At home, she and Theo often performed elaborate routines in the living room.
Theo would leap across the carpet while June turned her power wheelchair in careful patterns.
Sometimes she moved her arms to the music.
Sometimes she used her shoulders.
Sometimes she simply directed Theo to perform increasingly ridiculous movements until they were both laughing.
Their father, Owen, had recorded dozens of these performances.
But school was different.
The showcase involved a group dance on the auditorium stage.
During the first rehearsal, the teacher coordinating the performance, Mr. Pierce, arranged the students in rows.
He explained that the final section would involve everyone stepping forward together and raising their arms.
June raised her hand.
“How should I do that part?”
Mr. Pierce looked toward her wheelchair.
He hesitated.
Then he said, “We’ll find a place for you near the side.”
June waited.
“Doing what?”
“You can still be involved.”
“But doing what?”
He glanced toward the other students.
“Perhaps you can help with the music cues.”
June loved helping with music.
But she’d signed up to perform.
When she explained that, Mr. Pierce said they needed to consider the safety of the other students moving around her wheelchair.
He wasn’t trying to be cruel.
He was worried about crowded staging, unfamiliar equipment, and children moving quickly under bright lights.
But he hadn’t asked June how she could participate safely.
He’d simply moved her out of the choreography.
At the next rehearsal, she watched her classmates practice from the edge of the room.
One of her friends, Dani, tried to include her.
