"This is your cue!" Sam's head turns to you on a swivel. You resist rolling your eyes. You've practiced your cue a thousand times. You don't need her reminding you now that the show has started.
Maybe everyone else gets opening night jitters, but you certainly don't.
"Elle?" she hisses, impatient, but you're already striding onto the stage, and you do roll your eyes when she can't see you, but before the audience can.
You go to your mark and wait for Tabitha to adress you. She delivers her line in the flat tone of a nervous freshman, even though she's a softmore. You deliver your line easily. You wait, barely listening as she responds, a near monologue that took her far too long to memorize. Your next cue comes at the end of her little speech, and you look her in the eyes, delivering your line with the coolness your character embodies.
Tabitha is supposed to answer your challenge, but instead she seems to freeze. Oh, no. Has she really forgotten her line? Has her stage fright caught up to her? You told the director she wasn't ready.
But instead of delivering her line or running off stage crying, Tabitha coughs up a mouthfull of blood.