“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Peloza said as we all were packing up our instruments. We were just about to get out of band class when Mr. Peloza had something to announce. “I’d like to talk to you about something you might be interested to participate in,” he explained, holding up a stack of papers.  “There is a band competition soon, and I’m sure that each of you can do well there. The one thing that might be difficult for you is if you participate, you will have to play a solo.” As he continued, I thought about being in the competition. It would be a very exciting experience, and there’s always the possibility that I could win, I thought silently. Then the bell rang. “Have a good day everyone!” Mr. Peloza announced while passing out the band competition papers to us.

On the bus, I kept thinking about being in the competition. It will be a lot of work, but I’m sure I’m ready, I thought as the bus reached my house. Walking down my long, twisty driveway, I decided; I was going to be in the band competition.

Soon after I got home, my parents also arrived at our house. Our house was huge. The floor was hardwood, with a staircase leading to the upper part of the house, where the kitchen and bedrooms resided.  There was a fan on the ceiling, already turned on. When they came, I asked, “Mom, Dad, can I do the band competition? Mr. Peloza talked about it, and I thought it might be a great opportunity for me.”

My parents listened intently. “Well, you can, but you’re going to have to put the work in like you do with your sheep.” It was true. I had wanted to win at all the fairs this year, so I had worked as hard as I could to make them work for me perfectly.

   “Don’t worry, Mom, I know that I’ll have to put the work in if I want to win,” I replied, not completely thinking things through.

    “Fine, but where’s the paper? We need to sign something, right?” My dad asked.

I gave him the thin sheet of paper.

    “This will be good for you, Colton, but it’s late, so why don’t you get some rest?” my mom suggested.

    “That sounds good,” I replied, as I went off to bed.

    The next day, I went to go tell Mr. Peloza about my decision.

“Mr. Peloza, I’d like to do the solo,” I said, handing the slip of paper to him. “I have the paper signed as well.”

    “Thank you, Colton,” Mr. Peloza replied, checking the signature, “I’m glad some people are interested in participating.”

    “You’re welcome,” I replied as I returned to my seat. The rest of band class went well, but I was more interested in checking out my new piece of music. As soon as I got home, I went to the piano and tried out the new song. The piano was beautiful and elegant, with a wooden body and keys as white as snow. I sat down on the old, rickety bench, which creaked under my weight as I sat down. Then I started to play the song. It started out fairly easy; a few flats and sharps here and there, nothing too difficult, but as it continued, it became harder and harder to play. All right, I thought, let’s just try this again. But I still couldn’t play it right. Calm down, let’s just keep trying, I told myself. But every time I tried, I failed, and soon I became furious. “Arrrrrrgh!!” I exclaimed, angry I couldn’t play the song right. How was I supposed to play a solo if I couldn’t even play the song?

    Later that night, while eating dinner with my family, we talked about how our days went, although I wasn’t listening to them. I was mostly thinking about why I couldn’t play my song correctly. “Did you talk to Mr. Peloza today?” my mom asked, “I saw you had a new piece of music with you.”

    “Yeah, I talked to Mr. Peloza today. He gave me my piece of music called ‘Harlequin.’ It’s pretty difficult to play, but I guess I’ll manage,” I replied to my mom.

    “Ok then, if you’re sure that you’re fine,” my mom replied to me. Soon I finished eating my dinner, and then I went to bed. During the rest of the week, I continued to practice my song. At first, I sounded like a goose honking around the whole time. But gradually, measure by measure, I started to get better. Soon I could play a quarter of the song without making mistakes, then half, and soon, the whole song. Three days before the competition, Mr. Peloza asked me to play the song for him.

     “Alright, one, two, three, play,” Mr. Peloza told me as I was about to play, waiting for his signal. For about three measures, I thought I couldn’t do wrong, but as I continued, I got less confident. I started to almost trip up, and when I thought about it, I lost focus on the song. All of a sudden, I saw a note, but I played it wrong. I’d made a mistake! Don’t get angry, just try again, I thought, but then I second-guessed myself. No, I’ve worked so hard and I still make mistakes. I quit, I thought angrily. “Colton, remember, keep playing. You have to keep working hard. You can't quit yet,” Mr. Peloza chided. I grouchily continued to play the song. I finished the song just as the bell rang and then went home.

Later, during dinner that night, my mom asked how school was. “During band today, Mr. Peloza asked me to play ‘Harlequin’ for him to see how much I’ve grown, and I did okay on it, I guess,” I replied.

    “What happened when you played?” my mom asked me.

