I stood back and glanced up at the wall clock. Three hours had passed. It hadn’t felt that long. My hands were covered in paint—black and deep blue streaked along all my knuckles. I used a clean corner of my paint shirt to wipe a blob I could feel under my eye, and then I assessed what I had done.

It was different. There was emotion on Cooper’s face that didn’t exist in the picture this was based off, along with steeper dune angles and misty sand flying and much more shadow. I wasn’t sure if all this made it better or just different. I wasn’t sure if I was better. The doubt that had lodged in my chest with Mr. Wallace’s summary of my work had built a sturdy nest there that wasn’t going to be easily disassembled. I dropped my paintbrushes in the jar and went to clean up.

“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,” Cooper said. We were sitting in the red velvety seats of an auditorium with a hundred other people. They all held some sort of paper, and I stretched up to try and see what it was.

“What do they have?” I whispered. “We don’t have anything.”

Cooper looked around too, as if my mention of it made him realize that people were, in fact, holding papers. He was taller than me, so he had a better view. “Sheet music?” he said, as if not sure his guess was right. “It looks like sheet music.”

“Were we supposed to bring our own sheet music to try out with?”

“Obviously,” he said. “I guess that means we should leave.” He moved to stand, and I grabbed hold of his arm, pulling back down.

“We are not leaving.”

The click-clack of heels echoing through the room drew my attention to the stage in front of us, where Lacey now stood. I gave a small hum of surprise.

“What?” Cooper asked.

“Lacey Barnes is here. And apparently in charge.”

“And that surprises you?”

“I guess not. She is the star of a commercial.”

“And almost every single one of our school plays.”

“I guess I should watch more school plays.”

Lacey cleared her throat and spoke. “Welcome, everyone. We’re so excited to have you. I’m Lacey Barnes, assistant director of The Music Man this year. Thank you all for coming out. We’ll be starting soon. Our pianist today will be Mac Lawrence.” She gestured to the piano on the floor in front of the stage, and a man stood up and waved. Everyone clapped and I joined in.

“Myself and Jana Kehler, the director, will be sitting at that long table back there. So make sure you project.” She smiled, then held her arms out to the sides. “If I could get the guys to come up the stairs and gather behind the curtain, stage left, and the ladies stage right, we can get started.”

Everyone stood and filed up a set of stairs on either side of the stage.

“I’m thinking of a proper punishment for you after this,” Cooper said.

“You’ll be fine. You love the spotlight.”

“Not this kind,” he said right before we separated and joined our respective groups on opposite sides. Lacey saw me and walked quickly over.

“I thought that was you,” she said. “I didn’t know you liked theater. Be honest, was it my amazing British monologue at the library?”

“Yes, so inspiring.”

“That’s what I thought.” She smirked.

“Speaking of that amazing monologue, why aren’t you starring in this thing?” I asked.

“My acting coach suggested trying all the different aspects of theater as a form of growth. That’s exactly how she said it too.”

“I figured.”

She laughed. “Here’s to growth.”

“So,” I said before she expected too much from my audition, “this isn’t my thing and I didn’t know I needed to bring music.”

Girls were trying to walk around Lacey and me to get backstage, so she pulled me to the nearest corner. “That’s okay. People who don’t bring their own music get to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

“Nice.”

“Did I see Cooper Wells too? Did you guys come together?”

“Yes.”

She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Oh, no. Not together like that. We’re just friends.”

We both looked across the stage to where Cooper stood staring at us, like he found it weird to see us talking.

“You don’t keep someone who looks like that in the friend zone for too long,” Lacey said.

“Yes, I do, I mean, no, I don’t want . . . didn’t want to. He . . . it’s complicated. Please don’t repeat that,” I added, realizing I’d just revealed more to her than I ever had to Rachel.

“I have no idea what you just said, so I will gladly not repeat it.”

“Thank you.”

She gestured over her shoulder. “I better go. Someone has to run this thing.”

“Okay.”

“Break a leg,” she said and was off.

The next hour went by like someone had pushed a fast-forward button. Lacey would call people out one by one to sing. She and the director would take notes, and then the next person would be up.

Cooper went out before me. I thought he would be nervous, but he smiled at the judging table. “I didn’t bring music,” he said. “But I can sing some Metallica if you want. Or a little MJ.”

I held in my laugh.

“Happy Birthday is fine,” Lacey said.

He nodded, and the piano gave a frilly intro. Then Cooper sang. A few of the girls standing near me giggled.

One behind me said, “He’s nice to look at, but not good on the ears.”

I didn’t think his voice was all that horrible. It wasn’t like the other guys we’d heard who were polished and perfect, but he could carry a tune. When he got to the part where he had to insert a name, he sang Lacey. I peeked around the corner to see her smile at that.

When the piano played its last note, Cooper bowed and left the stage.

Finally, it was my turn. I’d been the one to suggest this, and now my palms were sweating, my heart racing.

A spotlight I hadn’t noticed before shone right in my eyes. I tried to look at Lacey and the director, but I couldn’t see them through the bright haze. I held up my hand to block some of the light.

Lacey gave me the thumbs-up.

“I need to sing Happy Birthday too.”

Without another word, the piano began its opening notes. I dropped my hand and let the light take over my vision. I always thought I was a better singer than Cooper, but there on the big stage in the middle of the even bigger theater, my voice was swallowed whole. I tried to sing louder, but I was already forcing my voice, so it cracked. I was so happy when I sang the last “you” and I rushed offstage.

“Good job,” the girl who’d been mocking Cooper said.

“Really?” I asked.

“You were kind of quiet, but you have a nice voice.”

“Thanks.” A surprising feeling of happiness coursed through me. I peered across the stage to the other side to see if I could get a glimpse of Cooper. He was standing there beaming, and the happiness in my chest expanded even further.

When all the singing was done, we were handed reading parts we had to perform. It felt like we’d been there all day, listening to people with varying degrees of talent read, when finally Lacey dismissed us. She handed out a paper that explained the callback process, and everyone filed toward the doors.