Building toward a finale

Four hours to showtime.

Workers, quick and sure-handed, push tables into place and haul instruments out into the glare of stage lights. In front of the blackness that is 2,000 empty seats, Brooke Averi and Brandon Beltran rehearse a dance.

The two move effortlessly, the reward for endless hours of practice. Averi looks into the darkness of the three-tiered theater, and it hits her.

This is it. This is their final big performance of their senior year at the Orange County High School of the Arts.

“I’m not so nervous about my performance,” says Averi, 17. “I’m nervous to move on. I don’t know what’s going to happen. This is the end of what I’ve been doing for six years.”

Unlike the fictional “Glee,” which follows the trials and triumphs of high school glee club members in small-town Ohio, real life is more complex -- almost everyone at OCHSA wants to be a star. And that drive can make the end of senior year even more dramatic because Broadway is calling.

For the students who will be in OCHSA’s two-hour season finale, auditions are long over. On this night at the Segerstrom Center for the Arts in Costa Mesa, they will perform “big,” as one instructor says. A sampling: folklorico dancers performing a piece called “Viva Jalisco” and an Elvis-inspired number, “All Shook Up.”

Averi, who lives in La Habra, will take part in the last piece of the night with the school’s ultra-competitive group Montage. She talks of the countless lessons and studio time that won out over the fabric of high school life: hanging with friends at the mall, sleepovers, parties.

Lately, time has been going by too fast. Only days ago, she was in a black-and-gold dress for the prom, Beltran on her arm. For Averi, a self-described “type A” personality, life has become a series of countdowns.

::

Three hours to showtime.

Katie Perry, 18, steps onstage for “The O Canteen Medley,” a World War II-era tribute to the USO.

“Testing, 1,2,3. Season finale, two-thousaaaand eleven!” she belts into a wireless microphone.

Perry and junior Adam Levy are playing a couple in love; he is a sailor back from the war. Averi and Beltran take their spots, as do about 40 other dancers and singers. A trumpet plays a little boogie-woogie and before long, everyone is swaying, jumping and singing:

” The music’s cool, the drinks are hot and there’s nothing in between.”

Cindy Peca, creative director for the six-minute segment, sits in one of the theater’s plush red seats, about 15 rows back.

“This is no joke!” she shouts to them when the number ends. “Look at how many people are going to be watching you. When I said all out, I meant all out.”

The students head to the dressing rooms, talking about how their arms need to be straighter, their smiles brighter, their voices louder.

Perry, of Yorba Linda, is calm amid the chatter. She can sing and dance virtually anywhere, she says: from mansions to poolside birthday parties. She even carries a formal black dress in her car -- just in case a musical role demands it.

After seeing one musical by students at the school, she knew OCHSA would be a perfect fit.

She is not alone. Students attend such schools because performing drives them.

OCHSA’s 1,550-plus student body is like a map of Southern California, from Temecula to Manhattan Beach, and 11 specialties are offered, including commercial dance, creative writing and classical music.

Enrollment is booming. Last year, applications nearly doubled, to 1,856. This spring, the school, which hosts grades seven to 12, received 3,798 applications for about 450 spots, mirroring a national trend. Of course, it’s no small measure of pride that “Glee” star Matthew Morrison graduated from this Santa Ana charter school in 1997.

“What we’re seeing is our enrollment is going through the ceiling,” says Ralph Opacic, who founded OCHSA in 1987.

It’s the same at performing arts schools across the country. The Duke Ellington School of the Arts in Washington, D.C., for example, received 847 audition requests in 2009, then 1,357 in 2010 and 1,684 this year -- for only 180 slots.

Students find kindred spirits at these performing arts schools, a home where they don’t “feel like misfits,” says Principal George Simpson of the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts.

Indeed, the halls at OCHSA seem like the entire school is one big glee club. But unlike at the TV show’s McKinley High, where football players in letter jackets tease the glee club, at OCHSA there’s a sense of unity because in some ways, everyone’s a misfit.

