“Maaa,” I whimper. My hands fly to my throat. “My voice. My voice is gone!”

Two days before production, I wake up with a ball in my throat.

Not literally, but it feels like it. It hurts to swallow. It hurts to speak. It almost hurts to breathe.

“Maaa,” I whimper. My hands fly to my throat. “My voice. My voice is gone!”

“Oh, no, poor you.” My mother looks sympathetic. “Sounds like a really bad sore throat. I’ll make you a hot drink.”

Halfway to the kettle, she stops. “Wait, Rena, isn’t your first performance tomorrow night?”

I nod, miserable. My part. My tiny part… but still, a part in the play. And the choir. My solo. The harmony. What will be?

“There’s still two whole days. Hopefully it will get better,” Ma says optimistically.

I can’t imagine it will. I’ve never lost my voice so badly before.

I cup my hands around the hot tea with honey, sip it slowly, willing it to bring my voice back to life. The hot liquid soothes the pain somewhat, but it doesn’t help me speak again. I can’t even think about singing.

“I’ll make you a doctor’s appointment,” Ma says.