Notebooks open and pens wait at the ready. “This is a script,” Mr. Daniels announces while holding the papers over his head. “You hopefully learned that in your first two years at this school.”

Everyone laughs. He continues, “In this script, like all scripts, there’s friendship, conflict, love, possibly death, betrayal, or injustice, and maybe even a lion king. But what’s missing from the script?” he asks, looking around the room for the answer. A few hands sheepishly go up.

“Daunte, what’s missing from this script?”

I duck down in my seat. Daunte answers, “The director?”

Mr. Daniels throws the script on his desk. It’s more poetic than aggressive. He’s the star of this show and I’m here for it. And relieved I wasn’t called on. “The actor is missing from the script. These are just pages, scenes, character descriptions, but it’s up to you to bring the words to life. To give them depth and meaning. The words on these pages are not your character. Neither are the scenes. Not even the character descriptions are your character. Daunte, who decides your character?”

“The director shapes the character,” Daunte says.

“What’s your deal with directors, son?” Mr. Daniels asks. “You create the character, Sasha. You embody the character, Daunte.” Mr. Daniels pauses and scans the class. “You’re the character, August.”

My cheeks go hot. Would it be obvious if I hide under my desk? Mr. Daniels continues, “And to be that character, you must find yourself in each role. Your fear, your love, your jealousy, your truth. The great Laurence Olivier once said, ‘Acting is an everlasting search for truth.’ I’m here to help you on that journey.”

The class is motionless. Full attention on Mr. Daniels. He continues, “This year we will develop your ability to deepen your characters and make them feel real. We will learn from the masters, taking our notes from Lee Strasberg, and we’ll study the Meisner technique, we’ll study the Meisner technique, we’ll study the Meisner technique,” he repeats, making a joke of the repetitive exercises that Meisner teaches. The class laughs.

“And we will start with my favorite, the Stanislavski method, in which you learn to use your own experiences and truth to develop the character,” he says, then makes his way to the whiteboard. He opens a marker, smells it for some reason, then scribbles: OBJECTIVE / SUPER-OBJECTIVE.

“Justin,” he says, spinning on his heels with a mischievous grin. “What’s the difference between the objective and the super-objective?”

The guy I suspect is Justin sits up and clears his throat. Anna turns around and whispers, “His dad is Robert Sudds.”