June First
: Part 1 – Chapter 5

Brant, age 10

“Have a remarkable day.”

Mr. Bailey sips his hot mug of coffee at the edge of our long, wooded driveway. He’s in a robe today, and platypus slippers, which are garnering stares from the bus driver. I didn’t even know what a platypus looked like until I saw his slippers.

“Bye, Mr. Bailey. See you after school.”

Theo runs ahead of me, climbing up the bus steps and waving over his shoulder. I hesitate briefly, my eyes stuck to the front door of the house, waiting to see if a familiar little face will wave me off. June sleeps in too late some mornings, so I don’t always see her before I leave for school.

Those are the days that are a little less remarkable.

With a sad sigh, I hang my head and pivot toward the school bus.

“Bwant! Wait!”

My heart leaps with relief.

I hear the screen door clap shut, then turn to discover June running as fast as her tiny legs will carry her up the driveway with bare feet. Aggie dangles from one hand, while the bottom of her nightdress skims the pavement. She’s a vision of whipping hair and erratic limbs.

“Brant, time to go,” the bus driver declares.

“One minute, Miss Debbie!”

Mr. Bailey shakes his head, like he’s a little embarrassed for the delay, maybe a little sorry, but he doesn’t tell me to hurry up or move along.

June catapults herself into my arms, nearly knocking me backward. “Have a marker day, Bwant!” she tells me, squeezing me so hard that I wheeze. ‘Marker’ means ‘remarkable’—she’ll only be four years old next month, so she still struggles with her vocabulary. Then she waves madly to the school bus, to where Theo’s hand is poking through a crack in the window. “Bye, Theo!”

“Bye, Peach!” Theo yells back.

“Brant…” the bus driver says again. “Last call.”

“Okay, sorry!” I let go of June, smiling my goodbye as I pace back toward the bus. “See you after school, Junebug. I can’t wait for your recital tomorrow.”

She twirls the hem of her Little Mermaid nightgown, her copper-colored hair swinging with her. June has her very first dance recital this weekend. She’s been practicing since last fall, and I can’t wait to see her perform, all dolled up in a lollipop dress.

“I dance!” she says, hopping up and down. “Bye!”

I finally make my way to the school bus, where Miss Debbie is tsking her tongue. She sighs, then closes the mechanical door behind me. “If you two weren’t so darn cute, I would’ve left without ya.”

Sheepishly, I make my way down the aisle of the bus, looking for a vacant seat. To my surprise, Wendy Nippersink pats the space beside her.

“You can sit with me, Brant,” she says, glancing my way with an unreadable expression.

I falter for a quick second, but don’t want to hold the bus up any longer, so I slip into the seat. Craning my neck around Wendy and her devil hair, I wave to June and Mr. Bailey as the bus begins to roll away. June is held up high in her dad’s strong arm, while his other hand grips his coffee mug. They are both smiling behind us as we disappear down the quiet street, and I swear his platypus slippers are smiling, too.

“Why’d your dad have big brown ducks on his feet?”

Wendy’s equally big brown eyes are staring right at me, her lashes so long, they almost reach her eyebrows. “He’s not my dad.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No, he’s not. He’s Theo’s dad.”

She twists around, pulling herself up to her knees and replaceing Theo, one seat behind us. “Your dad is Brant’s dad, too, right?”

I remain facing forward, a little groan of irritation tickling my throat.

Theo replies, “Nope, he’s only my dad. And June’s. Brant just lives with us.”

“That makes no kinda sense.” Wendy huffs her disagreement, falling back down to her butt with a swishy sound. I can see her watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t dare look at her. “So, why’d he have ducks on his feet, anyway?”

“He didn’t. They were platypuses.”

“No such thing.”

“Fine, Wendy. No such thing.” I’m really annoyed with her, so I cross my arms, lean my head back, and close my eyes.

She pokes me in the ribs with her finger.

“What?” I bark.

“Wanna play after school today?”

Wendy never asks me to play, so she must be up to no good. “No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve always been rotten to me. I don’t like you very much.”

“Maybe I like you.”

My eyes snap open. She’s staring at me, all wide-eyed and innocent looking, but I know better. “You’re a liar. You called me a fartknocker.”

“That was before I liked you,” she says, her composure cool and calm, like we’re talking about classwork or something petty. She gives her high ponytail a sharp tug, tilting her head to one side. Two eyes like cinnamon are glittering in my direction, and with a satisfied smile, Wendy mutters, “I do like you, Brant Elliott. You’ll see.”

June is the sweetest little lollipop I’ve ever seen.

She barrels toward me from the restroom, twirling the rainbow tulle of her spring recital dress. Bright pink lipstick, the color of Mrs. Bailey’s potted orchids, is smudged along her lips, and her skin shimmers with glitter as she dances through the lobby. A cloud of hairspray follows her, causing her perfectly coiffed bun to remain stiff like a statue when she bounces up and down. “Look at me! Mama made me look pwetty, just like her.”

Mrs. Bailey chuckles as she trails behind June, wearing matching lipstick, her own bun carefully secured into place. Not a single pen sticks out of it today.

June’s recital is being held at the performing arts center of a local community college. We’re all waiting in the lobby while the dancers are ushered to their respective classes, where they will stand by to perform on the big stage in the auditorium.

Theo is huddled up in a nearby chair, trying to hide himself in a baggy hoodie because, apparently, he spotted Monica Porter in a sequined peacock dress. I guess he has a crush on Monica Porter, but that doesn’t really explain why he’s hiding. He pokes his head out of the gray fabric to glance at June. “Look at you, Peach. You look like a real life dancer.”

“I am, silly! Watch this.” June plants her hands upon her hips, then bends her knees. “Plié…” She pops back up. “And straight!”

We all clap.

