Miss Jota reclines on her seat, arms folded on the table and I gulp. She motions for me to start but the words dry in my throat. With Whitney and her friends, she was slumped over her chair taking notes while they performed. I had hoped for the same. My eyes wander to the audience, the three girls gaze expectantly and the only boy present yawns. I close my eyes, take another long breath and open them.
The words on the script jump at me when I unfold the paper, my heart beats so loud in my ears I forget the lines I memorised. Miss Jota coughs twice from the table positioned a few feet away from the stage, I offer her a tight smile followed by an apology. I will be fine. I have done this before. I can do it again.
With that in mind, I read out the first line and my shaky voice echoes. “Wha
