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“I show you my dance moves, okay? Watch…”
She steps back and starts to do a twirl, but I stop her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You have to be brave and do it all by yourself.”
“I no like being brave.” She pouts, dipping her chin to her chest.
The teachers fidget restlessly beside us, one looking at her wristwatch.
I clear my throat, tilting June’s head up to look at me. A tear slips down her rouged cheek, so I brush it away. “It’s hard to be brave. Scary too,” I explain. “But the best part about being brave is the feeling that comes after.”
She sniffs. “What’s that?”
“It’s pride, I think. You feel proud of yourself for doing that hard thing. Everyone else is proud of you, too, and that feels really good.” I glance up at Mrs. Bailey, who is staring down at us, her expression mixed with softness and alarm. Maybe even pride. I keep going, returning my attention to June. “Junebug…remember when I was really scared to go down that sledding hill last winter?”
“Yes,” she mutters.
“Then when I was finally brave enough to go down, everybody cheered for me? I felt really good inside. I felt happy. And it was so much fun… I did it a hundred more times.”
“I ’member.”
“Well, it’s sort of like that. You just need to be brave that first time, then all the other times come easy. And maybe you’ll love it so much, you’ll want to do it a hundred more times.”
A teacher cuts in, stretching a smile. “We have to go now, June. There are coloring books and crafts waiting for you with the rest of the class. How does that sound?”
June looks at me with her wide, watery eyes, as if she’s waiting for my approval. My reassurance. She squeaks out, “I be brave like you.”
My heart swells. I nod eagerly. Proudly.
“I dance now.” June pummels me with another tight hug, planting a kiss on my cheek before she releases me.
Standing up, I watch as she takes her teacher’s hand and prances away, her head held high. I wave. “I’m proud of you, Junebug.”
June calls back over her shoulder one more time, “I be brave!” Then she rounds the corner, her rainbow lollipop dress disappearing out of sight.
A strong hand squeezes my shoulder, so I look up, finding Mr. Bailey gazing down at me with gentle brown eyes. They remind me of hot cocoa. “You’re a remarkable young man, Brant.”
Remarkable.
There’s that word again. I don’t feel very remarkable. All I felt was sad because June was sad, and I wanted to fix that. I wanted her to be happy.
I’m still digesting his words when a flash of cerulean and emerald catches the corner of my eye. My head twists to the left, just as Theo jumps behind me, hiding from the two peacocks waving at us from across the hall.
It’s Monica Porter and Wendy Nippersink. They’re all made-up in their recital costumes, looking pretty.
Pretty?
I just called Wendy Nippersink pretty. Gross.
Theo mumbles into my back, “Are they gone?”
“No.”
“Let’s get out of here, Brant. This is humiliating.”
“Why?” I wave back at my schoolmates a little awkwardly, then shove both hands into my pockets.
“Because I’m wearing that hideous vest Grams made for me, of course,” Theo says.
“So? It’s not that bad.”
