I’m sitting in Chemistry class, the butterflies are ferociously batting their wings in the pit of my stomach. Three more hours, I think.

This is my first time ever auditioning for a talent show.

Class lets out and I head on off to the front office, where Ms. Chait was watching my guitar for the day. I grab my beloved six-string, Fisherman amped, Bubinga wood guitar.

I sit on the bench outside of the science rooms. I unzip my guitar case and take my guitar out. I search my guitar case for a pick and a capo, a tool used to change octaves on the guitar.

Shoot. I forgot to pack a pick and a capo.

I met up with my friend Noah Blumenthal, ’15, and figured he might have an idea how to solve this capo problem.  Noah came up with a brilliant idea to use a pen and hair tie and fasten it around the neck of the guitar. Although it worked beautifully, I took it off because it was less than aesthetically pleasing.

I played my song at lunch and sang for a little bit. After lunch I ran up to the front office and dropped off my baby, I mean, uh, my guitar.

With three more classes left of the day, I was extremely nervous. I could barely pay attention in class; I was so busy playing out crazy scenarios my head!

What if I walk in and Morgan Freeman is there and narrates my every move?

What if  I trip over a wire or something?

What if my skin turns blue?

All of these are very irrational, but then something scary hit me: What if I forget my song?

Finally, the last class is over. I  grab my guitar from the front office, yet again, and make my way to the Arts Building.

I wait in the lobby and chew on my finger nails as I watch other kids practice their acts. Elijah Woods, ’16, shreds on his electric guitar while my stomach does backflips.

Mr. Miller calls my name. I die a little inside. 

I walk into the orchestra room and am greeted by Ms. Evans, Dr. Rosser, and Ms. Doboz.

To make an über embarrassing and long story short, my act is now going to be featured in the talent show! Woo-hoo!

If I could advice to anyone auditioning for the talent show, my advice would be to not be as wound up as I was. Ms. Evans, Dr. Rosser, and Ms. Doboz don’t bite or shoot lasers out of their eyes and I can almost promise you that Morgan Freeman won’t be there nor will your skin turn blue.

Also, come fully prepared. Nothing is more nerve wracking than having to make a knock-off capo at lunch with a Sharpie and a hair tie.

I have to go practice now because although Morgan Freeman wasn’t at the auditions, who know who’ll be strolling around Thunderpalooza!?