IT WAS WORSE THAN I’D THOUGHT.

Usually most auditions were at the Pearl or Ripley-Grier, two buildings with endless warrens of audition rooms and studio spaces, or at the Equity Building. Even if you weren’t Equity, you could wait in the hallway for a chance to be seen, but as I learned the first time, the chances of that were slim, and you weren’t allowed to use the bathroom. The privilege of peeing was reserved for Equity members only. As I’d waited in that line, I’d remembered the minor riot that had broken out in New York a couple years ago when the girls waiting to audition for America’s Next Super Model had gotten into a scuffle about holding places in line to find a bathroom.

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any riots in the Hello, Dolly! open call line. They were holding the auditions downtown at the Private Theatre, a well-respected venue that had workshopped a lot of new musicals before they transferred to Broadway, and that ran free Shakespeare in the Park every summer. Ethan Fox had come up at the Private, so it wasn’t a surprise that he’d be starting out Hello, Dolly! here, too.

It was 7:00 a.m. and the auditions weren’t scheduled to start until 11:00, but the line was already down the block. I shuffled into place behind a clean-cut white guy my age with brown hair. He looked like a Ken doll, or like a propaganda poster from World War II celebrating the vitality of the all-American boy. But he was working it.

Some people chatted in line, but like many a reality TV beeyatch before me, I wasn’t here to make friends. I popped my headphones on and listened to a playlist I’d made of nothing but Broadway overtures, hoping the instrumental music would keep me calm. The line continued to fill in behind me, and by 9:00 a.m., it had wrapped around the block.

By 10:00 a.m., the news vans showed up.

“Unreal,” I muttered. Just like the Hair open call I’d seen with Ma when I was little. Not surprisingly, the news vans went straight for the people who’d showed up in full costume, a move I never understood. And, like, if you’re gonna come in costume, don’t be so sloppy. It looked like Party City had held a going-out-of-business sale—buy two hideous hats and we’ll throw in a dented parasol for free. All the queens at Molly’s would have been horrified by how much straight-up busted was on display.

Finally, at 11:00, the doors opened. I was far enough away that I didn’t move at all, but a ripple of excitement moved down the line regardless.

We were moving so slowly it was killing me. I hadn’t been part of anything this painful since Darius tried to hit the whistle tones while testing out a Mariah act. No tea no shade, D could always work it, but Mariah was in a league of her own. Kind of like the hottie in front of me. Every once in a while, I’d catch a snatch of All-American Boy vocalizing in front of me. He sounded good. Really good. But I’d just have to block him, and the rest of my competition, out.

After seemingly endless hours, I finally made it inside. Where, of course, I waited some more. Finally, at the end of the hall, a monitor stood with a clipboard. She took my name and a copy of my headshot, and directed All-American Boy into the room. Only minutes later, he was back out. I tried to read his face for signs of confidence or disappointment, but he still looked blandly pleasant, like he was about to model knit wool beanies in a J.Crew catalog. Maybe he was. He had great bone structure.

“You’re up,” the monitor said, nodding at me. “Break a leg.”

I nodded back at her, then walked into a small black box theater. Everything was black, from the walls to the floor to the seats in the audience. There was a black piano in the middle of the room, the black paint on the floor scratched to reveal wood underneath from where it had been moved. A bald, older man with glasses sat at the piano, his hands poised expectantly at the keys. Behind a table at the front of the audience, there were three men and a woman. And one of those men was Ethan Fox.

Oh my god. I’d assumed they’d be running multiple audition rooms with different casting people, that we’d have to clear who knew how many hurdles before we saw the man himself, but there he was. I shook off my shock, smiling in a way that hopefully looked friendly and professional.

They want it to be you. That was what Ma had said before every audition in school. Remember, m’hijo, they are waiting there, hoping you will be the one to solve their problem. To be exactly what they’re looking for. Sing for them like you know that they want it to be you.

“Jorge Lopez,” I introduced myself, dropping four copies of my headshot and résumé on the table in front of them. A more intense version of me brooded back up from the headshot. I probably shouldn’t have taken those pictures when I’d been feeling so dramatic, but oh well.

“Jorge! From Jason’s class.” Ethan Fox knew my name. I glued my smile into place to keep my jaw from dropping open. “Jason says this kid can really dance,” Ethan addressed the other people at the table.

“Then let’s hope he can really sing,” the woman said, flipping my headshot over to look at my résumé. I winced slightly, hoping it wouldn’t immediately disqualify me that I only had school credits, nothing professional. But everybody has to start somewhere, right? “Jorge, what do you have for us today?”

“ ‘All I Need Is the Girl,’ from Gypsy,” I said. Which, LOL, I never needed a girl, but the song was right in my range. I walked over to the piano and handed my sheet music to the pianist. He spread it out. I’d brought the whole song, even though I knew I’d only get sixteen bars. Wishful thinking, maybe?

“Tempo?” he asked.

I hummed the first bar, tapping my foot to the rhythm I wanted. He nodded and turned back to the sheet music.

“Ready whenever you are, Jorge,” Ethan said.

Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe. Right. Breathing was very important. It was just me and the piano and this room.

And a panel of judgmental, unsmiling people who would decide my fate, but, you know. No pressure.

The pianist started, a little faster than I’d hoped, but that had probably been my fault. The nerves must have made me tap too quickly. And just like that, the intro was over, I took a deep breath, and I sang.

I sounded good. Really good. Everything flowed easily, the sound filling the black box. I searched their faces for signs that I was crushing it like I thought I was, but it was like looking at a brick wall. In just a few heartbeats, it was over.

Sixteen bars was nothing. I couldn’t believe how long I’d waited, just for the chance to sing for less than a minute—in the hopes that I’d impressed them enough for them to want to see me again. And there were so many people willing to do that.

Well, this business was something else, and you had to be a few bristles short of a makeup brush to want to be part of it.

“Great, thanks.” They weren’t smiling exactly, but they weren’t frowning, either. “We’ll definitely want to see you for the dance call,” Ethan said, and I exhaled so forcefully, with such relief, I was surprised it didn’t knock the pianist over. “Does tomorrow at six p.m. work for you for callbacks?”

“That works.” I could be there at six p.m. Six a.m. Four a.m. Anytime! Ethan Fox wanted me to come to the dance call! I’d dance on a subway grate if he needed me to! On the sidewalk on trash pickup day! I’d even dance in Long Island!

This could happen. This could actually happen.

No, this would happen.

I picked up my sheet music and thanked everyone, my heart soaring. Now, all I had to do was dance.

And nobody danced like me.