Mr. B narrows his eyes, giving all of us an exaggerated glare. “My inability to run anything on time is a charming defect, and anybody that says differently is not getting cast.”

More people snicker, and Mr. B throws up his hands dramatically. “I’m feeling attacked here, people.”

“Maybe we’ll finish on time, then,” Brittany says, smiling at him sweetly.

“I hear your complaints, and I’m going to ignore them.” He pulls open the door to the auditorium. “Let me get all the witches inside. Wizards, hang tight for now. Don’t complain about me too much while I’m gone.”

We all end up huddling in a backstage area waiting for our turn to sing. Ana goes out first. The rest of us sit on the floor in a heavy silence.

I can hear her audition clearly, since the door to the wings isn’t soundproof. As much as I hate to admit it, she has a beautiful voice. There’s an interesting edge to it—slightly raspy, but not in a bad way. Her singing is expressive too. Listening to her sing “My Soft Place to Land” makes me feel like I understand what Valeria is talking about. A sinking feeling fills my gut. I didn’t think it was possible to feel more inadequate about my skills, but here we are.

Ana’s singing is still playing in my head as I go to do my audition. The stage feels huge when I step out of the wings. I walk past the accompanist and stand in the center. Mr. B sits in the audience a few rows back from the front, lounging lazily against the armrest of his seat. He perks up when he sees me.

“Shay!” he exclaims, gesturing enthusiastically. The pen he’s holding goes flying and clatters against a seat before disappearing. He chuckles. “Whoops. Just too excited to see you, I guess.” He winks at me. From anybody else that would be creepy, but his friendly older-brother vibe is too strong.

Once he retrieves his pen, Mr. B settles back into his seat. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I take a deep breath, lock eyes with the accompanist, and give him the tiniest of nods. He plunks out the first chord, and then I begin.

When I sing, it’s . . . not bad. I hit all the notes, and I look fairly relaxed. I chalk that up as a win. The piano plays the final chord, and I force a smile at Mr. B.

“Thank you, Shay,” he says, nodding to himself while he scribbles on his legal pad.

I flee the stage, pick my way through the few witches still sitting in the backstage hallway, and go back outside the auditorium. I sit against the wall, and Ed Ferrero scoots his lanky body across the floor to sit beside me.

“Haven’t seen you around these parts before, Shay,” he says, affecting some sort of weird cowboy voice.