Awkwardly flailing my body around doesn’t make me less tense. It makes me feel ridiculous, which has the side effect of making me stiffer. Also, I wasn’t tense before he touched me. Distracted, maybe. But not tense. I’m tired of him crossing my physical boundaries. When I see him touch one of the witches to correct them on a dance move or clap a wizard on the shoulder when they’re joking around, they seem fine with it, which makes me feel trapped into enduring things like this. I don’t want to bring it up, because everyone else is cool with it, and I’m scared of him liking me less for being a stick-in-the-mud.

When I don’t immediately do what he’s asked, he takes a step away from me and wildly shakes his arms. He hops twice, then looks at me expectantly. The image is so absurd that I can’t stop a small snicker from escaping.

“Excuse me,” he says, holding up a palm. “This is very serious business.” He grins boyishly and flails around again. I laugh more openly this time, and he looks pleased. “I will stand here and make a fool of myself until you shake it out.”

Humoring him, I shimmy my shoulders slightly.

“Was that so hard?” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” I say. The stress of pretending I like being in this musical must be getting to me, because it comes out with more than a hint of sass. On the bright side, Mr. B loves when students sass him. His blue eyes light up with satisfaction.

“Maybe you should sing the whole song like that,” he says.

“I think I’m good,” I say dryly.

“Well, it’s too bad that I’m the one in charge here,” he says cheerfully, sauntering back to his seat. “From the top! Forget the blocking and just sing the song. The rules are that you have to keep moving no matter what. You don’t have to copy my amazing movement style—” I roll my eyes at that. “But move in a way that feels natural to you. Make sense?”

Yup. Clear as mud. I nod, and he gives me a thumbs-up as he sinks back into his chair.

“ ‘I remember when that was Nino’s bodega, where he sold potions and café con leche,’ ” I sing. “ ‘And he gave you free candy if you got good grades. Those were the days.’ ”

I sway back and forth, thinking about how to twist my face into the emotions I’m supposed to be conveying. Sadness. Disappointment. Love for her parents. Love for her community. It all seems too big, too hard for me to express in a way that doesn’t look stupid and over the top.

“ ‘But the rent went up, and he closed his doors,’ ” I continue. “ ‘And that was that. The place was no more.’ ”