I take a deep, shaky breath as my fingers close around the instrument case. I carry it against my leg and walk over to backstage. I fiddle with the lock and pry it open. My clarinet lay inside, its keys shining and the wood gently scratched. The box of reeds is tucked in my jacket, and I pull one out. I flip the reed and set it in my mouth, letting the saliva wet the wood. I take the bell out of the case, my fingers gently running along the smooth material. I grab the lower joint and try to put it into the bell. The cork struggles to move, and I reach for the grease. I roll the cork grease over the cork and then screw it in. It works this time. I finish putting my clarinet together and reach for the ligature. I unscrew the tiny screws and slide it onto my finger. My leg thumps on the floor as I realize how close I am to having to preform.

I've preformed before, sure. But the problem is, I have severe emetophobia. I shake as I remember almost all of the concerts I had attended, where most of them ended in a mess. My head races and I clutch at my stomach. I search for my water and grab it. I take a swig of it, and it subdues my nausea.

I slide the reed onto the mouthpiece and line it up perfectly.

What if I screw it up? What if I play on a rest? What if I squeak?

My mind swirls with thoughts and possibilities of the outcomes. I groan. I know I won't throw up, but I sure as heck feel like I will.

Almost my turn.

"Jaycee Taylor?" A voice, scratchy by microphone, echoes.

The person, a flute, in front of me gets up. She's a nervous wreck, but plays it off cooly. She flips her flute around and takes a deep breath as she pushes the curtains to the side. Jaycee plays wonderfully, perfect tone and pitch. The judge mutters something to her, something I can't understand. I hear her say her approval, and she enters the room. She looks sort of pale, and I find my heart leaping into my chest.

"Abby Gayle Wright?" The judge calls.

I inhale a huge gust of air and rise to my feet. I clutch my clarinet close to my chest as I look around. I'm one of the last auditioners. Jaycee meets my eyes and gives me a gentle smile and a thumbs-up.

That somehow gives me more confidence.

I step forward until I reach the curtains. They feel sort of velvety, and the dark blue contrasts with the sandy walls. I pull them apart until I can squeeze through, and then I push them back.

The judge nods to a chair sat a few feet in front of him. I sigh and sit down. I place my mouthpiece in my mouth, wettening the reed. I eye the screws, making sure everything is intact. My stomach burns and I wish I had my water with me.

"Whenever you are, Abby Gayle." He says, and he looks away.

The notes flow gently out of my instrument, with the tone somehow being perfect and not too loud. My head races once more as I forget a passage to the song. I grit my teeth on the reed, before I just take a guess. I got it correct, somehow.

I finish the last accented note and place my clarinet along my legs. I close my eyes for a second, and open them as I raise my head to look at the judge.

He's focused on writing something in his book, and I can't help the thrilling smile that I gain. He looks up and gives me a wave off to the side.

"Congratulations. You did great." He murmurs.

"Thank you. I'm shocked I even played that well, considering how terrified I was, and how I-" I stop yammering as he stares at me with his dead eyes. I nod my head and walk off.

Jaycee meets me with a bright smile.

"You were all freaking out, weren't you?" She snickers. "And you played amazing. Congratulations!" She gives me a big hug.

I did it.

Somehow, I did it.