As I walked to the front of the room, I tried to blur out how bizarre it felt to be stepping onto a stage to sing, not dance. I’d asked Margot if there was any way to skip the vocal audition and just do the dancing one—it wasn’t like I was going for a lead role—but she said it was mandatory.

“Alina Keeler,” I croaked out. Then I sang the first few bars of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” from My Fair Lady. Margot had suggested it because it wasn’t too difficult. I was pretty quiet, and Ms. Langford looked bored, but no one covered their ears.

I blew out a breath as I left the stage. Musical theater goddess I was not. But at least I hadn’t totally embarrassed myself.

“Let’s run through it one more time!” Ms. Langford’s raspy voice carried over the noise of the packed stage. It was ten minutes until day one of auditions ended and everyone would go home to practice the combination for tomorrow. It was straightforward—some grapevines, a few hip pops, a Charleston-inspired step, two grands battements (Ms. Langford called them “high kicks!”), and a quick pirouette.

For nondancers it was challenging. Margot was swearing up a storm trying to end the pirouette without stumbling. Diya Rao was doing well, though, and so were Jude and Ethan. Margot had told me that Ethan’s older sister taught tap at the Y, and that both boys had been taking lessons with her there for years. Somehow it didn’t surprise me.

I hadn’t done the combination full-out yet. I’d just been marking it because there wasn’t much space to move, and it was already muscle memory. Ms. Langford dismissed us, but then Diya, her hair pulled into a doorknob bun, raised her hand. “Ms. Langford? I have rehearsal for the Shakespeare Festival tomorrow. Can I do the dance audition now?”

Margot rolled her eyes as she fanned the back of her neck. “She does that every year, too. She loves saying she’s in other stuff. And yeah, like it’s so impressive that she can do the dance already without practicing it overnight. I’m sure you could, too.”

Everyone was clearing the stage as Ms. Langford asked if anyone else wanted to do the dance audition now. Maybe it was because I wanted tomorrow afternoon free to nap. Or maybe my competitive side was kicking in. Or maybe it was a reason I kept trying to ignore: I just wanted to dance on a stage again.

I walked back out and stood beside Diya.

She X-rayed me with her eyes, her gaze lingering on my hair, which I hadn’t pulled back like everyone else. It hung, straight as pins, down my back. Her eyes narrowed. “Need a hair tie?”

“I’m good,” I said.