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( CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: THE RUGRATS OF NEW YORK ) July, 1993
❝ this is 'bout to get real hood. ❞
◯
Today was the day. It was the day that would determine the future cast for Breakthrough— and Devon Emmet felt sick to his stomach. So far, his first 24 hours in Harlem was filled with shunning, scorn and mockery. Devon Emmet quickly became the laughingstock of New York. The breakers of the city heard about his proposal to make a movie about their street dancing, and they did nottake kindly to the idea.
They thought it was a joke. Which meant that every dancer, far and wide, wouldn't touch Devon orthis movie with a thirty-foot pole. Which meant that The Drumhad to get creative. He needed to go out of his comfort zone. So, the second the young fiery-eyed dancer got up the next day, he went with Tyron to scout out new dancers.
They met at the peak hour of 5am, since the open auditions for Breakthroughwould commence later that day, Devon had to act fast. Luckily, the young dancer has always been an early riser. They both took the underground Subway, Tyron claiming that the best breakdancers would freestyle throughout various stops. Devon believed him, mainly because he distinctly remembered a time in the 80s when he would take the transit line for school. There, he would alwayssee dancers lurking around each stop.
As Devon tightly gripped the dangling handle that hovered above his shoulder, he steadied his swaying body as the train zoomed towards its first stop. The subway was fairly busy, as expected, but thankfully, they managed to board the train before peak hours—where stations would be packed with career-hungry citizens and noisy school kids.
Still, Devon didn't miss the polluted train carts and the spray-painted doors, handles and walls. And oh, don't even get him started on the damn rats. At times like these, he missed Janet's extravagant, Malibu beach house. "You're about to be blown away, Drum," Tyron piped up, paying Devon an excited glance.
Devon nodded sternly, still slightly unconvinced. He didn't have much hope, this was his last chance to recruit dancers, and if he failed, this whole project would fail. "I hope you're right," Devon mumbled back, meaning every word.
As soon as the train slowed down, Devon and Tyron approached the door, ready to arrive at their first stop. At every station, there were different dancers, and Devon intended to explore every single station for talent. Yes, he was thatdesperate, and Tyron promised him that he would find what he was looking for—Devon just hoped he was right.
As Tyron and Devon stepped out onto the cement platform, Devon's eyes observed the station curiously. Garbage was littered everywhere, black spray paint was smeared across the chain link fences and brick walls. The station was fairly quiet, except for a group of dancers at the very end of the platform, crowding around a boom box.
