But my legs were wobbly as Mr. Davidson gave me a pat on the arm before letting go.

“Okay, then,” he whispered. “You’ll do great.”

I looked up. Gilly’s eyes darted over to Tanner and Sarah before settling on me.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said, walking toward the stage.

The auditorium stage was shallow, and the floor looked like the same floor as the basketball court. My knees felt soft and shaky as I stepped up to the edge, the edge of the light and the line between real and make-believe.

“I’m doing, um. . .” I’d forgotten. “I’m starting with, um, the song, uh, ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade.’ ”

“Lovely!” Mr. Davidson took his seat. “When you’re ready, Barbra.”

A small snort echoed through the room.

I walked to the center of the stage, shook my hands out, they were so sweaty. I faced my audience, tried to feel the rest of my body. My feet, my legs. My voice, which was somehow gone. Or hiding somewhere in my chest. Fluttering around in the dark where I couldn’t find it. Where I couldn’t touch it with my fingers outstretched. I closed my eyes.

My singing voice sounded strangled, like someone was holding it by the tail. Suddenly there was a low gutter-rumbling cough.

I stopped.

Mr. Davidson looked around the room, then back at me, nodding. “Take your time, Anne.”

I started again, did my best to channel my inner Funny Girl.

This time it was two coughs. One low and one high. Followed by whispers. And a laugh. I knew where it was coming from. But it was also spreading. Little coughs. Someone clearing their throat. Snickering.

The coughing continued, getting louder and louder with every second. Louder as I sang louder.

So I stopped. My breath stopped too. Everything stopped. On the stage.

I dropped my head. Everything froze. Including the coughing.

I lifted my head. Felt the light on my face.

Come on, Anne, I thought. You love this. This is your fucking thing. Don’t let them take it away.

I opened my mouth and let the first thing to come out of it, come out.

I was not surprised that it was “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor, released 1978, with a roller-skating video that’s maybe the coolest thing on the internet, that was the first thing past my lips.

And it’s a song about not giving up.

And I wasn’t giving up.

I threw my arms up in the air, glared out into the audience as I belted out the chorus.

“Heck yeah,” Mr. Davidson cheered.

I did once have a routine I used to do to this song when I was twelve, which I knitted into my a cappella rendition for my audition. It included a set of splits on the second chorus, which I think surprised everyone in the room.