Green Lanyard
by Sarah-Marie Scale
Photo by Petr Ganaj
In my defence, I snuck into the nationally-televised writing tryout to prove my mother wrong. I slipped into the lobby, jaw going slack as I surveyed Chandler Literary Hall. I was finally here. Surrounded by the most promising writers in the country and their coaches.
“I’d like to try out!” I told admissions, smiling through my words.
The security official eyed me. “Let’s see your invitation.”
“Uh,” my grin faded, “don’t have one.”
She harrumphed. “$500 for tonight, then.”
I squeezed past the turnstile, wallet light, admission lanyard skimming my chest like a medal. It was my favourite colour: baby-leaf green.
Inside roared with overlapping voices. My gaze bounced from district scouts to team banners, to paparazzi scurrying through crowds. Breath swelling, I veered to the Toronto Scribblrs’ queue, imagining Mom’s face when I returned with a contract.
“Excuse me,” a snazzy agent said, pulling her gold-badged client to the front.
I frowned in the stalled line as they chattered with the Scribblrs’ representative for minutes. By the time I reached the station, my feet throbbed.
“State your name and genre.”
I could barely breathe. “L-Lacey-Mae, I’m fifteen, and I write—”
“Fifteen? Honey, we’re looking for...more seasoned writers.” The scout’s eyes flicked to my green lanyard.
“I’ve been writing for five years—”
“Any credentials? Contest rankings?”
“Please, just look at my work.” Heat surged to my cheeks.
He fake-smiled, waving me away. “Work harder. Come back in five years.”
I ripped the wilted lanyard from my neck.
Sarah-Marie Scale’s “Green Lanyard” received second place in the BCPW’s 2026 Flash Fiction Contest. Sarah-Marie attends Arthur Voaden Secondary School.