But I can’t. No matter the logic, reasoning, or pep talks, I can’t push through the intense feeling that I don’t truly belong. I don’t want the guys wondering if I should be in there, possibly feeling uncomfortable. A few guys enter and exit. I’m jealous of the casualness. Something insurmountable to me is second nature to them. How easy it must be for cis guys to exist in the world. The first bell rings, and I turn away from the dressing room, defeated. I have just enough time to go to the gender-neutral bathrooms upstairs. Boys’ dressing room: 1. Me: 0.

Mr. Daniels walks into class two minutes late. “Students, my students,” he says.

“Teacher, our teacher,” we say back. This ritual started sometime last week as a joke. I check my phone before putting it away. Nothing from Yaz, but Elijah has texted often. At the party, he drunkenly announced that I’m his new best friend. I thought people didn’t stick to their promises when drunk, but Elijah is not most people. I don’t know why he’s so excited to be my friend—he’s a senior with thousands of followers. But I need a friend after getting dumped by Anna, who is sitting in the front row, probably planning my demise. Mr. Daniels locates his notebook and pulls out a piece of paper. “An announcement before we begin: the fall musical will be”—he pauses for dramatics—“Grease!”

The class starts buzzing with excitement and opinions. “Auditions will be held this Thursday. Please sign up on the web page.” He looks up and smiles. “Yours truly will be directing this year.”

The class claps politely. “Thank you, but your applause will not increase your chances of getting a role.” The clapping dies down. “Now, we’ve been studying the different methods of acting. You’ll discover which methods help you access characters through many years of perfecting your craft, but it’s imperative to know them. I can guarantee you will be asked by directors, and even some teachers,” he says with a wink, “to work a method during a rehearsal.”

As Mr. Daniels talks, my mind drifts to Grease. When I wasn’t wallowing in my despair over the party or doing homework yesterday, I was thinking about which role I would audition for.

“August,” Mr. Daniels says, snapping me back to reality. “Could you come up front?”

On my way up to the stage, I try to remember what he was talking about. The fear of getting in front of the class has disappeared. We’ve now seen each other perform—good, bad, and ugly—and we are over it.

“Take this,” Mr. Daniels says, handing me a piece of paper. “Give it a quick read and apply any acting method. I’ll give you a moment.”