[ RF ] The microphone felt heavy in her hand .

# Stage Fright 
 
 Monica peaked out from behind the curtains. She could barely see past the spotlight, which fluttered across the stage as it followed the dance routine. The three girls flashed past Monica in a blur, spinning around. 
 
 Now that they were on the edge of the stage, Monica could see the crowd. The auditorium was full. Every seat was occupied, most by parents with some exceptions: siblings, grandparents, boy- or girlfriends. 
 
 Monica scanned the crowd, searching for her mother. She couldn ’ t find the woman ’ s raven hair or olive skin; no white teeth glinted as the crowd cheered for the dancers. *She ’ s probably in the back row or something*, Monica thought, although she knew that she was lying to herself. She was probably at home, sipping on a glass of wine and watching the latest episode of *The Real Housewives*. 
 
 Although Monica had informed her mother of the talent show months in advance, her mother had chronic forgetfulness. She had forgotten to sign up for parent-teacher conferences, which Monica had really wanted her to go to. Monica ’ s mother had never attended any of her soccer games, either, even though she had been playing for eight years since the age of five. Either her father drove her - when he was in town, that is - or Monica carpooled with one of her teammates. 
 
 Currently her father was away on business somewhere in Asia. *Beijing? Tokyo? Seoul? Those are in Asia, right? * Monica tried to remember where her father was, but she couldn ’ t. 
 
 She imagined that he was in some mystical marketplace in the middle of nowhere. Men in low, cone-shaped hats with silk straps would try to sell him unknown noodles or sticky rice balls or crunchy bugs-on-a-stick. Geisha would walk by in pale white makeup with blood-red lipstick, wearing long silk dresses with trains that followed them on the dirt path. He would stare at them, their beauty captivating him, making him lose all thought for a moment - but then he would remember Monica ’ s mother back home and Monica herself, waiting eagerly to see her father again, and he would look away. 
 
 Suddenly the dancers stepped off stage and the host stood in the spotlight. Monica could see his neck sweating from the heat of the stage light. She heard him announce her. 
 
 “ Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Fab Fever! ” The crowd cheered once more at the mention of the spectacular dancers. “ Now, on to our next act: *Monica López*! ” 
 The man in the tuxedo walked off the stage, following Fab Fever. 
 
 Monica remembered hearing about the Talent Show. She went home that evening and spent all night picking out her favorite song while she heard the Kardashians ’ complaints emanate from the television. She had rehearsed for months. She knew the song inside and out - all the notes, all the pauses, all the nuances. She knew when to breath and when to belt out. 
 
 She was ready. 
 
 Monica walked out on stage. She winced when the spotlight hit her and raised her hand to block the light. It reflected off of her dark sequined tunic. Monica tapped the microphone and it rang out with feedback, igniting her ears for a moment. 
 
 “ Sorry, ” she said quietly into the microphone. Realizing that the crowd could barely hear her, she spoke up. “ My name is Monica López and I will be singing Katy Perry ’ s ‘ Firework. ’ ” She cleared her throat and the microphone rang out again with feedback. “ I hope you enjoy, ” she added unceremoniously. 
 
 Monica cleared her throat one more time and held the microphone up to her lips. The song ’ s instrumentals began playing throughout the auditorium. 
 
 Monica waited anxiously for the first line. The microphone felt heavy in her hands. 
 
 And then she began to sing. 

