As I drive down West Esplanade on my way to yet another monotonous day at school, I blindly fumble with the radio in search of a station playing actual music instead of mindless chit-chat. With no luck, I lazily change my focus from the radio to the road. Then I hear it – the sweet and cheerful tune that evokes painful and heartbreaking memories.

As I pull into my usual parking spot, my heart races, my thoughts become scattered, and my breath gets labored as my mind returns to the day this song crushed my spirit. To most teens, Britney Spears’ multi-platinum hit “Crazy” evokes memories of fun times in their childhood. However, to me, this song brings back the anguish I felt one fateful day.

The day began as any other. Late, of course, I grabbed my backpack, kissed my mom good-bye, and ran to my dad’s car in hope of avoiding another tardy on my elementary school attendance record.

As I arrived at school, I was instantly infected by the excitement of the other students. Today was the annual talent show, an event everyone anticipated. I longed to participate one day, to showcase my skills for the entire school to see, and be the envy of everyone. These thoughts filled my head the entire day and made it difficult to focus. The clock ticked slowly while I listened to my teacher’s monotonous voice. My excitement grew by the second until the clock’s hand reached two, and I finally heard the sweet sound of the bell ordering students to proceed to the auditorium.

We sat in blue plastic chairs and the lights dimmed. I watched in awe as students exhibited their dancing, singing, magic, and acrobatic abilities on the brightly lit stage. Then it happened. I heard the announcer introduce Girl Scout Troop #348, who would be dancing to Britney Spears’ “Crazy.” My stomach dropped to the floor; I was in Girl Scout Troop #348. I watched in a daze from my fifth row seat as my troop performed in iridescent floral shirts, matching headbands, and black spandex pants to one of my favorite songs. As my “friends” did jazz squares, partner work, and ripples in their awkwardly choreographed dance, I tried to hold in my tears and feelings of betrayal. This, however, failed.

When the dance ended with an awe-­inspiring pose, tears streamed down my face. As the curtain closed and the lights went down ­between acts, I made my stealthy escape to the bathroom, where I could fully express my hysteria without anyone noticing.

Why wasn’t I invited to be in the act? Was there something wrong with me? Did everyone hate me? Salty tears poured from my eyes and dripped down my face. The talent show ended, and I ran out of school to avoid revealing my emotions: panic, horror, anxiety, and hurt feelings. I was devastated.

As the song ends in the car and my mind returns from the traumatizing memories evoked by “Crazy,” I get out, gather my books, walk through the double doors of the school, and trudge up the stairs. When I reach the second floor hall, I glance at my friends’ faces – some of the same friends who caused me so much pain by excluding me from what should have been a glorious moment in my elementary school career. As I prepare for the day, I think about how my friends are oblivious of how that experience made me stronger, more independent and able to speak up – all because of a mediocre talent show act in which I was in no way involved.