Page 107 of The Devil Wears Tartan

A lump starts to form in my throat.

Most of the spectators in the park have started clapping along to the tune of the pipes. Georgie has played the Fling almost twice through now, and a few of the dancers break out of the traditional steps and use the travelling motion from the Reel to start making their way over to where Moira and I are sitting.

Soon, the whole group of what has to be close to thirty dancers have arranged themselves in two long rows facing our table. All I can do is gape and squeeze Moira’s hand as they dance the final step of the Fling in unison.

As the bagpipes squeal to a stop, Moira swings her legs over the bench to stand up, giving me a reassuring nod as she slides her hand out of my grip. She hurries over to stand at the end of the front row, facing me along with everyone else in the formation.

Together, they finish by propping their fists on their hips and dipping forward in a solemn bow.

My hands fly up to cover my mouth when I realize what this moment means, what it symbolizes.

All of them are bowing to me.

The lump in my throat swells even larger, and I’m frozen in place—except for my shoulders, which have started to tremble. I scan the smiling faces of the kids in front of me as they straighten back up. Even Georgie tips her head in respect and grins when I glance at her.

The park fills with applause and shouts of ‘Encore!’ but still, I can’t move. I should probably say something, but I can barely breathe.

I’ve spent almost my whole life searching for exactly this: an unconditional sense of belonging, of safety, of respect. I’ve strained to make every part of myself perfect and poised because I didn’t know how else to be worthy of acceptance.

Of love.

That’s what I see in all the dancers staring back at me. That’s what I see in the way Moira watches me with shining eyes.

This is my kilt-wearing, bagpipe-playing, bun-sporting family, and they love me whether I’m perfect or not. They’re here today to show me that, and the passion of their dance is enough to make the truth of this moment pour down into the very depths of my heart.

I can’t lose this.

The thought sends panic shooting through my body even as grateful tears start to blur my vision.

None of them know. None of them know what happened when I walked into Catherine’s office a few days ago and faced her for the first time since the competition.

A piercing wolf whistle so loud it pulls me out of my thoughts has me peering over at a bench across the park, where I can just make out Margaret Murray and Moira’s friend Lydia clapping and cheering along with the crowd. Moira follows my gaze and then shakes her head as she steps close enough to speak to me over the noise.

“They insisted on being here,” she says with a laugh.

My attempt at a smile must be even less convincing than it feels; Moira frowns and comes to stand at the end of the table, crouching down so we’re face to face.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “Is it too much? I can tell them to leave. I—”

I shake my head and rasp, “It’s perfect.”

It really is perfect. It’s the kind of moment I know I’ll be able to recall with flawless clarity for the rest of my entire life.

My tears start falling for real now, trailing a salty mix of joy and grief down my cheeks.

“I have something I want to say,” Moira adds, stretching her hand out to grip my knee, “if you want to hear it.”

I nod, since there’s no way I’ll be able to do any talking myself.

She straightens up and walks backwards to stand front and center of the rows of dancers. I see her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath.

“We’re here today,” she begins, looking around at the crowd of dancers’ parents and random onlookers that have come close enough to hear, “to honor a very special member of our community. You only have to see Kenzie Andrianakis dance for a few seconds to know she’s something special.”

Her gaze locks on mine as I’m swiping at my cheeks, fighting for composure I almost lose all over again when she continues.

“Kenzie is more than an incredible dancer, though. She’s a truly gifted teacher who brings out the best in her students and has helped so many of them achieve their goals and more. I mean, you have to be a pretty great coach to get all these students and their parents to give up their Sunday and fight for parking downtown.”

A laugh ripples through the crowd, and I let out a watery chuckle.

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