Angie at the Concert -- Chapter One

Angie stepped onto the stage. The past few weeks ran through her mind, out of order. She thought of her Mother, sitting somewhere, hidden, in the dark audience. She looked with squinting eyes, scanning over the crowd. She cought sight of her cousin, Hannah. She can't be too far off from Hannah, thought Angie. She was stalling for time, she realized. She stepped up to the microphone. It was on, and ready to project her awaited voice. But Angie was not ready. She opened her mouth, ready to sinig, but nothing came out. She panicked. I've done this thousands of times before, she thought, why can't I do it now?? Angie bit her lip. She knew that everyone in the audience was thinking, what's taking her so long? She isn't singing. Maybe we should leave. Angie recollected herself and brought up enough courage to sing. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. She let out a large breath, and then she began. But something went wrong. For some reason, her voice was as croaky as ever. She opened her eyes wide, dispite the bright light. She looked out at the audience, which was laughing at her. She ran, with tears in her eyes. Her vision blurred. She tripped and made the audience roar with laughter. She woke abruptly. Her eyes opened wide, not knowing where she was. She realized after a moment that it was only a dream, and she was safe from humiliation in her own bed. She nestled under her covers, shivering from the thought of all of those people laughing at her. She smiled with the tears of the fake embarrassment rolling down her cheeks. She lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. Angie took a deep breath of releif. She crawled out of bed and shiverred, feeling the breeze from the open window. She closed the window quickly and put on her robe. She yawned as she went down to breakfast. Still half asleep, Angie pulled out a poptart and plopped it into the toaster. She sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching the red-hot wires in the toaster heat up her meal to her pleasure. She pulled up a chair and got out a plate. She turned away to get a glass of milk to satisfy her thirst. She was pouring the milk into the glass when the poptart popped out of the toaster. Angie almost spilled the milk when she heard it. She was always alarmed by the sound of something popping up out of the toaster. She hurried back over to the island again with her milk glass. She rushed her breakfast along, not wanting to have to take a long time. She cleared her place and rinsed off her plate while singing the song that she was practicing for the concert. She placed her dish in the dishwasher and trudged up the stairs. She quickly brushed her teeth and flossed. She ran through her favorite songs in her head, not at that moment being able to sing or hum. She returned to her bedroom and got dressed in her favorite long denim skirt and white sleeveless top with her best necklace, a butterfly with blue and gold tinted wings. She brushed out her hair and smiled to herself in the mirror. She practiced her song again and hurried upstairs again to her room. Being the oldest sibling in her family, Angie was in charge and no one ever tattled on her. Angie picked up her backpack and wrote a note for her mother, who was still asleep. She left the note on the island, and headed out the door. She was on her way to early morning choir, and she sang to herself softly as she giddily walked to her school, which was not even three blocks away from her house. Angie approached the door to the choir room and turned the knob. Any day that starts with singing is a good day, she thought to herself. She opened the door and was greeted by the other singers, cheerfully.