    “I missed a few flats and couldn’t keep up with the rhythm,” I replied to her.

    “Aww, that’s not good. Well, that’s okay. There will be other chances. Now why don’t you go practice more. Hard work always pays off,” my mom told me as she was cleaning up dinner plates.

     “I know, but why does the work have to be so hard?” I asked her.

    “Because you can’t get better if you don’t work hard,” my mom answered. “Now go practice.” So I went to go practice my saxophone, and afterward, I went to bed to wait for another day.

The next day passed quickly, and soon it was the last day before the competition. The day before the competition, I met my piano accompanist. As soon as we met, it just looked like she knew what she was doing. I could also tell that she would not take whining or complaining about not being able to play. Mr. Peloza gave us the signal to start. I played as usual, getting all the notes right. But it wasn’t over yet. The hardest part was yet to come. Here it comes, I thought. Then… I got through it! For the first time, I’d gotten through the part of the song that I always messed up on when I played it. Soon the song was over, and I hadn’t made a single mistake. I was very proud of myself. This was a big step for me, and luckily I got it right before the competition. Then I looked over at Mr. Peloza, who gave me a thumbs up and was nodding his head in approval. We were about to go through the song again, but then the loud sound of the passing period bell rang through the building and interrupted us. “Well, Colton, that wasn’t convenient, but I guess that sums this rehearsal up. See you tomorrow at the competition.” When I arrived home that day, my grandma was waiting there for me. “Hello, sweetheart,” my grandma said sweetly as I entered the house.

    “Hey Grandma, what are you doing here?” I asked, putting my backpack away.

    “Your parents asked me to come over and play the piano accompanist part for one final practice,” she replied. My grandma was very talented when it came to the piano, so I was glad to have her come over and help, even if it was for only one final practice.

    “Okay then, let’s start playing,” I told her, getting out my saxophone. So we practiced until I felt ready for the competition. Then I packed up my instrument.

    “Good luck at the competition tomorrow. Hope you win,” my grandma said, packing up her things.

    “Thank you, and have a good day Grandma,” I replied walking upstairs to finish my homework, “see you!” As my grandma left, I thought about the competition again. I really hope I win, I thought, I’ve worked too hard to lose in this competition. Soon my parents got home and I ate dinner and went to bed.

    The day of the competition arrived, and I was super excited for it. My dad was driving me there, and we were talking about how we thought it was going to go.“Trust me, you’re going to do fine, and for that matter, you’re probably going to win,” my dad said to me assuringly.

    “I know, but I’m still worried about it,” I replied to him.

    “Don’t be,” he told me as we were just pulling into the building where the competition was being held. When I entered, the first thing I noticed were the people. There were a lot of people there, and they all seemed to be going to the same place, so we followed them.

    “Dad, will all these people be watching me?” I whispered to him.

    “I would assume no, but maybe…” my dad responded back. That didn’t ease my nervousness. Eventually the crowd turned into a line of people asking where to go. At least they led us this far, I thought. When we got up to the front of the line, it wasn’t much of a line anymore. We asked the person at the front desk where to go, and she told us to a room called A-4, so we followed the nearby map to the room. As soon as we got within a 20-feet radius, all I could hear was noise. It was like a blow horn right up at my ear, blowing with all its might. It only got worse when we entered the room. The room was very spacious, leaving plenty of room for the crowd of people in it. There was a person in every nook and cranny of the room, leaving barely any space for us. I practiced the song a few times to get ready, only making a few mistakes. But I was still very nervous, and I was pretty sure my dad could tell.

    “Don’t worry, you’re going to do great, but you can’t do well if you’re too nervous to play,” my dad said, trying to comfort me.

    “Thanks,” I replied, and then I went back to practicing.

    Finally it was time to go to the room I would be playing in.  As we were walking what felt like a mile that we could never finish, I looked around. The decoration of the building was average, but it surprised me how much music was encouraged there. Everywhere you looked, there was something about joining the band or bad note puns. After trekking the entire earth, we made it to the room we needed to be at. When we got there, we thought that we were supposed to go right in, but instead my dad checked me in and we waited in the hallway. The excitement and nervousness was hard to contain. Where’s the accompanist? I thought, she needs to be here soon. After centuries of waiting, the receptionist announced, “Colton Martin is on in fifteen.” I was very excited now, but then the excitement was surpassed by nervousness. Where’s the accompanist? She needs to be here now, I thought. Five minutes later, the accompanists still wasn’t there.

    “The accompanist is coming, right?” my dad asked me.

