The first day of Hip Highschool, I have looked forward to this since the womb. From birth to the tomb, me and my boy Z-Jay have been waiting to bloom.
We have had it rough all throughout middle school and kindergarten, still trying to look forward and not get disheartened. But excitement flows as I know for the next three years me and my brotha will sharpen, our bars till we’re glowing like a tarpon, cause for the next three years, we won’t be parting.
C. Jole, the name I was given at birth, ever since I stepped onto this earth, I’ve felt like making it my turf. Since I started rapping I’ve realised my worth, in the future they’ll be singing along to my verses like psalms in the churches.
Z-Jay, my best friend and partner in crime, we ain’t fucking but we’re like Bonnie and Clyde. We’ve been trying to make it inside for awhile PAUSE!, “Wait not, like that, I meant” We’ve been trying to make it into the school for awhile.
As my Jordans touch the concrete and we enter the building, nothing could ever sway my good feeling, this mausoleum of teaching which before I’m figuratively kneeling, my excitement aint concealing. In these halls you never know who you could be meeting, from a platinum seller to a drug dealin’, addict who’s known for stealing.
Standing here with the new recruits, everyone dressed in dripped out suits, from Gucci, Prada to Yeezys boots, but me and Z-Jay are the ones who are the most juiced. Being this clean is giving me the greatest confidence boost, me and my boy are the roosters up in this roost.
The teach starts showing us around the high, she started at the drug corner and she seemed to imply that this was for the ones who were the wrong kind of fly. Not gonna lie, so far my pants were pretty dry.
The teacher now takes us to the “Boddy”, their lobby, where some kid is looking white and snobby. He’s giving me this look like he’s looking at a Bugatti, meanwhile some dude up in my face promoting some mixtape, wants to give me a copy.
I quickly make eye contact with the man and he seems manic, probably a high addict. With frantic moves the teacher calls over security, gigantic men that topple him like the iceberg did to Titanic.
As you see him get dragged out of the school, without a flinch the teacher keeps the tour going without losing her cool. The next spot she shows she explains “is made for duels” it’s in the middle of the school where contestants battle with words as their tools.
It’s a huge space with room for crowds of plenty, right now it’s empty but it could probably fit ten times twenty. She explains that here bouts of many have been settled, for rewards greater than any penny, and that these battles have been all but friendly.
Suddenly I feel an arm rest upon my shoulder, as I turn around I’m met with a humble smile that almost looks like it belongs to someone much wiser and older than a young teenage stoner.
He has long brown dreads and looks like someone with no interest in the blues or the reds, a boy not controlled by trends.
“YoOoo, dUuDe” he says as he throws up hand signs, looking like gang signs. “GnaAarly drip my brotha, like them jordans.” He continues
“Thanks bro, I got them for christmas, from my dad Michael.” I say.
“Ahh, dope, the name’s Marilyn Jane”
“Nice to meet ya MJ, Name’s C, C. Jole.
“Ah, cOoL, what does the C stand for?”
“Bless your ears for receiving this knowledge, but the truth is that it is Casey. But I keep it C. And I keep my bars A. HAHA, will definitely use that in a line.”
“Ah for sure, that was a bar and a half!“
Suddenly the teacher yells, louder than the sound of firing shells, we’ve arrived at our classroom and it’s time to enter our seats, the students hit their chairs making sounds similar to that of a war drums beats.
“Alright we better do as she says, see you around Jole” MJ says as we depart to also settle down on our chairs.
“Ey it was nice meeting you bro, see you.” I say as I nod at MJ.
The whole class now in their seats, they have come here from all kinds of streets,
now sitting in silence feeling the tension increase, like the moments before a war breaks out, removing the peace. Suddenly the words of the teacher come fast like a dumbass racing a tesla they just leased.
She begins explaining how the system works, and in an instant all of the students’ ears perked.
In Hip High your skills will be sharpened like the sword of an ancient samurai, you’ll bleed, sweat and cry, most of y’all will feel like you want to die. But if you manage to graduate from the high, you’ll instantly blow up as an artist and your worries will go bye bye.
From this knowledge my pants had gotten wet. This place would turn me into a hardened rap god, I BET! It wouldn’t matter if for this opportunity I’d have to play roulette, I’ll even become their marionette or the devil’s advocate.
She continues her introduction by telling us about the rap enclosure and the excitement almost makes me lose my composure. The area is only open once a month on the 28th day and that’s when you get to settle bouts for fame, clout and exposure, but don’t think about stepping in if you’re mediocre, that’s career suicide, your career will be over.
This stage for lyrical battle sounds like a space for the psychos to unravel, and engage in combat till one bites the gravel. Getting caught up in all of that just sounds like a hassle, I’d rather stay away then fall in battle.
This is the lesson I’ve felt most awake, and I wonder how much time has even passed when the teacher suddenly calls LUNCH BREAK.