In the 3rd grade. In the 3rd grade I was as happy and healthy as any 3rd grader. I, for the first time ever, wanted to go for the talent show. I had the most, as I believed, amazing and original idea there was. I was going to sing that great song, Somewhere over the Rainbow in that Wizard of Oz movie. I was going to do it, I had my heart set, and I was dedicated. I got the accurate Halloween costume on, sparkly little shoes that weren’t even red but blue and I even convinced my parents to put my short hair into even shorter ponytails. I didn’t have a dog, so I accepted a little stuffed animal dog in a wicker basket.
Still, I was pretty cool.

And then, almost as soon as I was beginning to really, truly believe in myself for the first time, I stepped into that tryout room and felt like a huge idiot. In the mist of them all was about 15 Dorothy-like girls, with their long, shining hair bent into braids, with their adorable puppies and beautiful tailored-made dresses and, finally, sparkly, ruby red, high-heeled shoes.

Still, I was convinced in what I lacked in costume, I could make up for in talent. I went on that stage and I sang like I was actually Dorothy in that over-the-rainbow place. That next girl though, her name I can’t remember, but her voice I can. Like silk, it was.
The confidence drained out of me like a sink.

I ran, ran away from all of those people that were all obviously better than me. I didn’t notice the judge that got out of her seat and chased after me. She grabbed me, and saw me, sobbing and crying with as much heartbreak as a 3rd grader can muster, and she said one sentence. “I do believe that you are the best Dorothy here, hm?”