Dancers in black leotards and pink tights giggle as other students sit on the carpeted floor cutting slices of furry fabric for props. In one class, students are pirouetting across the room clutching fake swords; in another, a teacher is reading a novel out loud.

Here, book reports come alive. Perry says that when she read “Romeo and Juliet,” there was no essay to write. Instead, she wrote a song from Juliet’s perspective and performed it during class.

In her mythology class, she made a music video to portray the cycle of the hero. Two girls, clad in green T-shirts, danced while Perry sang Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out for a Hero” from the movie “Footloose.”

“We changed all the lyrics to the steps a hero takes to get to the end,” says Perry, who has been singing since she was about 4.

She knows fame can be illusory, but it doesn’t keep her from dreaming big. In the fall, she will be in the University of Oklahoma’s musical theater program, one of only 12 students nationally to be accepted. She is among the 97% of OCHSA students who go on to college, according to school officials.

“Broadway is my ultimate goal,” Perry says.

::

One hour to showtime.

The air inside the girls’ dressing room is a pungent swirl of hairspray, perfume and humidity. And it is loud. A giddy jumble of nerves, the girls apply mascara and dabs of red lipstick, chatting and singing the whole time.

One student playfully shoots another with hairspray. Others break into song: “Unfaithful” by Rihanna.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore, I don’t wanna be the reason why

Within seconds, the rest of the room joins in.

“Every time I walk out the door, I see him die a little more inside...”

Amid this merriment, Averi applies her makeup, lips pursed. In a matter of months, she will be at Marymount Manhattan College in New York, where she will major in musical theater.

Averi, who has been dancing since she was 2, sees this as a natural progression. It wasn’t always this way; in elementary school she felt left out.

“I would have to pretend to like volleyball when I actually hated volleyball,” she says.

Then she found OCHSA and was accepted on the spot at her audition. But now, in the final days of high school, she faces other doubts.

Averi says she doesn’t know what’s going to happen between her and Beltran, her boyfriend, but vows to pursue her dream to be on Broadway.

Beltran, who plans to attend Chapman University in Orange and shares the Broadway dream, helps Averi curl her hair into ringlets.

Beltran knows what it’s like to be conflicted. He’s been playing soccer and dancing since he was about 8, but by his junior year at an Anaheim high school, he knew something was missing and auditioned at OCHSA.

“I got to a point where I had to choose which one I loved more,” says Beltran, who lives in Huntington Beach. “I had to focus on what I thought was going to make a career in my life.”

His life changed.

“When you go to OCHSA, every single person wants to be a star,” he says. “Everyone is trying to hone their craft and be the best of the best. It makes me work so much harder.”

Now, he’s helping Averi get ready for the season finale.

Piece by piece, her outfit comes together: makeup, hair, earrings and then the dress -- a sheer black, beaded, lace number over a red slip. Beltran helps her balance as she slides on her black high heels.

As if in prayer, she silently mouths her lines for the evening’s opening, over and over.

Just like on “Glee,” the nerves show. She shoots Beltran a worried look.

“Honestly,” he says. “You’re perfect, you’re beautiful. Let’s go.”

::

Showtime.

Averi is summarizing the night’s segments. She’s been waiting for this moment for three years, when her grandfather took her to that year’s season finale.

She clutches the microphone and the words come out seamlessly, her high-pitched voice echoing through the theater. Afterward, she rushes back to Beltran’s side and brings his hand to her heart.

“Feel my heart beating?” she asks.

He smiles and the two head off to prepare for the last medley: the USO tribute, the 15th performance of the night.

Time is speeding now. Averi, in a polka-dot dress, poses for photos with other seniors. She and Beltran sit side by side, looking at the pictures, knowing this all soon will end.

The two rush down the hall they’ve been down so many times, holding hands. Before going on, they stretch their legs and one last time practice a move where Beltran lifts Averi high above his head.

They rush onstage and the dancing begins. Six minutes of effortless joy. He lifts her high above his head. No misstep.

A roar of applause ushers the performers off.

Beltran turns and kisses Averi on the forehead before they walk down this hall together one last time.

nicole.santacruz

@latimes.com