On the night of the play, my mother drove my sisters and me to the school auditorium. I wore a brown sweatshirt and sweatpants. On my head was a horse’s mane my mom had made from gold, brown, and beige yarn. My sister Mia had made horseshoes from foil. They were taped under my brown shoes. My sister Alexa had made a cardboard saddle. I’d created rope reins and paper blinders.

“Do you want to practice your lines with me?” Alexa asked me in the car.

“No, thanks. I can remember my four neighs.”

“I thought you had only three neighs,” Mom said.

“Mr. McNutty gave me an extra neigh.”

“Wonderful!” Mom exclaimed. “Are you nervous?”

“Just a little,” I said.

“All your friends and family will be watching you. If you mess up, people will make fun of you for years. Maybe even for the rest of your life. But don’t worry,” Alexa said.

“That reminds me of a Princess Sing-Along song,” Mia said. Before I could stop her, she sang in a screechy voice, “Stage fright is very common, la la la. It can make children vomit, la la la. Even after actors grow up, la la la, stage fright may still make them throw up, la la la.”

“Mia and Alexa, you aren’t helping me,” I said.

“I know other Princess Sing-Along songs that may help more. I can sing them all night long,” Mia said.

“No, thank you. One song is enough. More than enough. Much more than enough,” I said.

“I can help you. I’ll record your performance. If you mess up really bad, I’ll post it on the Internet. You could get really famous,” Alexa said.

“I don’t want to get famous for messing up,” I said.

“Have fun and do your best, Zeke. You’ll do great.” Mom parked the car in the school lot. Then she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

Mia pointed at me and said, “Oh, no!”

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Your face is the problem,” Alexa said. She pointed at the car mirror.

I looked at my reflection. On my cheek was a huge red lipstick mark. I said, “Mom, look what you did to my face.”

“Can you act like a horse who’s been kissed on the cheek by its mother?” Mom asked.

I shook my head. “Mother horses don’t kiss their child horses. And they don’t wear bright red lipstick.”

“I can fix this,” Alexa took some tissues from her purse and scrubbed my cheek hard.

“Ow. My face hurts,” I said.

“It’s killing me to look at it,” Alexa said.

“I heard that joke a few weeks ago. It wasn’t funny then either,” I said.

I got out of the car. My stomach hurt almost as much as my cheek. Oh, no. I must have gotten stage fright.

According to Mia and Princess Sing-Along, lots of people got stage fright and threw up. But I didn’t want to be one of those people.