    “She should be, or, at least, she’s supposed to,” I replied. I thought I could hear the clock ticking, counting down to when I played my solo. Two minutes left, I thought, she needs to be here. Come on, come on… Just then, I heard fast-paced footsteps. I looked to see who was rounding the corner, and it was the accompanist! She’d made it just in time.

    “Sorry I’m late,” she said, “I was an accompanist for someone else and it went late.”

    “It’s fine,” I replied, “you were just in time anyway.”

    As if on cue, the receptionist announced, “Colton Martin, you’re on.”

    We entered the room, me feeling a mixed array of emotions. Nervous, excited, scared, ecstatic, but most of all, ready to play. The room was different from others. It had many posters hung all around the room, with school-like desks lined up in neatly done rows. It kind of looks like a classroom, I thought. The judge was waiting on a big mahogany desk, his face in a grim expression. Just by the looks of him I could tell that it would be near impossible to get a perfect score out of him. “Please stand by the piano,” he told me in a low voice. I quickly shuffled over to the piano that almost blocked the doorway. When I was finally situated, I looked for my dad. Having no success, I almost gave up, but then I spotted him sitting at one of the desks, cheering me on. He’d been right in front of me the whole time? I felt very stupid just then. Enough of that, I told myself, you need to get ready to play. That was true. The accompanist was sitting there patiently, waiting or me to start playing. I gave her the cue we’d talked about, and then she started to play.

    As she started to play, I remembered when I first played with the accompanist. I hadn’t known when to come in, what to do, or what her part was. It went easier after I’d learned, but still. If I’d worked harder, it wouldn’t have taken that long to learn one thing. I was always so excited to play my part of the song that sometimes I came in too earl-wait! I forgot all about what I was doing then. Luckily, I still had one measure until I came in. Come on, Colton, pay attention! I thought right before I came in. I played just as we’d rehearsed, shaping loud honks into beautiful serenades. As I continued, I thought I’d noticed the expression on the judge’s face change a little. Yes! This was great! Everything was going according to plan. Just a few more measures… HONK! I’d played a wrong note! Don’t give up, though, you still can win! Change the judge’s mind! So I kept playing, keeping the song going. You can’t make another mistake or else you’re definitely out! I thought as I played the last two measures. I was almost there, so I had to give just a little more. Five, four, three, two, and… done! I’d finished the song! All the days of playing my instrument until my lips went numb were over. I looked over at my accompanist. She was grinning as wide as the ocean. I then bowed and recognized the accompanist for all the hard work and patience she’d given me. “Well done, Colton,” the judge said, continuing to fill out the scorecard.

    “Thank you, Sir,” I replied nervously.

    As we left the room, the receptionist told us, “You’ll receive your scorecard shortly. Good job in there.”

    “Yes, Colton, you did a great job today,” my accompanist told me, “I wish I could stay to find out your score, but there is another student I need to assist.”

    “That’s okay,” I replied, “goodbye!” And with that, she left. I wonder what my score was, I thought while waiting for the scorecard that would determine my fate. I hope I win, but that mistake probably cost me, I thought glumly. Waiting suspense was killing me. How long did it take to give someone their score? After a few more minutes of waiting, the receptionist finally revealed my score.

    “And it looks like you got… first place!” the receptionist exclaimed. First place? Yes! This is what I worked so hard to get. I finally got the sweet, refreshing taste of victory. “Congratulations, you did a very good job, and we hope you’ll come back next year,” she continued. I was stunned. All that hard work really did pay off. The hours on end of practicing all came to this reward.

    “Thank you, and have a good day,” I replied, trying to hold in my excitement. As we left the building after the exciting day, my dad and I talked about how it went.

    “You played spectacularly,” my dad exclaimed, “I couldn’t have done it better myself. You definitely deserved first place.”

    “Thanks, Dad, but I didn’t play that perfect. I made a big mistake right at the end,” I replied.

    “Yes, but because because of your hard work, you didn’t come to a complete stop. You knew what you messed up on and knew that you had to keep playing. When you first got the song, you would’ve given up and restarted the whole song. That’s why you won,” my dad reassured me.

    “Thanks Dad, you’re the best,” I replied.

    “Well, that’s my job, isn’t it,” he told me. We both laughed over his remark and jumped into my dad’s truck. While we were driving home, I thought about what my dad said. He was right, I thought, that was because of hard work. Then I realized something. That hard work was why I was successful at the and competition. If I hadn’t done that with the sheep last year, I probably could have lost, but all that hard work helped me win too, so  I should work hard at everything, all the time, because who knows? With hard work comes great rewards.