Jaylen sat in Ms. Greene's classroom after the bell rang, the rest of the students gone, laughter echoing faintly down the hallway. He stayed behind, not because he had a question, but because he didn't want to go home yet—not to an empty apartment, not to more silence.
Ms. Greene noticed.
"You writing again?" she asked, glancing at the notebook in his hand.
Jaylen nodded.
"Can I hear something?"
He hesitated. Nobody outside his block had ever read his verses. Not even his mother.
But something about Ms. Greene made it feel safe. So he read:
**"We learn math, but not money,
We read books, but not struggle.
They teach us dates of war,
But never how to fight our own battles."**
She didn't interrupt. When he finished, she exhaled like the words had punched the air from her lungs.
"You ever think about applying to the creative program at East Side Prep?" she asked.
Jaylen blinked. That was the fancy school. Clean hallways, working computers. Real chances.
"I don't got grades for that."
"You've got a voice," she said. "That matters more than a letter on paper."
Later that evening, Jaylen found Tyrell posted up near the corner store, passing a blunt between two boys he didn't recognize. The way they looked at Jaylen made him nervous.
"You straight?" Ty asked, stepping forward.
Jaylen nodded. "I got offered something."
Ty raised a brow. "What kind of something?"
"A way out. Maybe. East Side Prep."
Ty was quiet for a long moment. Then he said something Jaylen didn't expect.
"Take it. Don't look back."
"But what about—"
"Don't worry about me," Ty interrupted. "Just promise me you'll get out before the block takes you in."
It was the first time Ty ever sounded scared.
And Jaylen took that fear and folded it into his dream.