“Good night, New York,” he spoke into the microphone and swaggered backstage. Wisps of smoke erupted from hidden machines and enveloped the stage. In the first row, I squinted to see the rapper, but he had disappeared in a gray wisp. I desperately wanted an autograph. I had a Sharpie and was ready for him to sign my shoes or my baseball cap, or even my sweatshirt.
	 “Truth” ran across the front and back of my sweatshirt in gold lettering, horizontally. The rest of the sweatshirt was violet color. I wore dark, blue jeans and purple sneakers to match my sweatshirt. My baseball cap had “Truth” in gold, while the rest of the hat was grey. I took my backstage pass and walked to his tour bus after the crowd subsided. Thirty other fans stood anxiously outside of the bus with their “Truth” paraphernalia ready to be signed. I wormed my way through the mob of fans, pushing and shoving until I was only a few feet away from the bus. Rosa was probably waiting for me in the arena parking lot, wondering where I was. I took out my phone and called her.
	“Donde estas Tracey?” Where are you? 
	“I’m still trying to get an autograph,” I responded.
	“Well, hurry up before your father gets home.”
	It was a huge risk for Rosa to drive me in her pickup truck to the concert in secret and I was slightly nervous throughout the whole night. I was a thirteen-year-old kid who had snuck out at night to go to a concert. I was always a nervous person, someone who always followed rules and followed directions. A goodie-two-shoes. But my Dad was on a business trip to Tokyo and wasn’t getting home until three or four AM. Mom was fast asleep at home recovering from plastic surgery. She had surgery because “her nose was misshapen.”
	After a couple more minutes of waiting, a group of adolescent boys, about the same age as me, started to chant: “Truth! Truth! Truth!” I joined in, hoping, praying that Truth would come out. The chant died down after about a minute. Still no Truth.
	Rosa was probably worrying now, so I started to the stadium parking lot. I detached myself from the mob and started to walk. However, I turned around because I heard gasps and whispers. The electronic door of the bus slowly slid open. I rushed back to the mob, but the other fans had already beaten me. I was shoved back to the very outside of the mob of fans. Once the door finally opened, I expected  to see Truth swagger out. Instead, a portly man stood in the doorway. He wore a black shirt , black slacks, and a black earpiece in his ear. 
	“Truth will sign autographs for twenty fans. The rest of you, go home.” 
	All at once, fans pushed and shoved to get in front of the bus. I was dead last. Twenty excited fans got their shoes, shirts, jackets, and pictures signed. Minutes later, Truth entered  the bus, with a clatter of noise behind him. The remaining  fans started to walk. Behind me, I heard the bus’ electric door slid closed. I turned around one more time to see the bus accelerate away from the stadium and onto the street.
	I was denied of a meeting with my favorite rapper, my idol. However, the concert was amazing, and the night was beautiful. I quickly walked over to where the bus was once parked and started towards Rosa. I kicked a leftover beer can while walking. There was something weird about the can though. It was solid and painted gold. It was cylindrical without any marks or pictures on it, unlike any other beer can I had ever seen. I picked the cylinder  up and felt it in my hands. It was cold to the touch, and smooth. It could have been a case for someone’s glasses left behind. The case was made out of a metal material and had a slit through the middle. Maybe if I just twisted-- 
	Beep! Beep! Beep! 
	I pocketed my newfound treasure and ran  to the car. 
	“What took you so long?!”
	“I was waiting in line to get an autograph, but they only allowed twenty people. When I was walking away I stepped on this little metal cylinder and . . .”
	“It doesn’t matter. We need to get home quick, before Mr. Goodman comes home,” Rosa worried.
	We tore out of the parking lot and onto the highway, finally arriving to Hampton, New York. 
	“Thank you so much, Rosa! I’ll never ask anything of you again, I promise,” I hugged her and got out of the car. She rolled down the window of her pickup truck.
