Page 87 of The Devil Wears Tartan

Part of me can’t quite believe SDOO’s April competition is already here, but even though time has blurred for me, it’s kept passing.

Today is the day I’ll see Kenzie again.

The thought that she might already be in the building is enough to shake my resolve. If I walk in there and she says she wants to make things work, I’ll give her everything I’ve got. I’ll show her she can count on me. I’ll be there for her over and over again until she believes being with me can make her life better instead of more complicated and painful.

But she has to give me a chance, and I have to live with it if she doesn’t.

My fledgling confidence might not survive watching the girl who told me I’m worth everything look at me like I’m nothing to her now.

“You good with all those, honey?” my mum asks, coming around from the back of the car with a couple duffel bags slung over her shoulders and a full roller cart of sewing and hair supplies trailing behind her on the pavement.

“Yep,” I answer from behind my stack of garment bags, which rises high enough to block part of my vision. I’m carrying all my own outfits and a few spare ones for dancers from our school.

My mum pats me on the back. “Let’s do this.”

A flush of warmth fills my chest. No matter what, I’ve got her on my team.

A passing parent holds one of the school’s glass front doors open for us when we reach the entryway. The lobby is filled with its usual crowd of students, parents, and coaches all milling around the vendor and refreshment tables. I can smell the bitter coffee wafting out of the thermoses and the bite of citrus from a group of kids peeling fresh oranges near the doors. Echoes of excited conversations bounce around the high-ceilinged room, but the competition day thrill I always look forward to doesn’t hit me with the same joy it usually does.

Instead, my stomach twists as I scan the crowd for a sight of Kenzie.

She must be coming today. Even if she weren’t competing, she’d be here as a coach, and I don’t see why she wouldn’t dance today too. This is our final chance to earn scholarship points before the winner is announced at the end of the day.

Even after missing the Tartan Tea, she might still be in the lead. She has a slight edge on me as far as dance scores go. The only wild card would be our essays, but I wrote mine in between jam-packed study sessions, and I’d be lucky if it turned out fully coherent, never mind wow-worthy.

For me, competing today is just an act of going through the motions. I stopped caring about winning a long time ago, and even if Kenzie blows me off today, even if looking at her splits me in two, I know I’ll be filled with a bittersweet joy if I get to watch her earn something that means so much to her.

“Miss Moira! Miss Moira!”

A high-pitched voice pulls my attention away from the crowd. I turn to find Jessica, one of my seven-year-old students, galloping towards me as she drags her mom along behind her.

“Miss Moira! I’m all pretty!”

I do my best to hide my gasp when I get a good look at her face. Even though we’re nearing the end of the season, this is the first time Jessica has signed up to compete, and her mom clearly did not read the hair and makeup guide.

The most makeup highland competitors are supposed to wear is a little mascara, but Jessica is done up like a Broadway actress, with blood red lips and powder blue eye shadow that goes all the way up to her brows. I hear my mum let out a muted snort beside me when Jessica bends forward and shakes her head to show off her hairdo.

It’s a bun, at least, but it’s a bun streaked with sparkles. Her whole head looks like it’s been coated in fairy dust.

“Aren’t I beautiful?” she shouts as she starts hopping around in a circle and flapping her arms like they’re wings.

Her mom looks on with a proud smile, completely oblivious to everyone staring at Jessica like she’s just been beamed down from outer space.

I shift the garment bags around in my arms, nearly losing my grip. “Uh, yes. So...beautiful.”

I can practically feel my mum holding in a laugh.

“Here, Moira,” she says, “let Yasmine take those costumes. You can...handle this.”

She drops her voice to say the last part as she waves over a passing teenager from the Murray School to grab my garment bags.

I throw a glare at my mum, but all she does is grin and leave me to burst Jessica’s bubble. I spend the next half hour so deep in the de-glittering process that Kenzie gets pushed to the back of my mind, which tells me my mum had more than torture in mind when she foisted this task on me.

“I don’t see why she can’t have a little glitter,” Jessica’s mom says for what has to be the tenth time as she blots a squirming Jessica’s face with a makeup wipe.

I resist telling her there is no world in which this is a little glitter.

“Glitter would be fun,” I say instead, “but the judges haven’t gotten the memo, and I want to make sure Jessica has a great day today, which means we should probably stick to the dress code.”

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