The neck of my fiddle was sticky with sweat as I clutched it, waiting for my name to be called. I was competing in the youth fiddle contest at the Old Fiddlers’ Convention in Galax, Virginia.
    
Finally, my name boomed over the amplifier. Here goes, I thought, as I nervously approached the stage. My brother, Daniel, was accompanying me on the guitar. I nodded at him, and we launched into a traditional fiddle tune called “Jerusalem Ridge.” Everything was going perfectly. Daniel maintained a good, strong rhythm, and the strains echoing beautifully from my fiddle were the best I had played in months. So much nervousness, I thought.
    
Just then, twang! I gazed in dismay at a broken string dangling from my fiddle. I knew I’d lose now. Nevertheless, I kept on playing, but playing with a broken string eventually made it harder later in the song. However, the song ended very strong, and Daniel and I were wearing large grins as we left the stage. I placed fifth, which I don’t think is too bad considering I’d snapped a string.
    
How I got there? Practice, practice, practice. I worked really hard with my teacher, and he worked with me. It also took a lot of patience. I remember back when I’d started taking fiddle lessons, and he’d taught me how to play “Jerusalem Ridge.” I tried and tried, but I had so much trouble I just put that piece away and forgot about it, until my teacher had brought it back again. Then I polished it up again and got it ready for the competition.
    
As for the snapped string, I admit it was my fault. Mom had reminded me multiple times before the competition, but I got so caught up doing schoolwork, playing basketball, and reading, and I never got around to changing the strings. But that’s my problem, and there’s always next year.