I run my hand through my hair. Stare off in the distance. “I like being in front of a crowd. I’m good at it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Be real. For one minute?”

I take a dramatic breath. “There’s nothing better than being onstage. In front of an audience. It’s a feeling I get, like I’m fully present and seen—even if it’s not me they see. I take words and create a person. Then I make the audience believe that person is real.” I stop, frustrated to not have the best way to explain.

“You’re cute.”

“Who, me?” I ask innocently.

“Yes, exactly, you. When you drop the act and get all excited about theater, you’re adorable.”

I smile and maybe even blush a little. “Are you going to write a song about me?”

“I just might.”

I remember my last ritual, one more compliment. “You know, your voice is something else. The only thing better is your smile.”

Her turn to blush. “Thank you, August.”

Even though I don’t want to leave, I say, “I better get going.”

“What’s a less violent version of break legs?” she asks as I get up from the steps.

“Rub legs?” I suggest.

“Go in there and rub some legs.”

“Thanks, Magoo,” I say.

I take the stairs to the basement, my heart beating loud enough to echo in the stairwell. The nervous energy hits me as soon as I enter the hallway. The place is packed—small groups huddled up talking, others sitting alone, and a few preparing for their audition. Yazmin is standing in a group of girls. She spots me and heads over, her oversized bright yellow jacket hanging off her shoulders. “Hey, Auggie,” she says, then hugs me. I see people looking. This feels weird and performative.

“How’d it go?” I ask. Her audition was before mine.

“Ugh, I feel like I could have done the song better.”

“I’m sure you were great,” I say.

She shrugs. “When are you going in?”

“August Greene,” the audition proctor yells across the hallway.

“That’s me.”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing my backpack straps. “Who are you going for?”

I like her. I like whatever we are doing. I want to keep this going for as long as possible. “It’s a surprise,” I say.

She smiles like she knows what that means. “Break legs, Auggie!”

The proctor writes on her clipboard and opens the door for me. I’m feeling all the emotions of my first audition, but this time it’s not just Mr. Daniels and Anna; there are also five other teachers and someone behind the piano. I gulp. I literally gulp.

I set my backpack down on a desk and hear, “You’re sure you signed up for the right audition?”