“But winning isn’t everything,” Mr. Palumbo says, taking a step forward. “I want you all to remember that Rent is an amazing play for so many reasons, one of them being how connected we are to the humanity of each of the characters. If there’s anything I want you to take away from this experience, it’s that.”

“Yes,” Ms. Klein says, lips pressed together. “The musical is well known for its subject matter, but especially for the music. I suppose the characters are also important.”

They lapse into silence. Someone coughs.

“Can we start rehearsal now?” Eric, another one of our leads, calls out. He has an Afro that’s longer than mine, and I resent him for it. “Because I have to be home at five, and I can’t keep being late.”

“Well, does our student director have any words of encouragement?” Mr. Palumbo asks, gesturing toward me. “Simone is more articulate than I am, so I’m sure she’ll have something amazing to say.”

Wow, no pressure at all. Thanks, dude.

“Uh, yeah.” I take a step forward, Laila sliding away from me. I feel naked in the absence of an ally. I can’t read all the faces, but I don’t think I have many fans around here. Most of my notes on rehearsals are negative, unlike Mr. Palumbo, who makes everything sound like a compliment. “I think we’re honestly doing great so far. I know that things are starting to get tight because other sports and clubs are going on, but I have to thank you guys for staying dedicated.”

All I’m getting are blank stares. Eric leans over to whisper something in the ear of Claire, an ensemble member. She giggles. I cough.

“The show isn’t going to be perfect when we do it on opening night,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t even think Broadway shows are perfect. They do hundreds of shows, and there are notes for every performance. So don’t worry about perfection. Just try to make everyone in the audience cry.”

A few laughs echo against the walls of the auditorium. Back at my old school, all the plays took place in the cafeteria. Here, the auditorium is dedicated solely to Drama Club. I love everything about it—the stairs that lead up to the stage and the heavy red curtains that frame it. The old, heavy smell of mothballs, the fresh wood shavings and open paint cans from backstage. The vastness, the way the room continues on, like walls can’t stop it. Whenever Laila or Eric sings, I can feel it echoing in my chest.

“Damn straight,” Rocco, who is playing Angel, hollers. “Let’s do this!”