I slump back in my chair, push the table leg with the bottom of my shoe. It grated across the floor and puts my teeth on edge. My head's hurting; pounding between my eyes. I shudder - full of hope, full of dread. Sometimes I wish I'd never started this crazy dream. It all seems so stupid now it's come down to this. 

One performance. 

I stare around the whitewashed room; gaze at dirty smudge on the wall. After eight years of violin lessons, exams, competitions and trophies. After eight years of working my arse off, I get half an hour. Just half an hour to show the judges that I'm worth it. And I'm scared: scared like I've never seen before. 

I push the table again, then set about removing my nose ring. Better try look at the part. And where the hell is Stefan? I'm not going to be able to do without an accompanist. Why does he always have to be late? My violin teacher comes in, stares at me and sighs. 

"What are you doing, Jess?"

He means what aren't I doing, I should be well into my warm-ups. I lean forward, put the rosin on my bow and pick up my violin. 

"Where's Stefan?"

"On his way. I've told him there's no piano in here. He'll warm up down the other end."

I don't want him down the other end. I want him with me. I check the tuning of my violin and start my exercises. Mr Noble watches, leaning against the table, his face a mixture of smile and frown. I hear snatches of music from down the corridor. Other candidates: three of them, and all younger than me. They're talented - that's a given - but I bet they're not skint, not desperate like I am. For them, getting this scholarship will just mean another certificate on the wall. For me, it's my whole future. 

I stand up straighter, play over some tricky phrases. My fingers don't feel like my own and I stop, put down my violin and shake out my hands. Mr Noble hands me a glass of water and orders me to drink. I grip the glass tightly, watch the surface of water skitter and spill, then take a sip.

"It's okay, Jess," he says. "This is no different from any other performance. You'll be fine when you get out there."

I nod. But he's wrong. It is different. If I don't get this scholarship to get me through the next year then I'll never get to music college. I've begged from every charity. The grants are all used up. The money's run out and that's all there is to it. I'm done. I wipe my hand down my dress and pick up my bow again. There's a knock and a lady puts her head round the door. 

"Twenty minutes," she says.

My heartbeat rockets. I need another day; another few hours. Sickness swims through my stomach. Mum and Dad are in the audience, stressed out like me, most likely. If I fail today, I'll be flushing eight years of hard-earned down the toilet. I can't do that to them. Not after they've given up so much. I play some more. I'm making silly mistakes - mistakes I'd never normally make. I wipe my hand enough times before. This is stupid. I've performed this piece enough times before. I need to get a grip - and fast.

"I think that's enough now," Mr Noble smiles. "Just keep it steady in the opening section. Don't rush Stefan."

"Rush? Stefan? Have you ever known Stefan to rush?"

"Calm down, Jess. I'm simply saying that you need to pace the opening carefully. If you press forward, Stefan will be forced to keep up with you."

Stefan - my brilliant accompanist. He'll get me through. He understands what this means to me. And if I get this scholarship, then maybe....

"Jess, are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

I'm not, but I nod. I want to make Mr Noble proud because this means a lot to him too. He's given me hundreds of extra hours and only accepted half payment - sometimes none at all. 

"Thanks, Mr N," I give him a hug. "I'd never have got here without you. I owe you."

"You can pay me back when you're famous," he says with his sweet smile.

"If I'm famous..."

"When. This is just the start, Jessica."

Another knock of the door.

"Five minutes," says the woman.

Five? My stomach swims. I take some short, quick breathes and windmill my arms round and round, trying my violin one final time, then walk with Mr Noble to the wings. We don't speak. I can't speak. Stefan's waiting for me, silhouetted in the light from the stage. I'm already a mess, but seeing him makes my heart charge off in some wild direction that I don't need right now. I stop for a moment, and take in his tall straight back, his dark curly hair while I try to pull myself together. I work to slow my breathing before joining him. He jumps when I touch his shoulder. So he's on edge too. I shiver.

"Hi," he mouths and gives my arm a quick squeeze. His touch is like a electric current and I close my eyes, letting the sensation run through my body. "OK?" he whispers, frowning.  I shrug. I've never felt this not OK in my life. 

"Left it a bit late to arrive, didn't you?"

He puts him warm hand on my shoulder massages it gently. The thin strip of my dress presses into my skin. If he's trying to reassure me, it's not working. It can only be moments now. Stefan starts rubbing his hands together to keep his fingers warm and flexible. I know this ritual inside out: stretching those long, beautiful fingers, circling the wrists, pulling at his shirt cuffs. His eyes are fixed on the stage, focused on the piano, and I know he is mentally preparing his performance. I should be doing the same but the adrenaline is pumping out: too much, too soon. I swallow and force myself to concentrate.

The trombonist reaches the end of his performance with a flourish. I blow out my cheeks and puff out the air, as if I've been playing with him. 

"He's good," I whisper to Stefan.

"Not as good as you."

The audience applauds enthusiastically; too enthusiastically for my liking. I tip back my head, stare at the ceiling. Eventually the trombonist wallks off the stage and gives me triumphant look.

Dickhead.

Only seconds away. I wait for the announcement. My legs are shaking so hard it's almost visible through my long green dress. I hope no one can see. I have to get this scholarship. I have to. I try to focus.

"Our second candidate is sixteen-year-old- Jessica Stephanie..."

Oh God, that's me. It's time.

"Ready to do it?" says Stefan, interlinking his fingers and stretching his arms in front of him. He gives me a too-big grin and we high five each other. I watch him walk out on the stage, seat himself at the pano and the final adjustments to the piano stool. A blackness settels in my body.

It's quiet now. The audience waits. I breathe in and exhale slowly. I push back my shoulders, prepare myself, and begin the lonely walk to the centre of the stage. It's exactly eleven steps. I know. I've played here before. I've counted. The audience claps. I wait until I'm in position, then turn and smile. The grey faces pin me in their gaze and the applause dies away, leaving a shuffling silence.

The body of my violin rests against my hip. I'm gripping my bow a little too tightly and I loosen my fingers. Every nerve-end in my body tingles and the seconds stretch out as I focus my muscles and my mind. I have to get this scholarship. I have. I keep reminding my mind that. 

The auditorium lights fade to darkness, and I'm isolated in the white heat of the spotlight. I tilt my chin up a little and turn to Stefan. I nod. 

Someone coughs. 

The introductory bars of Wieniawski's Legende fill the auditorium. The notes are haunting, and I wait for that magic shift when the music carried me away from a moment and into a separate world of performance. It's not happening. I force myself to raise the viloin to my shoulder, to lift the bow. The music rushes towards me and my fingers hover over the strings, searching for the first notes. 

What are they? I can't see them, can't feel them. I around, try to start, but nothing happens. I can hear the violin in my head but my fingers are frozen, my arm held like wood in a vice. My chest is squeezing up. I try to gulp but the air sticks in my throat.

Stefan plays on, barely falters as he repeats part of the introduction, and I know he's giving me a second chance. I fight to clear my mind, to find the music. But it's gone. In the silence that followsm the audience swims into focus, and I see them shifting awkwardly, whispering to one another. Embarassed laughter, then hushed voices that rise to loud exclamations of shock and disbalief. 

This isn't happening - none of this happening. I flee to the darkness of the wings. But I can still hear the audience. Desperation explodes inside me. I lay my precious violin carefully in its case, take one last look at it, then head for the emergency exit and run.

I'm dead.

A/N : So yeah, that's for chapter 1 :) Sorry for typing so long ^^"