As the stage lights brightened and the stomping grew louder, the audience began chanting the band’s name, over and over — “Lemonade Mouth! Lemonade Mouth! Lemonade Mouth!”

As fifth grade me watched five high schoolers form a band in detention in the Disney Channel movie “Lemonade Mouth,” I knew exactly what I had to do.

I desperately wanted to be a rockstar like the five musicians in the movie. However, years of attempting to play the piano through YouTube tutorials wouldn’t suffice if I truly wanted to form my own band. So I decided it was time that I learn a new instrument, one that I never thought I would be able to play — the guitar.

After months of begging my mom for guitar lessons, I finally got an old, banged up acoustic guitar and one-on-one weekly classes. However, as it turns out, watching the musicians from “Lemonade Mouth” is completely different from being them — I felt overwhelmed by the notes and chords that I had never heard of before.

Yet slowly, I began to fall in love with it. Those weekly Wednesday lessons that I once used to be so intimidated by became the highlight of my week. I finally had someone to talk to about my favorite songs and new albums. In fact, when my teacher told me I looked like a rockstar when I showed up to my guitar lesson wearing my new Pink Floyd shirt and rainbow guitar strap, it was like I’d achieved my fifth grade dream right then and there.

My guitar also became my safe haven. Every time I was bored or upset, I had the world’s disposal of music at my fingertips. Crying in my bed was replaced with the ritual of plugging in my amplifier and headphones, and playing the guitar solo from “Hotel California.”

But unfortunately, entering high school forced me into a new world of harder tests and assignments that I couldn’t just shove away in favor of playing my guitar. Before I knew it, I started dreading those Wednesday lessons that I used to look forward to all week — those hours that I once spent in my own little world, strumming away, turned into 30 minutes before the start of my class, desperately trying to memorize my piece.

As much as I tried, I could not handle doing everything at once. And thus, the start of junior year led to the beginning of many things — sleepless nights, decreasing grades, harder classes — and the end of another — my guitar lessons. 

It was the weirdest feeling in the world. As much as I resisted quitting lessons, once I quit, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had more time on Wednesdays, which were to be filled with more homework and studying, obviously.