Meena cues the music. The band is rehearsing without the actors today—we stop and start too much, and it drives them nuts. I count the beats, then start singing. I love my Rizzo solo. It leaves me sad and empty, but the song is beautiful. There are worse things I could do than sing “There Are Worse Things I Could Do.”

I go full out on the song, hitting all the notes, even flexing a little vibrato. My feet stop where they started as I hit the last worse things you could, and then I hold the last do until the music ends.

Once the music is over, the theater is silent. I look in the direction of Mr. Daniels in the audience, but the spotlight is too bright. I see the shape of him get up and walk down the steps toward the stage. The whole theater is quiet. Every eye on me and him.

He stands in front of me. “What’s this song about, August?” he asks.

“Rizzo is thinking about the choices she’s made and dealing with what people say about her.”

Mr. Daniels nods. I unclench my palms, both sweaty. “Has anyone talked about you behind your back?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say. He’s working the Strasberg method with me. I can play along.

“And how did that make you feel?” he asks.

I shift my weight. “Mad.”

“And what they said, was it true?”

“Not really,” I say, having no real example in mind.

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Like they had control.”

Mr. Daniels gets excited. “And what did you do?”

I would obsess about it, but the Infamous August Greene wouldn’t. “Eventually, I didn’t care what they said because I know who I am.”

“Perfect,” Mr. Daniels says. “All those feelings of anger and control and acceptance. Use them. When you sing, think about those people saying things that upset you. See their faces in your mind. Understood?”

“Understood,” I say, already knowing I won’t.

“Meena, can you cue up the music?” he asks, heading back to his perch.

The music starts. I should just pretend to use the Strasberg method. But I’m feeling bold. I don’t want him to take the credit for my work. “Actually, I have my own method.”

Mr. Daniels turns around. The music cuts out. “What’s that?” he asks, annoyed.

“I step into the character. I don’t use my own experience or emotions. For me, it’s like putting on a mask. I become the character,” I say.

“So, you stay un-present and un-plugging into your own emotions?”

“I act,” I say plainly. A couple of laughs escape from the wings.

“And what do you call this style?” he asks.

“The August method?”