¶ … door to the county jail shut behind me with a loud clang. Involuntarily jumping from the sound and the sudden silence that followed, I shadowed the public defender down the dismal hallway. A fluorescent light bulb flickered overhead. My heart started to pound and I earnestly wondered if I had made the right choice for what must have been the fifth time that day. At that moment, I still had the opportunity to run away, to tell the attorney that I was not yet ready for this kind of responsibility, and that I appreciated his consideration anyway. I was too afraid to be weak to say anything, though, and instead I just remembered the mindfulness technique my counselor taught me and started to breathe. Just. A. Little. Slower. We reached the doorway, and through the long, skinny window I could see inside the classroom filled with the young inmates. I was about to lead a class for juvenile offenders, a volunteer position that I had worked hard to achieve through several years participating in a work-study program through my school. It was my first ever leadership position, and while my parents said it would look great on my resume, I was really doing it for another reason entirely. I genuinely believed that I was capable of helping people. So as soon as the public defender pushed open the door to the classroom and introduced me to the class, it was as if a magic spell had been cast. I felt empowered, in control, suddenly confident in a way I had not felt before. I got this. Who knew that being friends with the "bad kids" would make me a better person and...

I looked around at that class full of kids, and I felt somehow like I knew each and every one. There were kids from all different backgrounds. Many could pass equally as well as white, black, or Latino. These kids had one thing in common: they had gotten caught for doing something wrong, but that didn't make them bad. Just like my friends who kept getting into trouble, lots of these kids just didn't have a sense of direction or a commitment to their future. Maybe their parents were neglectful. Maybe they had never experienced the spark of motivation. Whatever it was, I wanted to help and I knew I could by leading this class. I started out by introducing myself and telling them why I was there and what I hoped to accomplish through the class. We were going to play music and learn the basics of sound engineering, and we were going to do it as a team. I asked each kid to tell me what kind of experience they had with instruments or making electronic music, and used the entire first session to determine which students would play which role. After the five-week program was over, our class produced not just one but two songs. We wrote the songs together, lyrics and all. We also recorded the songs, edited and polished them, and decided that the next step would be to perform the songs live in front of the entire detention center community -- something…