Multiple choice (longer text)

Last spring my teacher asked me to represent our class at a local “Young Ideas” event. Students from different schools had to share a project that could improve life in our town. When she said my name, I smiled, but inside I felt my stomach turn. I had never spoken on a stage before, and the idea of making a mistake in front of strangers seemed terrible.

For two weeks I worked on my project after school. I chose a simple idea: turning an empty space near the bus station into a small community garden. My grandmother loves gardening, so she helped me think of useful plants and cheap materials. I practised my speech in my bedroom, reading it to my mirror and then to my little brother. He didn’t understand everything, but he listened carefully and told me when I spoke too fast.

On the day of the event I arrived early and saw the hall slowly filling up. Some students looked confident, laughing with their friends, while I sat alone with my notes. When it was nearly my turn, my hands felt cold. I almost wished the lights would suddenly go out so the event would stop. But then an older volunteer offered me a cup of water and said, “Everyone here wants you to do well.” It was a small sentence, but it changed the way I breathed.

When I finally walked onto the stage, I didn’t look at the whole audience at once. I focused on one person at a time, the way my teacher had advised. After the first minute my voice became steadier. I even heard a few people laugh at a joke I hadn’t planned. By the end, I could see several adults nodding, and I realised they were imagining the garden, not judging my pronunciation.

I didn’t win first prize, but I received a special mention for “practical ideas.” On the bus home I felt light, as if I had left a heavy bag somewhere in the hall. I still get nervous when I speak in public, but now I know nervousness doesn’t always mean you are doing badly. Sometimes it just means you care.