My body tightens up. There’s something exciting about their fame. They are doing it, they are on their way, and maybe they can help me get there. Anna starts to say something, but it’s quickly drowned out by a sudden burst of singing. Several girls near us start belting loudly. More voices join as the words grow louder, echoing around us, gaining speed, and by the time the chorus hits, the entire basement is singing. Everyone has their phone out, recording.

When the song ends, people clap and laugh. Brooke and Tiffany head to their dance class, and I follow Anna to our class. She turns to me. “Hey, Augustus, what was the deal with lying about your parents at lunch?”

I knew this would come up. “My family is different.” I look away, ashamed. “I didn’t want your friends to feel sorry for me.”

Anna puts a hand on my shoulder. “No one is going to pity you. And if they did, who cares?”

I shrug. “They would think I’m weird. I want to be just another student at SPA.”

“There’s not enough time to unpack all of that,” she says as we arrive at the door. “You ready for this class? It’s the big one.”

“I was born ready,” I say, hiding my panic.

We pause at the door before heading into the classroom. I recognize the room—it’s where I auditioned. This is Mr. Daniels’s room. Go figure his class is “the big one.”

“What?” Anna asks, noticing my hesitation.

“This is his class?”

“Yes. Don’t put your hand in the cage and he won’t bite.”

We enter the room and the air feels different. The students are muted, calm even, leaving the manic energy and wild screams in the hallways. Anna and I grab desks in the back. The bell rings and the strangest thing happens: the class does nothing. At West Grove, a teacher-less room would turn chaotic within thirty seconds. Desks would be destroyed after two minutes.

Mr. Daniels enters the room with his head down, reading a paper. He’s wearing a brown corduroy blazer with brown elbow patches. Whenever there’s a teacher onstage, they always have those patches. Mr. Daniels’s messy hair and wire-rim glasses finish the professor look nicely. “Hello, students,” he says, finally looking up.

“Hello, Mr. Daniels,” everyone chirps in chorus. There’s clearly a high level of respect for him, and he holds himself with confidence—a slightly slouched confidence, like Bernie Sanders.

“Welcome to Acting, level three—in my humble opinion, the most important class in your time at SPA.” He grabs a stack of papers off his desk and begins walking between the rows of students. “Shall we begin the first lesson?”