(9:45pm) HalfpipeEmms: Anyway. Tell her she’s not the only one.

(9:56pm) Broncs&Boots: Shuri says thanks. It’s a start.

30

Wouldn’t That Be Special?

On Wednesday morning, Dawn and me get called into Ms. Hernandez’s office. I try to remember if I’ve done anything to get in trouble the past few days but can’t think of anything. Mr. Singletary and Ms. Parsons are already inside, sitting down. So is Dr. Grayling. They want to talk about Sunday, surprise, surprise.

“Emelyn,” Dr. Grayling starts off. He clap-rubs his hands together and smiles. “I’ve been talking with Ms. Hernandez and Ms. Parsons. They tell me you can actually walk!”

“What?” Dawn sounds excited. “I never knew that!”

“No. Not exactly.” I glance at Ms. Hernandez, feeling a little betrayed. Yes, I can walk a tiny bit, mostly a few steps here and there at home, if I’m holding on to something. But it’s never been—and it’s never going to be—the main way I get around. Some of my muscles just aren’t hooked up to the power source, so to speak. Which is why wheels have always made the most sense for me. I’m cool with that.

Everybody else should be, too.

“Why?” I ask.

Ms. Hernandez clears her throat, looking uncomfortable. “Here’s the thing, Emmie,” she says. “Mr. Singletary brought up the very good point that the stage we’re using in the gym on Sunday doesn’t have…”

Of course. They finally remembered about the steps.

“It’s got stairs,” I finish for her. Two short sets in front, two short sets in back, out of view of the audience and accessed from a rear door. I don’t know why, but something about this all suddenly strikes me so funny, in a terrible, infuriating way.

Bringing me up onstage to give me some big presentation—helping the needy and all—and nobody stopped to think that the stage isn’t wheelchair accessible?

I bust out laughing.

Everyone looks at me a little nervously, so I try to focus.

“Yeah, but not many,” I say. “I can probably go up the back, if I use the railings and have someone pass the chair up.”

“Ms. Hernandez mentioned that option,” Dr. Grayling says, clearly uninterested. “But I thought—we thought”—he waves his hand to include everyone and doesn’t notice when they all look surprised—“wouldn’t it be special if the audience could see you go up the stairs in front?”

“Special for who?” I burst out.

“Don’t worry,” he says quickly, maybe mistaking my irritation for fear. “Ms. Wanamaker could help you, be right there with you.”

Dawn opens her mouth and then stops, looking at me uncertainly.

“Yeah…” I say quickly. “The back way would be easier. Mr. Singletary can pass up my chair. Or my dad.”

“Sure can, Emmie,” Mr. Singletary says. “Got you covered.”

Ms. Parsons and Ms. Hernandez nod, like this makes sense.

Dr. Grayling leans back in his chair. “Well,” he says, looking unsatisfied, “the choice is yours, I suppose. But it never hurts to consider the overall effect…”