“As you know, I was the swing for Evita on Broadway. And made it onstage three times, even singing ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina’ for a former vice president.” Ms. Ramos smiles proudly. She mentions this at least once a class.

“Well, today we have the director of Evita and other Broadway shows. Class, please welcome Evan Lancaster!” She claps enthusiastically and we join in. An older man with a bald head and a big Hollywood smile enters the room. He’s wearing a black jacket, shiny blue jeans, and a white shirt. I’ve never heard of him, but I’m almost as excited as Ms. Ramos. A real Broadway director is here in the room.

“Hello, friends,” he says, with a deep voice that could be on the radio. “I’m happy to be here with you today. As a former student of SPA, I know how important these years are for you. I learned so much, and having SPA on my résumé opened a few doors for me. But it was the friendships I made here that meant everything to me.” He pauses and looks around the room. I think he actually misses this place.

“Show of hands, who here will be pursuing acting as their profession?”

Every hand goes up.

“Congratulations,” he announces, “you have chosen the profession with the lowest success rate.” Hands begin to lower. “Ninety percent unemployment rate, average income of seven thousand dollars, and a two percent success rate. Not great numbers,” he says, shaking his head. “Your seat in this class improves those odds. Casting directors will take note of which school you attended, alumni will help, and you’re learning from great teachers.” He smiles at Ms. Ramos, who blushes.

“But the real factor that will separate you from the rest is your willingness to put in the work. You have to put in the work. You’ll find that shortcuts are mostly dead ends. And you’ll have to sacrifice. Don’t worry, there’s still time to turn back and pursue something a little less risky, like the stock market, perhaps.” Mr. Lancaster looks around for a reaction to his joke, but we’re all too stunned by his words to laugh.

“Don’t mean to scare anyone, but I want to ground you. You can be a great actor. You can be in that two percent. But you’ll need to be humble and hardworking and hungry.”

“Do you hear that?” Ms. Ramos asks. We all say some version of yes. “Today, Mr. Lancaster has kindly offered to critique your cold reads!”

My stomach turns over with nerves. This is not how I imagined my first audition with a Broadway director. The class gets fidgety—they are as nervous as me.

“No pressure, kids,” Ms. Ramos says, possibly sensing our worry. “We know this won’t be perfect. Just do your best.”