Good. Do not lose that. Nervous means you still care. The second you stop getting nervous is the second you start sounding safe. Safe does not last. You are not here to be safe

She let that sit in her bones. I do not want safe anymore

Yeah he said. I figured that out

Later that night, when she finally made it home, her body felt like it had been hit by weather. Her throat ached. Her shoulders hurt from holding posture all day. Her brain buzzed from too many voices telling her what she was supposed to be. Her apartment felt small and quiet and honest. She loved it for that. She tossed her bag on the floor and sat with her back against her bedroom door and slid down until she was sitting on the carpet

She needed to hear herself again. Not feedback. Not notes. Not story. Herself

She opened her phone and played her demo of Glass Skin. Not the cleaned version. The raw one. Take one. The one Miles recorded in the room with bad foam and folding chairs. Her voice cracked in two places and rushed in one line and dropped off early at the end because she ran out of breath. It was imperfect. It sounded human. It sounded like her. She pressed the phone flat against her heart and closed her eyes and let it play all the way through

She whispered into the empty room My name is Lila. I am a singer. I am not your angle. I am not your product. I am not a storyline. I am not a campaign. I am not your brand. I am a voice. I am mine

Her throat burned when she said it. Her eyes burned too. She let them. She was allowed now

Her phone buzzed again in her hand. She looked down expecting more pressure. But it was a message from her mom. Baby I saw the clip again. I showed your aunt. She cried. I am proud of you. I hope they are being kind. If they are not kind you tell me and I will fly out there and shout at them in the lobby. Do not let them scare you. Your voice is a gift from God and from me. Not from them.

Lila covered her mouth with her hand. A sound came out of her that was half laugh half sob. Oh my God mom no, she typed back. Do not yell at Los Angeles. They will arrest you.

Her mom sent one more I love you. Keep singing. Stay gentle. Stay strong.

Stay gentle. Stay strong.

She leaned her head back against the door and let that line sit inside her chest. Gentle and strong at the same time. Soft and unbreakable. That was who she wanted to be on stage. Not a hurricane that burned out. Not a statue that never moved. Gentle and strong

That night she wrote new lyrics. Slow. Careful. Honest. No plan. No producer in her head. Just truth. She wrote about being told she was replaceable. She wrote about being told she was difficult. She wrote about being told she was drama. She wrote about being told she was not the point. Then she wrote a chorus that said I am the point I am the light I am the one who has to live this life

She did not know yet that those lines would become her first single title later. She did not know yet that kids would scream those words back to her from crowds months from now. All she knew was that the words felt right in her own mouth. Like they fit her teeth. Like they matched her bones

Before she went to sleep she said it again out loud to the dark air of her room like a promise to herself You are allowed to take up space now

And she was

People were already trying to claim her And control her And sell her And frame her And polish her And package her

They were already calling her important

But for the first time in her life she understood something dangerous and holy at the same time

She was not important because they said so

She was important because she decided she was