“Curtains up in three minutes,” I hear my director call offstage. I take a deep breath and quickly run through all my lines, with choreography in my head. 

“Places!” 

I hear the same voice echo through the backstage of the auditorium. As I run on stage, thoughts fill my head. What if I mess up? Or forget my lines? Could I ruin the show? Before I get too caught up in my own mind, I feel my castmate tap me on the shoulder. 

“Hey, break a leg,” she says with a look of nervous excitement plastered on her face. 

“You too,” I whisper back, shaping my lips into a smile.

I hear the faint sliding of curtain rings on metal as bright lights peak through the thick black fabric that’s opening wider and wider. I get a rush of nerves and emotions — fear, excitement, joy — but most of all, pride. I can barely make out the silhouettes of my castmates, family, and friends, as the curtains come to a small jolting stop. In the lighting they look like ghosts. Blank expressions, but it seems like all their eyes are pointed at me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the small movement of people backstage, as the first notes of the piano ring through the auditorium. Suddenly, I hear my cue. Without giving myself enough time to worry about knowing the lyrics, I start to sing. Like muscle memory. The sound gets louder and louder as my castmates’ voices join in behind and next to me. Soon we fill the auditorium with emotion just from our voices.

Every day for the past three weeks, we have been constantly working, from the nerve-racking audition day and reveal of the cast list, to perfecting every note and step we take while on stage. Now we’re here. It has all led up to this moment, these curtains opening to reveal the stage. Our first show.