Emma laced up her tap shoes, the familiar motions bringing a smile to her face. Dancing had been her passion from a tender age, imploring her parents to enroll her in classes. Now at age 17, she spent every free moment in the studio, the beat of her feet like a comforting heartbeat.
Today was different though. Today was the regional tap competition, and Emma had a solo performance. She was used to competing with her troupe, all of them moving in sync, supporting each other. Flying solo made her nerves jangle worse than a discordant cymbal crash.
Emma stood up and glanced in the mirror, adjusting her costume. The lavender leotard and flouncy skirt gave her an aura of seasoned poise belying her tender years, focusing the eye on her graceful limbs and communicative countenance. She took a deep breath, visualizing her routine in her mind's eye. She had practiced so often she could do it in her sleep, but stage fright always made her mess up. Not today, she told herself firmly. Today her taps would sing.
A knock at the door made Emma jump. She turned to see her dance teacher, Miss Betty, poking her head in. "Five minutes until curtains up," she told them with an optimistic smile. Emma nodded, not trusting her voice.
As Miss Betty's footsteps retreated down the hall, Emma turned back to the mirror. "You were born for this moment, go show the world what you're made of," she spoke in a hushed voice to her mirrored image. She struck a pose, arms curved gracefully overhead, and forced a confident grin.
Out in the wings of the stage, Emma bounced on her toes to keep loose. Other soloists stood nearby, but everyone kept to themselves, silently running through their routines. Emma envied their calm focus. She felt like she might shake apart at any moment.
Finally, it was her turn. As she walked to center stage of the vast auditorium, the luminous lights rendered the spectators an inconspicuous darkness - just an endless blackness. Her heart pounded in her ears, blocking out the announcer saying her name.
The first notes of her song hit, and muscle memory took over. Emma's feet began a complicated series of taps and shuffles, traversing the stage. The staccato rhythms gained momentum, and soon her whole body was involved - knees bending, arms arching, head snapping round to punctuate the beat.
Emma lost herself in the dance, transported through time with the story its movements told. She was a flapper in a 1920s speakeasy, then a soldier's sweetheart dancing her sadness away. As the music built to its climax, Emma let her emotions explode in a flurry of rapid-fire steps. She ended center stage, chest heaving, posed in triumph.
The thunderous applause jolted Emma from her theatrical trance. She blinked at the audience, almost forgetting to curtsy before rushing offstage. Miss Betty caught her in a tight hug.
"You nailed it!" she praised. "That ending sequence was so clean!"
Emma flushed with pride. "I just pretended you were the only one watching," she admitted.
After changing into sweats and gulping some water, Emma made her way to the auditorium to watch the rest of the solos. The seats were packed with dance students and parents. She spotted her mom waving excitedly and went to join her.
"Precious girl, you were magnificent," her mother rejoiced, holding her hand tightly. "You have given me a smile that will last forever."
Emma thanked her, still feeling dazed by her performance high. Together they enjoyed the remaining dancers, though in Emma's totally biased opinion, none compared to her flawless routine.
The announcement of awards seemed to take forever as they handed out various titles - Best Stage Presence, Most Innovative Choreography, etc. At last, the moment arrived for the award of the top individual performer. Emma held her breath.
"And the winner is...Emma Lewis, for 'Beat Dance'!"
Emma froze, not comprehending for a moment that she'd won the top honor. Then her mom was on her feet, cheering loudly. Emma made her way to the stage, heart bursting with joy. Clutching the glistening award, she pondered this was only the commencement, this marked just the start. Someday, her name would be in lights on a real marquee. For now though, the applause swelling through the auditorium was music enough for her dancer's soul.