he muttered as he watched the juggler nearly set his own pants on fire.

Keisha gave him a look. "If by 'this,' you mean we're about to witness a disaster, then yeah, we sure do."

When Malik's name was called, he strutted onto the stage with all the confidence of a man who thought he was about to change the world. His heart was pounding, adrenaline racing through his veins, but this was what he lived for. This moment.

"Yo, yo, yo, what's good, y'all?" he shouted into the mic, only for the sound system to screech loudly enough that the front row covered their ears.

Malik winced but kept going. "Y'all ready for some real heat?"

The audience murmured, barely paying attention. One guy in the back yelled, "Just start already!"

Unfazed, Malik launched into his first verse:

"Yeah, it's Malik, I'm slick like oil in a pan,
Got my rhymes flowin' quicker than a fan,
I'm the hood's big dream, the king on the rise,
Imma be the next legend, no surprise!"

He closed his eyes, letting the beat carry him. He could feel it—this was the performance of his life. But when he opened his eyes, reality hit him like a freight train. The crowd wasn't vibing at all. A few people were nodding along, but most were too busy drinking, chatting, or scrolling through their phones to care.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

"THAT'S MY BABY!" a voice boomed from the back of the club.

Malik's stomach dropped. He froze mid-verse, his eyes widening in horror. There, standing by the bar, waving her arms and screaming like it was some middle school talent show, was his mom.

"Mom, no!" Malik hissed into the mic, trying to continue his set while dying inside.

But it was too late. She kept going. "Y'all better support my son! Malik's the best!"

In the back of the club, Trey and Keisha were doubled over, laughing so hard they could barely stand. "Yo, your mom's the real hype man!" Trey howled.

Shay just buried her face in her hands. "This is a train wreck."

Malik tried to ignore the chaos and keep rapping, but it was over. His confidence evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. His voice cracked as he rushed through the rest of his verse, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

"Uh, yeah, that's fire, no doubt,
I'm the one everybody talkin' about,
Y'all better keep watch, 'cause I'm comin' quick,
Bout to drop bars harder than a brick—"

It was painful. When he finally finished, the applause was lukewarm at best. Maybe out of pity, maybe out of confusion. Either way, it wasn't the reaction Malik had imagined.

He slunk off the stage, wishing he could disappear.

Before he could escape, his mom rushed over and wrapped him in a bear hug. "You were amazing, baby! I'm so proud of you!" She beamed, oblivious to the fact that her pep rally had just killed whatever momentum Malik had left.

"Mom," Malik groaned, trying to wiggle free. "Can you please not do this right now?"

After the show, Malik sat in a booth at the back of the club, staring at the floor, feeling like his whole world had collapsed. He had been so sure this was his moment, and now? Now he was the guy whose mom embarrassed him at the club talent show. The whole thing felt like a cosmic joke.

That's when a man in a cheap suit approached him. "Hey, kid. You got something special," the man said, flashing a crooked smile.

Malik looked up, eyes wide with hope. "For real?"

The man nodded and handed Malik a card that looked like it was printed at a gas station. "Name's Louie. I'm a producer. I can help you blow up."

Malik's heart leapt. This was it! Someone was finally seeing his talent. He didn't even notice Trey, Keisha, and Shay watching from across the room, all shaking their heads in unison.

"Don't do it, Malik," Shay called, but Malik was already sold. His dreams were finally coming true—or so he thought.

As he left the club that night, clutching Louie's card, Malik could hear the man's words echo in his head: You're gonna be big, kid. Real big.

What Malik didn't realize was that "big" wasn't always what you wanted it to be. But he'd find out soon enough.