       “Tracy,” she whispered, “I’m glad you had fun, but you can’t tell you parents that I brought you there. Make sure you get into the house quietly and make sure to . . .” 
      	“I know, I know. I’ll be fine.”
      Rosa peeled away from the house, tires skidding on the asphalt. I walked to the door and reached under the planter for the keys. I did my best to make as little noise as possible as I found the keyhole and twisted the knob. My vision was cut off completely. I slipped my shoes off and felt my way to the staircase to the right of the door. The smooth marble was cold to the touch, but masked the noise of my footsteps as I inched farther to my room. My room was parallel to the staircase, the first door on the left. Directly across from my mother’s room, which served as a problem. I assumed  she was sleeping so I crept stealthily to my room. One hand on the door frame and one hand on the doorknob, I twisted.
      “Tracy. What are you doing?” I was mistaken. She sat up in bed, squinting into the darkness. The medication must’ve worn off. 
      “Just getting some water, mom. You can go back to bed.” 
      “How long have you been down there? I didn’t hear your door open,” she questioned.
      “Oh, um, I went to the bathroom too,” I stammered.
      “Okay,” she seemed suspicious. “well, get some sleep because Rosa is taking  you to school in the morning instead of me. Goodnight.”
      “Night, Mom.”
      That was too close. If my mom had asked me to step into her room, and turned on her lamp, she would have seen my clothes.
      Slightly shaken, I tiptoed back to my room and closed the door softly behind me. I sat up on my bed and pulled the capsule out of the pocket of my jeans. I looked for the slit in the middle, and twisted. The inside was Styrofoam-lined and had a hole in one side of the capsule. I stuck my forefinger through the hole and hit something smooth and solid. I hooked my finger around the object and pulled out a USB drive, covered in more gold painted metal. Why would someone have left behind such an expensive-looking case? Without even thinking, I flipped open my laptop and booted it up. The screen flickered to life and I reached my home screen. The time was 1:03 AM. I carefully inserted the USB as though not to damage it, and waited. Immediately, the USB was recognized.  I double-clicked on an icon labeled “No Name.” There was no possible way to know who the original owner of the flash drive was. 
      Usually a USB opens a half-screen full of its contents, but this one was different. Instead, the USB opened to a full screen, again, the color gold. There was a small screen in the bottom left corner with a map and a blue arrow pointing north. Under the map was a coordinate. What location was this map suggesting? I clicked on the arrow hoping to learn more, but the contents of the USB finally appeared. Three documents were horizontally aligned in square icons across the middle of the full screen. That was the full content of the USB. 
      I clicked on the first box, which expanded into a rectangle with a play button, stop button, a rewind button, and a fast-forward button. It was a music file. I set my computer down and tiptoed to my nightstand to rummage through its contents. I pulled the headphones out of the nightstand and plugged them into the computer. I pressed play, and lowered the volume as well. At first, I could hear nothing. Seconds ticked on the music’s time, until finally I heard the slow rhythm of bass. It was hip-hop music, and catchy too. The two other songs were hip-hop, similar to the composition of the first song. I listened to the songs repeatedly trying to make sense of the lyrics.
      Still listening to one of the songs, I found the map again in the bottom- left corner of the screen. I clicked twice on the map and it expanded to fill the whole screen. Instead of coordinates below the map, there was an address. The address read: 731 North Elm, Hampton, New York, 11930. It took me a while to realize that the USB was also a global positioning system. The address was mine. I also realized another device would be tracking the location of the USB, my address. Maybe the tracking device was just a safety precaution. I kept this thought to ease my anxiety.
      After school the next day, I raced up to my room as soon as Rosa dropped me off at home.
      “Where do you think you’re going so fast?” my father inquired. He arrived at the house at around four in the morning and had the day off. He stood at the top of the staircase, quizzically staring down at me. 
      “I was just heading up to my room to finish some work. So I could hang out with friends. Yep, just homework,” I babbled.
