I blink hard, wrestling down the horrifying swirl of feelings in my gut. But then I get to the final chorus of the song, and I choke on the notes. All I can imagine is a world where I have to live with the fact that I failed my parents, that I took everything they gave me and wasted it. I can feel Mr. B’s eyes on me. I look up at the ceiling, hating that he can see me feeling this way.

I pull myself together enough to finish the song, and he stares at me. “That was it,” he says reverently. “That was amazing, Shay. You’re incredible.”

Hearing those words, delivered so genuinely from the person whose opinion means everything, breaks me. Tears leak down my cheeks. Lowering my gaze to the floor, I swipe them away viciously. In a flash, Mr. B’s in front of me, his warm hand resting on my shoulder. I stiffen. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “Let it out. That was hard.” He stands there, leaving his hand on me until I slowly relax. “This show is going to be great, Shay. Because of you. Don’t doubt yourself.”

Even though I’m a miserable crying wreck, and I never ever want to do that again, hearing him say that makes me feel the tiniest bit special. I can’t help but believe that maybe, with his help, I can learn to act well.

I nod mutely, not trusting my voice to come out steadily. “Let me take a look at your scholarship application before you send it in,” he says, leaning in closer. “It’ll be our little secret.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What?”

He smiles ruefully. “What can I say? I’m a softie.” I search his face for even the slightest sign that he’s kidding. I don’t find one. “I can’t let that nightmare of yours come true. The rest of the committee will never know. Just let me help you out.”

“Isn’t that . . . against the rules?”

He grins. “It’s only against the rules if someone finds out.”

“Yeah,” I say faintly.

I want to say yes. I want it so bad that I can feel how the yes would taste. It would ruin everything if I said no. I went through all this trouble to do this show, and change my hair, and ignore his weird, semi-racist comments. What could it hurt to go along with one more thing Mr. B wants?

But every fiber of my being screams that this is shady. It’s unfair to everyone else applying. It’s unfair to Ana. If I found out that he had helped Ana with her application before she submitted it, I would be furious.

I swipe tears off my face, looking everywhere but at him. “I don’t know.”