I was confident at the audition (试演) for the school play and felt pleased to get a role. It just felt good to be in the play, even if I had only four or five lines. I worked hard at perfecting those lines. I repeated them over and over again. I put in the emphases and intonations (语调) that my drama teacher had suggested and, because I was on stage much longer than for just four or five lines, I had many actions to rehearse (排练) and perform. "Do them in front of a mirror," my drama teacher had advised me. "Watch how you look; practice and rehearse as often as you can." I did just that. I worked and worked at it. It was fun and exciting rehearsing.
Then finally the big night came. Suddenly, things felt different. The theater was full of people. As I dressed, I could hear the chatting and noises of the audience. I looked around at the other more experienced actors and saw that their previous confidence seemed to have disappeared. Had they got their makeup right? Was the costume done up correctly? What if they forgot their lines? The more people talked about their anxiety, the more nervous everyone became. The worries spread from person to another—like a baton (接力棒) being passed in a relay race—until the whole of the backstage area seemed to be full of tension and worry.
I was on stage early, at first performing my non-spoken role in the background with several other guys around the same age. When, suddenly, I heard my cue (出场提示), the lights were bright in my eyes, I couldn't see the audience but knew there were hundreds of people out there all watching me. The words that had flowed so easily when I stood in front of a mirror didn't want to come, and when they did I found myself hurrying into them. I tried to slow down my thoughts and my words.
注意：
1）续写词数应
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But I suddenly realized I had missed a sentence.
I bowed to the audience excitedly and went back to my drama teacher.