      “Well, okay, but slow down next time.” He walked down the stairs, dragging his feet sluggishly to the kitchen.
I headed for my room, taking the stairs two at a time. I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me. Again, a flash of white played across my computer screen, as I waited for it to load. I went to get the USB from its hiding place. The USB was tucked into an old Christmas sweater that my aunt had knit for me. I unfolded the sweater and my hand found the golden metal of the USB case. I threw the sweater back into the closet and unscrewed the USB case.
       Now that my computer was on, it made three short beeping noises. That meant a new e-mail. Getting comfortable in my seat, I clicked open the e-mail inbox on the screen. I had received a new e-mail from my friend, Dwayne. I sent the music files from the USB to Dwayne’s e-mail, thinking he might enjoy them. The e-mail read: “I love the songs! The beats are amazing and the lyrics are really good. Are the songs going to be on Truth’s new album? I searched online but couldn’t find anything. I hope you don’t mind that I sent the songs to a couple other people. Anyways, thanks for sending them!  - Dwayne”
       After listening to all three of the songs, over and over again, I hadn’t realized that the voice on the song was Truth’s. I scooped up the USB next to me and plugged it into my computer. Again, the full screen of gold appeared, and so did the map. The blue arrow blinked on the map and my address and coordinates were revealed on the bottom. The song files remained in the middle of the screen. I opened each song and concentrated on the voice speaking the lyrics. They were Truth’s. By some bizarre accident I had obtained the USB of a hip-hop superstar, with three songs that could have possibly been unreleased. I retrieved the cell phone buried in my backpack, and held down the number “2” on my dial pad. Dwayne was on speed dial. He picked up on the fourth ring.
      	“Hello?” he answered. His speech was muffled and there was noise in the background.
      “Dwayne, remember when you said you sent the songs to a few other people? How many people?”
      “Oh, I sent all three songs to about five or six people, then those people forwarded the song to their friends. These songs are really catchy, man!” 
      “I don’t think I’m supposed to have these songs, Dwayne,” I worried.
      “What? What are you talking about?” I could barely here his last words. Music and laughter erupted in the background.
      “I went to one of his concerts and I found this USB on the ground and when I brought it back home it–“ The call dropped.  I called him back twice more but both calls sent me straight to his voicemail
       I turned back to my computer and began to type. Once I was sent to my social networking page, I checked the news feed. Most of the posts were the same: links to the Truth songs I had given to Dwayne. The songs I had shared with one friend went viral in a day. I had just prematurely released three hit songs from the USB of one of the most popular music artists in the music business
       I knew there was no way to stop the popularity of the songs, so I sat in my room and thought, “How much trouble could I get in for sharing the music?” If no one found out that I had shared the music, I was in the clear. And I felt exhilarated because I went against a rule that probably shouldn’t have been broken. I opened the menu of the USB and clicked the play button on the first Truth song. I bobbed my head to the music, concentrating on nothing else but the song. I was even mouthing the lyrics of the song because I had memorized them after listening so many times. I memorized every melody and beat of the song and how long each song lasted. 
      Ding Dong! That part of the song wasn’t familiar to me. I lowered the volume and listened again. The doorbell had just rung and its sound echoed throughout the house. I thought my mother or father would get it. I turned my music back up and continued to listen. As I stared at the menu of the USB, I noticed something different. Instead of the usual blue arrow on the map, the arrow flashed red. My address and coordinates remained the same, but the arrow faced south, in the direction of my house.
      Ding Dong! Again the doorbell rang. I stood up from my chair and walked out of my room and into the hallway.
      “Mom! Dad! Someone’s at the door!” There was no response or shuffling of feet to the front door.
      Ding Dong! Ding Dong! The person at the door was persistent. Maybe a salesman, I thought. Irked by this interruption I walked down the stairs and opened the front door. 
      “Good evening, we’re looking for a Mr. Tracey Goodman?”
      
	
	
 Truth, 6-8, p.1