Page 88 of The Devil Wears Tartan

By the time we remove enough sparkles to leave the judges with their eyesight intact, I have to run around like a maniac to get all my other dancers ready for their first events. I’m on autopilot, delivering smiles, encouragement, and costume adjustments all while keeping a constant look out for Kenzie.

There’s no sign of her.

I don’t know what I expected today, but it didn’t occur to me to consider she might not show up. This is her world. She might be okay with giving up on us, but if she’s given up on this, I have reason to be scared for her.

“Hey, Mum!” I shout the next time I catch sight of her as I lead a trail of children into the auditorium. “Have you looked at my division lists yet?”

The sparkle debacle set me back so far I haven’t even looked at the competitor lists for my own events.

Her face pinches, and I’m sure she’s about to tell me Kenzie isn’t signed up. I almost lose my grip on the auditorium door and tighten my fingers just in time to keep it from swinging closed on a tiny, kilted human.

My mum comes close enough that no one can overhear us. “She’s on the list, but I haven’t seen her. I...I overheard Catherine Stewart saying she has no idea where Kenzie is.”

Alarm bells sound in my head, and a sweat breaks out on the back of my neck under my personalized Murray School t-shirt.

“Oh. Okay.”

I fight the urge to bolt for the warm-up gym and pull my phone out of my duffel bag, even though Kenzie told me not to text her. She as good as told me she never wants to talk to me again.

She said it over and over when I offered my help: it’s not your problem.

“Do you want me to take them?” my mum asks, nodding her head at the group of kids waiting for me to convey them to the stage.

“Oh, um, that’s okay. I’ve got it.”

The room feels like it’s spinning, but I square my shoulders and start marching down the aisle anyway.

I march through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. I barely remember my time on stage. The day is a blur of bagpipes and tartan, and before I know it, I’m sitting on one of the fold-down auditorium seats, watching the last group of kids get their medals and ribbons for the day.

There’s been no sign of Kenzie. I even dug deep for the courage to walk up to Catherine Stewart during the lunch break and ask if she’d heard from her, but all she did was glare and shake her head.

I can’t shrug off the feeling that something is wrong. It clings to me like a parasite, sucking up all my energy and focus until I’m nothing but a zombie.

“And now, the moment we’ve been waiting all year for! As you may recall, the April competition is our date for announcing the recipient of the Scottish Dance Organization of Ottawa’s first ever scholarship!”

The applause rippling through the audience is enough to pull me out of some of my stupor, and I sit up straighter in my seat. This all feels like a dream, like some warped version of how I pictured this moment playing out when I first held the scholarship information paper in my hands back in September.

I’ve already won more than I ever thought I would this year.

And lost just as much.

“Could our lovely applicants please come to the stage?”

It takes my mum tapping on my shoulder to get me to my feet. I’m still decked out in my Aboyne, and so are Holly and Nicole when I meet up with them in the wings. Our skirts swish around our legs as we file out onto the stage.

The soft sound of the heavy fabric makes me think of that day in the hallway, the first day I got an inkling of just how much Kenzie might mean to me.

“Unfortunately, we’re missing our fourth applicant today, but let’s all give these girls a round of applause!”

I blink at the audience, their clapping dull in my ears.

She should be here.

She should be standing beside me. She needs this scholarship.

Where are you, Kenzie?

The announcer says something else that makes the audience laugh, but I don’t catch any of the words. I’m too fixated on the flash of movement I spot at the back of the auditorium.

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