Because I had my doubts.

Our line snaked through a set of double doors. We inched forward and inside; ushers directed us to seats arranged like rows in a theater. I watched the group closely, particularly the younger kids, in case they got noisy. Excited. They couldn’t have sat more still if this was a church service and Newsome was on the stage.

Shortly after the room filled to capacity, the lights dimmed. I slid to the edge of my seat when a speaker emerged on the dais and gave the mic two thumping taps. Cressie.

My sister cleared her throat. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Cressida Rainey, and I have the tremendous honor of introducing today’s lecture series guest. She’s an internet sensation. A social media dynamo. A sharp-tongued, proud ‘nasty’ woman. Above all of those things, she is a lifesaver. If you don’t believe me, listen to the excerpt from a letter our guest received yesterday.

“Aunna G from Clarksville, Tennessee, writes: ‘I didn’t think I belonged on this earth. I dressed different than people in my town dressed. I spoke different than people in my house spoke. Inside, I felt different than what my body expressed to the world. I was so many things—Goth/liberal/Girl—different than what everything around me said I should be. It got hard to live that way, so I sought other solutions. When I put “painless suicide” in the search bar, I expected having to skip over the prevention hotline numbers, and the articles about how to deal with temporary depression. I was prepared for resistance. But, the second search result from the top was a bright colorful thumbnail for a YouTube video. The girl in the picture was gorgeous, beaming. Two things I wanted for myself so badly. The title of the video was “That Time I Almost Killed Myself, and Why I’m Glad I Didn’t Succeed.”

“‘I don’t know how long I sat there. It felt like hours. But the contrast of colors, beauty, and the casual way you spoke on a subject that was causing me immeasurable anguish made me click your next video, and your next, instead of deep-diving for ways to remove myself from this world. Without meeting me, and without knowing it, you saved my life . . .’”

Cressie’s eyes glistened, reflecting twinkling stage lights. “There’s more to the story, and much more to the woman who’s about to take the stage, but I’ll let you see that for yourself. Join me in welcoming the creator of Jaylan Knows, Jaylan Perry Monroe!”

We were a hive mind rising in unison, applauding, as two more people joined Cressie on the dais. A buttoned-up woman in a blue pantsuit like Mom wore, and the woman whose face I’d seen across dozens of videos over the last week. Jaylan was petite, shorter than my sister. Maybe one hundred pounds if you counted the sandalwood bracelets stacked up her forearms and the huge hoop earrings brushing her shoulders. Not a hair out of place; her brown skin glowed. Her smile warmed the coldest heart in the back row.