Of the boy who forgot his dialogue

The brat had his culminating activity yesterday at school. Now what is the culminating activity, you might wonder, gentle reader, and a very valid question that is too.
The culminating activity at the brat's school is a performance and presentation event which has the kids put up a skit and performance based on the topics they have learnt during the semester, it is basically meant to recap all the topics learnt and the parents are meant to attend and applaud violently.
And so the brat was assigned the job of describing posters on Health and Hygiene and Air Pollution and as was to be expected he was running himself into dogged little circles mixing up the two very separate spiels he had to rote off for each.
Ergo, with a couple of days to go before the big day, mamma earnestly requested the teacher to shorten the paragraphs to something that wasn't quite so much of long, unending sentences with 'difficult' words and convuluted construction. The teacher took one look at his abashed face and jotted down shortened versions of both paras which mamma proceeded to reel off to him morning, evening and night. By the end of two days of repeating it ad nauseum to him till I dreamt of Air Pollution charts flying down from the sky and attacking me, he had finally got it down pat. Mamma was proud of him, and despatched him in civilian raiments, comprising striped footer jersey and dark denims for the momentous occasion.
Then came the moment, the swarm of parents moved slowly down the narrow corridor listening patiently to the children posted on either side explaining the charts and posters that had so obviously NOT been made by them and were rather the result of arduous hours of afterschool waiting back by the class teachers. All the kids were spit polished and rattled off their lines perfectly. We moved expectantly to the brat. He looked at all the faces towering over him and gulped. And then gulped again. And looked at me, and looked at his class teacher. We both prompted him. He began bravely, stuttered through one sentence, trailed off in the second and completely shut down by the third, pointed to the wrong charts with the wrong dialogue, and then finally gave up all efforts at saying it right and just grinned cheekily at everyone, saying, "Is all written here, read it!"

He got away by getting his cheeks pulled and getting chucked under his chin, and getting his hair ruffled. None of the others who did their bits perfectly got anything apart from applause and well done.

Mamma asked him later, "What happened, brat, you knew your dialogues, why did you not say them correctly?"
He looked at her with his most bechara expression, lips quivering with fear, "I god frightened. Eveybody wuz looking at me." Mamma couldn't help but pull his cheeks and ruffle his hair herself. The ticking off was reserved for another time.