Star: Tyler, The Creator

1. Reality Check

Rose was up next.

She felt the palms of her hands begin to sweat.

She got on the stage, sitting on the seat as the lights blinded her.

She squinted—not being able to see the audience in the darkly lit coffee shop. Rose adjusted the mic as she bit her lip, strumming her guitar.

It was her first time singing in front of an audience—regardless of how small the gig was, it was something.

Her voice shook a little in the beginning, but luckily she had more control over it than she thought.

There was clapping, shouting, and whistling from the audience. They loved her voice.

She smiled lightly as she took the mic in her hand, a little more comfortable now that the nerves were beginning to set away.

"I'm Rose, I'm a singer and songwriter. This next one I wrote a few days ago...so, enjoy."

She set the microphone on the handle as she began to strum again.

...

Rose thanked everyone, walking off the stage to the side. Another man in his late thirties made his way up with his guitar. A fifteen minute set had gotten her a mere thirty-five dollars and a coffee shop gift card for fifteen.

She sighed as the manager walked away after handing her the envelope.

Rose watched the man perform on the side—he had a real Ed Sheeran vibe to him and it wasn't at all her cup of tea.

She crouched down and began to pack up her guitar in the case.

"You Rose right?"

She looked over at the man's shoes, then her eyes traced up to his face.

This had to be a dream.

"Did I say it wrong?" He grinned, noticing her eyes widening.

Rose got up quickly, placing a braid behind her ear.

"Yeah, Rose," she smiled lightly.

He put his hand out for her to shake.

"Like the flower. That's sick. I'm Tyler."

Of course she knew who he was.

Rose played it off.

"What're you doing here?" She asked.

"I come here a lot when I'm looking for new shit. I'm tryna find vocals for this thing I'm working on."

"Oh,"

"Your voice is sick. Those runs you did during the first song were insane. You wrote that?" His eyebrows raised a little.

"Yeah, I write all my stuff..." Rose couldn't hide her smile. If it was a tad quieter he could probably hear her heartbeat through her chest.

He nodded, crossing his arms in front of him. He adjusted the fro pick in his hair.

"Send me some of them runs," he checked around in his pockets for something. T pulled out a receipt and a pen from the table next to him. "Send them to this email." He handed her the crumpled paper with an email on it.

Rose nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.

"I will."

"Cool. Get home safe."

"You too."

She watched him turn and leave with the friends he was with.

It was surreal.

...

Rose made her way out of the café.

It was 11:45 pm.

The shop closed, and so did every other store around her. She looked over at her car—an old red Volkswagen from 1977. It was her dad's baby. At least that's what he always referred to it as. She could care less.

She sunk into the car's seat as she breathed out.

Her first night alone in LA.

The City Of Angeles.

She was in her dream city, away from everything she hated. But she felt so alone. Made sense, she always imagined running away wouldn't feel so great.

She took her phone over her face as she looked through the messages her parents had sent her the night before.

Where are you?! Rose you better be home by the time your dad gets here. We have church tomorrow morning.
-Mom, 8:45 pm

I told you I was done.
-Me, 8:50 pm

Rose went over the argument with her parents over and over. It was always so suffocating living with them; all her life it felt like she couldn't breathe. Growing up in Texas it was always church, school, and nothing but strict rules. That was the cycle.

It didn't help that her dad was the pastor of the church, either. He always wanted to seem like the perfect family.

She was sick of it.

Although she resided in the dorms at Texas State, she hated it. She couldn't even do anything without her perfect christian cousin roommate telling them everything she was doing. It was a nightmare.

Being there two years was torture enough.

After her parents found out that she had been ditching class and sneaking out of the dorms did they give her an ultimatum—take over the church or finish school with some kind of degree.

Wasn't going to happen.

She'd been planning to leave for LA and somehow follow what she's always known; singing. It was her safe space. The only thing she'd look forward to was the choir at church on Sunday's growing up.
Rose ended up taking part in it when she was a teen and soon led it.

She knew the only thing she could do was follow that dream. Whether she made it or
not—she didn't care. As long as she knew she chased it was all that mattered.

Rose looked down at her ring, the ring her grandmother gave her before passing two years ago. She was the only one that always told her to follow what she wanted. She was grateful for that.

Rose sighed, biting her lip as she typed in T's email into her phone, attaching a voice recording file from a couple of songs that she didn't perform.

She hit send.