“Are you worried about memorizing the lines?” I settle in with my script. Another thing I like about Mr. Hoffman; he gives us the script in advance of auditions. I’ve had it memorized for a week, but it’s still comforting holding it in hand.

“Absolutely. It took me three days to learn my audition piece. I have no idea how you do it.”

“It’s easy. I promise. You’ll be able to recite the entire play forward and backward before we’re done with rehearsals. Don’t be afraid to try for a bigger part.”

With that, we go silent, reading over the script and prepping. My audition time is before Mila’s so eventually I stand to gather my things.

“Good luck,” she says.

“Thanks. Same to you. Looks like I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Hope so.”

When it’s my turn, I head out to center stage. The lights are on throughout the theater today, giving it a completely different feel than our performances where the audience is darkened, and the spotlight illuminates the action.

“Reagan.” Dr. Rossen glances down at her clipboard. “When you’re ready.”

Nerves I haven’t felt in years make my voice shaky as I begin my audition. But no matter how anxious I am, there’s a sense of peace standing center stage that I don’t feel anywhere else. It’s anonymity while still being my most true self.

Mr. Hoffman has a great poker face that never gives away his thoughts, but he has a slight tell in how quickly he writes. If he enjoyed it, he furiously scribbles as if he’s trying to get every feeling and thought down before he forgets. If he didn’t feel it, he takes his time—the pen moving slowly across the paper.

I close my eyes for just a moment, breathing between words, slipping farther into character until I become someone else. The youngest sister is sassy and crass. She moves with a carefree demeanor. She’s free of inhibition and wounds. She holds nothing back because she doesn’t know just how cruel the world can be yet. She isn’t the official lead, but her character will steal the show if done right.

If only it were as easy to apply some of those carefree characteristics to my real personality. I’m fully confident I can pretend to be anyone, but when I’m me—well, it’s not as easy to fake confidence.

When I finish, I pause and hold my breath before I let my gaze land on Mr. Hoffman. He has his pen up to his mouth, poised between his teeth. Neither he nor Dr. Rossen speaks for several seconds and the theater goes quiet. Too quiet.

He puts the pen down to his paper but doesn’t write.

What does it mean when he doesn’t write anything? I’m guessing nothing good.