We make it all the way through to the end of my duet with Ana before he stops us again. He taps a finger on his bottom lip. “Ana’s really got a handle on Gabriela as a character—she needs to exude exactly that kind of quiet power. She needs to be someone who’s always been the prettiest, most charismatic person in the room.” He turns his attention to me. “That’s why Valeria is such a good part for you, Shay.”

Ana makes a little strangled noise, so quiet that only I can hear it. I stare at Mr. B, bewildered. Is he saying I’m not pretty or charismatic? Damn. Is this the same guy who’s been telling me all semester about how beautiful, special, and hardworking I am?

He continues jumping on my every mistake as we stumble through Act One.

“Let’s do this again for Shay,” he says for the third time, and I almost burst into tears of rage as I go back to my spot for the top of “What a Witch Should Be.” Brittany has this expression of surprised blissfulness, like she just won the lottery. Racist asshole. Of course she’s thrilled that Mr. B has turned on me.

“When exactly do you want us to evaporate the water for the fog?” Ana says, hitting Mr. B with her blankest stare. “I think we’re all confused, not just Shay. Maybe you should explain what you want?”

“What, you all haven’t developed mind reading yet?” he says. A few people giggle, but I can’t muster the energy to fake a laugh. “I clearly haven’t been doing my job right.”

“Yeah,” Ana mutters, glancing at me.

With every comment Mr. B makes, I can feel the scholarship slipping out of my fingers. Everything I’ve done to stay on his good side is suddenly pointless. There’s no way he’s going to consider my application, let alone want to break the rules for me to give me advice on it ahead of time.

But maybe I’m just being self-conscious. It’s getting a little late in the rehearsal process for me to be making so many mistakes. Maybe I’m making this about me being gay, but it’s actually just that Mr. B has finally lost patience with my theatrical incompetence.

I hurry out right after rehearsal ends, too angry and embarrassed to face anyone. Ana texts me when I’m in the car on the way home.

ANA: you okay?

SHAY: just feeling stressed about my scholarship app

That isn’t technically a lie. Just a gross understatement. She doesn’t push me more on the subject.

For the rest of the evening, I refresh my inbox obsessively, wondering if Mr. B will email me like he promised. Around eleven, a message from Mr. B finally arrives. It’s only one sentence.

Didn’t have time to get to this, sorry.