Page 151 of Hard Knot

The other judges – members of IACDE, I realize with a jolt – are nodding in approval, their expressions holding none of the disdain I've grown accustomed to seeing from academy officials.

They're looking at me like I'm something worth seeing.

Violet Martinez steps forward, her heels clicking against the polished floor with purpose. Every eye in the hall follows her movement, drawn to her presence like moths to flames.

"What we just witnessed," she declares, her voice carrying that perfect blend of authority and warmth, "was nothing short of extraordinary. The technical precision, the seamless fusion of styles, the raw emotional authenticity – this is what dance should be."

She gestures to our trio, still breathless from the performance.

"Look at how they moved together. Alphas and an Omega, classical contemporary matched with a freestyle of hip-hop. Tradition and innovation. Their bodies told a story that transcends the artificial boundaries our society loves to enforce." Her red lips curve into a knowing smile. "They didn't just dance. They created art. They showed us what's possible when we stop letting labels dictate who can move with whom, who can create with whom, who can soar with whom."

Her words seem to fill the space, making the academy's walls feel suddenly too small to contain their truth.

"Dance isn't about designation," she continues, passion coloring her tone. "It's about the way music flows through our bodies, the way movement becomes a language all its own. It's about the stories we tell when we dare to let our souls speak through motion."

She reaches into her blazer, pulling out something that catches the stage lights like captured sunshine.

My breath catches as I recognize the distinctive Juilliard logo embossed in gold.

"Elizabeth Abercrombie," she says, and hearing my name from her lips makes this moment feel surreal. "In the past five years, the IACDE has not found a single performer worthy ofthis honor. But today..." She holds up the golden card, letting it sparkle. "Today, we witnessed something extraordinary."

She approaches me, and I find myself fighting the urge to pinch myself, certain this must be a dream.

"This represents more than just a scholarship," she explains, her voice softening as she gets closer. "This is a full ride to Juilliard. A one million dollar scholarship to pursue your passion for up to four years, with access to state-of-the-art facilities and world-class instruction in every dance technique imaginable."

My hands shake as she continues.

"But that's not all. Through our partnership with Harvard University, this opportunity extends to your pack as well. They can either join you in dance studies or pursue other areas of interest. Because we believe that true art flourishes best when supported by those we trust."

I can feel the shock in the room as everyone realizes what this means.

That I not only have a golden ticket outside of Hard Knot Academy walls, but that literally means I can leave. That I finally have a way out officially.

The golden card hovers between us, waiting.

"I..." My voice catches, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she's offering.

"Take it," she says softly. "Take it because you deserve it. Because you've already proven you're willing to fight for your dreams."

My fingers close around the metal, its weight somehow both substantial and delicate at once.

"Thank you," I whisper, tears threatening to spill.

She shakes her head, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

"No, thank you for not signing that ridiculous contract from hell." She winks, then raises her voice to address the hall again."We've seen enough talent for today. Though we may return unexpectedly, seeking others who might deserve their own golden opportunity."

Her gaze sweeps the audience.

"Until then, remember. True artistry means rebelling against the shackles they try to place on your spirits. Dance free, dance fierce, dance true."

As she and the other judges file out, the reality of what just happened hits me like a tidal wave. I look at James and Carter, holding up the golden card with trembling hands. A squeal of pure joy escapes me as I jump up and down, any pretense of professional composure completely forgotten.

James reaches me first, lifting me clear off the ground in a spinning hug that makes me laugh through my tears. Carter's right there when James sets me down, scooping me up in his own enthusiastic embrace.

Through my joy-blurred vision, I spot Holmes rising to leave.

Without thinking, I leap off the stage, my feet carrying me across the space between us. I crash into him with enough force to make him grunt, but I'm already holding up the card.

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