Street Fame

The basketball bounced off the rim as the pickup game paused, heads turning toward the sound system at the edge of the court. My track was playing again – the third time this afternoon. Hard to focus on my jumpshot when I kept hearing my own voice.

"Yo Prophet!" called Marcus from the sidelines. Not my cousin Marcus from the radio station, but Marcus Williams from third period English. Last month, he barely knew my name. Now he was wearing a bootleg t-shirt with my lyrics printed on it. "You really got a meeting with Def Jam tomorrow?"

The rumor mill was working overtime. The Def Jam meeting wasn't until next week. I shrugged, trying to maintain the careful balance between approachable and professional that Rico had been coaching me on. In my previous timeline, I'd handled local fame badly at first, either too eager or too distant. This time, I had a blueprint to follow.

"Just keeping my options open," I said, retrieving the ball. But before I could resume the game, a group of kids rushed over from the playground, holding out notebooks and scraps of paper.

"Can you sign these?"

"My sister plays your tape every morning!"

"Is it true you're working with Big Daddy Kane?"

That last rumor made me smile – it wouldn't happen for another year, at least in my original timeline. I signed their papers, remembering how surreal this had felt the first time around. The familiar faces of my neighborhood looking at me differently, like I'd transformed overnight from just another kid to something special.

"Prophet!" A new voice cut through the crowd. Jade Chen, making her way across the court with purposeful strides. My heart did that familiar skip – some things didn't change across timelines. She'd been the first girl I ever fell for, in both lives.

"Hey Jade," I managed, trying to sound cooler than I felt. The crowd of kids dispersed, picking up on the tension.

"You missed study group," she said, arms crossed. "Again."

In my previous life, I'd blown off study group entirely after the music started taking off. This time, I was trying to keep commitments, but the balancing act wasn't easy.

"I know, I'm sorry. The studio session ran long, and then—"

"Save it." But there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Mrs. Rodriguez is worried you're letting all this fame stuff go to your head. Are you still helping with the talent show next month?"

The talent show. I'd forgotten about that commitment completely. In my other timeline, I'd skipped it, focused entirely on my own career. But Jade was right – I'd promised to help the younger kids put together their performances.

"Wouldn't miss it," I said. "Though some of these kids might be better than me soon."

"Nobody's better than Prophet!" one of the younger boys shouted from the playground, making everyone laugh.

Later that evening, walking home from the courts, I noticed more changes in the neighborhood. My tag – the one Rico had insisted I keep consistent across all promotional materials – was showing up on walls. Kids were wearing homemade Prophet shirts. Cars drove by bumping my tracks.

Outside the bodega, I ran into Old Man Jenkins, who'd been running the place since before I was born. In my previous timeline, he'd passed away before seeing my success. Another chance to do things differently.

"Music man!" he called out as I entered. "Your mother must be proud."

I thought about Mom's gradually softening stance, her quiet pride when she heard people praising my songs at church. "She's coming around," I said, grabbing a sandwich and some drinks.

"On the house," Jenkins said when I tried to pay. "Just promise you won't forget us when you're famous."

The weight of those words hit differently now. In my other life, I had forgotten some people, gotten caught up in the whirlwind of success. This time, I was trying to stay grounded, remember every face, every moment.

At home, the answering machine was blinking. Three messages from local promoters wanting to book shows. One from my algebra teacher, surprisingly, congratulating me on maintaining my grades despite everything. And one from Rico.

"Meeting tomorrow morning," his recorded voice said. "Got some things to discuss about handling all this attention. Bring your notebook."

I sprawled on my bed, listening to the familiar sounds of the neighborhood filtering through my window. Someone was playing my track again, the bass echoing off the buildings. A group of kids was attempting to rap along, getting some words wrong but feeling the spirit of it.

My phone rang – the new private line Rico had insisted I install. It was Jade again.

"Just checking you're still on for tomorrow's study group," she said. "For real this time."

"I'll be there," I promised. "After my meeting with Rico."

"Good. Because fame or no fame, you still need to pass Thompson's history test next week." She paused. "I heard your song on Hot 97 today. The new one. It's... different. Good different."

Coming from Jade, that meant something. She'd always been honest with me, in both timelines.

"Thanks. Hey, about the talent show – I was thinking maybe we could..."

A sharp rap on my door interrupted the conversation. Mom, holding up the phone bill with a raised eyebrow. Right. Even with success starting to happen, we still had to watch expenses.

"Gotta go," I told Jade. "See you tomorrow."

As I got ready for bed, I could hear more kids outside, trying to copy my flow, adding their own lyrics. In my previous life, I'd seen this as just part of making it big. Now I understood the responsibility that came with influence, even at the neighborhood level.

Rico's words from our last meeting echoed in my head: "Street fame is the purest kind. These people knew you before, and they'll know you after. How you handle this part sets the tone for everything that follows."

He was right. The bigger stages would come – I knew that better than anyone. But right now, in these streets where every face had a name and every corner held a memory, I had the chance to build something real. Something that would last across any timeline.