Once the music finishes, the other cast members run offstage, leaving me alone at the center. The lights shift from the kaleidoscopic oranges and purples of “Bronxtown Broom Race” to a calm blue. The music for “My Soft Place to Land” starts immediately, cuing me to sing.

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

I make it through most of the verse before I see Ana run up to Mr. B in the wings. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her gesture frantically, pointing behind her at something. He gives me a glance, then reluctantly jogs off in the direction she was pointing. I wait another few seconds, then stop singing.

“Hi, everyone!” I say. The music continues to play underneath me talking. I’m suddenly very aware of the horrible clamminess of my hands. “Um, this is a little break from our planned performance. I have something really important I want to share, but before that . . . This is me, taking a truth potion.” I pull a bottle out of the pouch I’ve attached around my thigh. After waving it in the air so everyone can see it, I down half the liquid inside. “I’m going to keep the other half in case anybody wants to test whether or not it’s real. If anybody is wondering, truth potions don’t work exactly how you see it on TV. I’m not going to be literally unable to lie. But this potion will really make it obvious if I do lie. Okay? I would sweat a lot, shake, stuff like that.”

The audience stares at me, looking generally confused. Some quiet murmuring has started throughout the auditorium.

Finally, I feel a prickly sensation on my tongue, letting me know that the potion has worked. I take a deep breath and start talking again.

“My name is Shay. You might recognize me as one of the nominees for the scholarship.” My voice shakes a little as I say this. Lex gives me a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile from where she sits in the front row. “I auditioned for this musical because Mr. B told me to. I’m usually a choir kid, so I don’t really do musicals. I’m sure lots of you know who Mr. B is—he’s the drama teacher here, and he runs the scholarship selection committee.”

I look out at the sea of people in front of me. No turning back now. “The thing you might not know about Mr. B,” I say, “is that he uses the scholarship to manipulate students into having romantic relationships with him.”