My first performance in front of an audience was coming up soon. I tried as hard as I could to keep calm, but my heart was racing. I stared down at my sweat-covered, shaking hands. I looked up again at the audience, realizing that these were real people. They were not just my mum and dad, who would say, "Good job!" even if I missed up the whole piece. What if I had the wrong music? What if I played the wrong notes? As it turned out, I was never able to answer these questions because the spotlight   was waiting for me. I grasped my hands tightly together, drying off the sweat. Slowly I walked to the mud-brown piano in the centre of the room. It had 88  _ keys, which were waiting impatiently to be played. _ in my throat   and sat down. Slowly, I opened the music. Next, I rested my still shaking hands on the keys. As my fingers played across the keys, I was becoming more unsure of my preparation for this moment. But the memory of my year of training came flooding back. I knew that I had practised this piece so many times that I could play it backwards if asked. Although at one point I accidently played two keys instead of the intended one, I continued to move my fingers automatically . My eyes burned holes into the page in front of me. There was no way that I was going to lose my concentration. To keep this promise to myself, I leaned forward and concentrated carefully on the music. When I came to the end of the page, a warning went off inside my head: don't make a mistake when you turn the page! Needless to say, I obeyed myself with all my heart and mind, and was proud of my "page-turning" feat . I finished the rest of the piece without making a single mistake. I had finished. I had mastered the impossible. Before the writer gave her first performance,   _  .
she could see nothing but her own shaking hands. her parents encouraged her, saying, "Good job!" she missed up the whole piece. her heart beat very fast.
Question: My first performance in front of an audience was coming up soon. I tried as hard as I could to keep calm, but my heart was racing. I stared down at my sweat-covered, shaking hands. I looked up again at the audience, realizing that these were real people. They were not just my mum and dad, who would say, "Good job!" even if I missed up the whole piece. What if I had the wrong music? What if I played the wrong notes? As it turned out, I was never able to answer these questions because the spotlight   was waiting for me. I grasped my hands tightly together, drying off the sweat. Slowly I walked to the mud-brown piano in the centre of the room. It had 88  _ keys, which were waiting impatiently to be played. _ in my throat   and sat down. Slowly, I opened the music. Next, I rested my still shaking hands on the keys. As my fingers played across the keys, I was becoming more unsure of my preparation for this moment. But the memory of my year of training came flooding back. I knew that I had practised this piece so many times that I could play it backwards if asked. Although at one point I accidently played two keys instead of the intended one, I continued to move my fingers automatically . My eyes burned holes into the page in front of me. There was no way that I was going to lose my concentration. To keep this promise to myself, I leaned forward and concentrated carefully on the music. When I came to the end of the page, a warning went off inside my head: don't make a mistake when you turn the page! Needless to say, I obeyed myself with all my heart and mind, and was proud of my "page-turning" feat . I finished the rest of the piece without making a single mistake. I had finished. I had mastered the impossible. Before the writer gave her first performance,   _  .
A. she could see nothing but her own shaking hands.
B. her parents encouraged her, saying, "Good job!"
C. she missed up the whole piece.
D. her heart beat very fast.
Answer: