“Did you hear what I said?” The band director was looking right at me. So was everyone else. “Yes, ma’am. You want me to do the solo (独奏) at the concert.” I said, trying to hide my fear.

I play the jazz saxophone (萨克斯管). I’m the best player in the sax section of my middle school band; I even do concerts with the senior high band. So, what’s my problem? Stage fright. Performing with a group is no problem. Butraying solo? I will freeze like a water balloon in deep space.

The band director continued, “By the way, the director of the Youth Symphony will be there. You know, if he hears someone who’s really good, he invites them to audition (试演).” I tried to look calm as I headed to the door, but the rock in my stomach had just doubled in weight. I’d dreamed of playing in the Youth Symphony for a long time but never had the courage to audition. I could pretend to be sick and stay home. But there are only two concerts each year, and missing one would be really a great pity.

“What should I do?” I went back home and headed downstairs. I usually practice in the basement. The family calls it Kevin’s Dungeon (地牢). I play great in the dungeon. It’s comfortable down there—just me, my sax, and my music. “Why can’t the school auditorium feel like my dungeon?” I said to myself. Then an idea occurred to me—how about sticking a photo of my dungeon inside the bell of my sax? Looking at it while playing might work for me. I immediately took action and practised and practised.

The day finally came. Suddenly, the lights went down, the curtain went up, and we were off and running. Each song started and ended, but it was like somebody else was playing my sax, not me. Then it was time—my solo.

I stood up and walked to the front of the stage.

With the last long note ending, the audience burst into applause.

Having held the interschool (校际) story tell g championship for the past two years, I was the shining star of my school. When it came to choosing the right candidate (候选人) to participate in such competitions, I was always the first choice. Naturally, I was once again selected to represent my school in the approaching contest this year.

Upon hearing the fact that I was chosen again, my classmates and friends acknowledged that I would undoubtedly be the champion again. Consequently, I became conceited (自负的). I was so proud that I ignored the importance of practicing for the contest.

A week before the contest, my teacher Ms. Sara asked, “Selena, would you like to stand in front of the class to rehearse (排练) for the contest?” She had tutored me in the past two competitions and knew how important practice was. “Just imagine you are on the stage

“I’m sorry, Ms. Sara,” I replied. “I have a bit of a sore throat.”

This was usually the lie I would tell whenever my teacher requested me to practice in front of the class. I always found excuses to avoid doing it because I believed that I was the best and therefore the practice was unnecessary. On one occasion, I event old Ms. Sara not to worry too much as I was well prepared for the contest. In fact, I did everything but practice my script (讲稿) .I only managed to glance briefly through the story the day before the contest. As the best storyteller among the students of the local secondary schools, I was too vain to practice and expected everything to be fine.

The contest was being held in the local community hall. On the day of the contest, the hall was crowded with people. My schoolteachers and principal were there along with many of my classmates and schoolmates. I was the eighth contestant out of twenty in total. Those who spoke before me did extremely well. On seeing their fascinating and outstanding performance, I began to lose confidence in myself. My palms (手掌) sweated heavily and I started to feel nervous.

Soon it was my turn to talk.

Finally, I heard the results announced after the contest and felt sad.

A tradesman was leading a caravan (商队) to another country to sell his goods. Along the way they came to the edge of a hot-sand desert. They learnt that during the daytime the sun heated up the fine sand until it was as hot as charcoal (木炭), so no one could walk on it — not even camels! Then the caravan leader hired a desert guide, one who could follow the stars, so they could travel only at night when the sand cooled down. The guide sat on the first cart. And they began the dangerous night-time journey across the desert. A couple of nights later, after eating their evening meal and waiting for the sand to cool, they started out again.

Later that night, the desert guide, who was driving the first cart, saw from the stars that they were getting close to the other side of the desert. He had been very tired, so when he relaxed, he fell asleep. Then the camels who, of course, couldn’t tell directions by reading the stars, gradually turned to the side and went in a big wide circle until they ended up at the same place that they started from! By then it was morning, and the people woke up and realized they were back at the same spot where they started. They lost heart and began to cry about their condition. Since the desert crossing was supposed to be over by now, they had no more water, and they were worried about there was nothing to drink, and were extremely afraid they would die of thirst. They even began to blame the caravan leader and the desert guide. However, the leader himself didn’t lose courage. He talked with the desert guide and then they began wandering, trying to work out a plan.

Suddenly, the leader noticed a small clump (团) of grass.

A spring (泉源) was found at last.