Eleven Seconds

Zara is thirteen. In the school play she is an extra: she stands in the crowd and has one line.

Her line is “The king is coming!”

She repeats it in her bedroom. She says it fast. She says it slow. She says it in the mirror, and she imagines a big theatre in London.

On Friday the hall is full. Zara waits in the dark at the side of the stage.

Then she walks out with the others and says her line. It is loud and clear. Nobody claps. It is one line in a long play.

After, her mum shows her a video. It is eleven seconds long: a girl in a brown coat, one line, then black.

“Can I have it?” Zara asks.

Her mum looks at the phone again. “I've watched it six times,” she says.

Zara is not an actress yet. Next year she wants two lines.