Mr. Bailey looks like he might cry as he kneels down in front of June, fluffing the hem of her skirt. “My baby girl at her first recital…”

“I not a baby, Daddy. I almost four.” She holds up five fingers.

“That’s right. How could I forget?”

June grins from ear to ear, sashaying her dress as the multicolored sequins gleam like a prism. Her cheeks are painted with rose blush to match her lips, and there’s a colorful accessory clipped to her bun that resembles a pinwheel. Light brown hair glints like gold beneath the ceiling lights. She turns to me then, her smile still as bright as her dress. “Will you dance with me, Bwant?”

“Dance with you? I can’t dance, Junebug. I’m no good at it.”

“You can do it. Mama says to believe in yourself.”

A smile quirks on my lips. Mrs. Bailey does say that a lot—she told me once, after I had a string of nightmares about The Bad Night, that our minds are the most powerful tool we own. Whatever we believe about ourselves is sure to come true. It reminded me of my favorite rainbow song. Reaching for June, I nod my head, accepting the offer. “Okay, I’ll dance with you.”

She squeals, bobbing up and down on her ballet slippers, and springs forward until she’s in my arms. I parade her around in clumsy circles, spinning her until she almost topples over, giggling so hard my belly aches.

“Let me get a picture,” Mrs. Bailey chimes in, scrambling through her giant purse. “Hold still, you two.”

June wraps two tiny arms around my middle, smashing her cheek to my hip. “Cheese!”

The flash goes off.

“Theodore, come here. And remove that awful sweatshirt—you’re covering the nice sweater vest that Grams made for you.”

Theo drags himself over to us, his eyes darting around, scouting the crowd for a familiar blonde peacock. “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

We take an assortment of photographs before two dance instructors file over to us to collect June. One of the teachers bends down and holds out her hand. “June Bailey, look how beautiful you are. It’s time to go,” she says softly. “Are you excited to dance for all the moms and dads tonight?”

I’m surprised when June’s smile slips, and her eyes go wide. She shakes her head.

“No? Are you nervous?”

She nods.

A sad little feeling sweeps through me. I don’t want June to be nervous; she’s been so excited to dance on the big stage. I kneel down beside her, clasping her hand until she turns to face me. Pale blue eyes glint with tears. “Junebug, what’s wrong? Why are you nervous?”

Mrs. Bailey appears flustered, setting her purse down and tugging at June’s wrist. “Let’s go, June. Your teachers are waiting.”

“No!”

“Sweetheart, you’re fine. This is what you’ve practiced for all year.” Embarrassment dots Mrs. Bailey’s face, the flush creeping down her neck. She gives June another tug. “You’re going to do great. I promise.”

June manages to pull free, dashing back to where I’m still kneeling and flinging her arms around my neck. Her bottom lip quivers. “Will you dance with me, Bwant?”

“I can’t do that. I’m not a ballerina like you—I haven’t even practiced.”

“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 wrist watch.

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 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’s 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 to my feet, I watch as she takes her teacher’s hand and prances away, her head held high. I wave her off. “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, replaceing 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.”

“There’s little baby sheep playing harmonicas all over it.”

I shrug. “I guess it would be cooler if they were playing drums.”

“Hi, Brant. Hi, Theo.”

The girls traipse over to us, and I nudge Theo with my elbow until he pops up beside me, swiping at his hair and trying to cover his vest with his arms. I teeter on the balls of my feet and give them a nod. “Hey. You guys are dancing tonight?”

Of course, they’re dancing tonight. Why else would they be dressed like peacocks?

My embarrassment flares, but not as much as Theo’s. His pale skin breaks out into blotches of red, almost like hives.

“Yeah, we’re dancing,” Monica responds. Her eyes light up when she glances at Theo. “I like your vest.”

I think Theo might faint. His own eyes bug out, his words stuttering in his throat. “Um, I… yeah, it’s not mine. It’s Brant’s.”

My head whips toward him.

“He likes sheep. And harmonicas. And I just put it on by mistake, thinking it was a different vest. A much, much cooler vest.” He coughs into his fist. “Because I’m cool.”

I just stare at him, confused. We all do.

“Oh, well that’s… cool.” Monica forces a smile.

Luckily, Mrs. Bailey intercedes, sending a ‘hello’ to the girls, then telling us it’s time to go replace our seats in the auditorium. I’m grateful for this. I’m also really mad at Theo for being a liar.

“Bye, Brant,” Wendy says, while Mr. and Mrs. Bailey collect their things and Theo runs ahead of them like a chicken. “I’ll wave to you when I’m on stage.”

I’m shocked silly when she lifts up on her tiptoes and gives me a little kiss, right on the jaw. My cheeks grow hot, and I splutter, “O-Okay. See you in there.”

Wendy blinks her long lashes in my direction, her reddish-brown hair piled high on her head, not a lock out of place. Must be that magical hairspray. Then she takes Monica by the arm, and they skip off to the rest of their group, leaving me bewildered and stumbling to catch up to the Baileys.

When we’re settled into our seats a few minutes later, I shoot Theo a glare. He’s hunched low into his seat, his knees drawn up. “Why’d you lie, Theo? You made me look like a dummy.”

“I dunno. I’m real sorry, Brant.”

“You didn’t have to lie, you know. I would’ve said it was my vest if you asked me to.”

His head pops up, his eyes big and curious. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

A silence settles between us. I pick at the buttons on my dress shirt, waiting for what Theo will say next.

He finally sighs, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Maybe you should be Mario. You’re a lot braver than me,” Theo tells me, glancing in my direction. “I can be Luigi.”

“No,” I shake my head. “You’re the saver. I’m the sidekick.”

“But—”

“Mario doesn’t just stop being Mario because he gets scared. He keeps fighting. He keeps going and going, until he defeats all the scary things,” I say, my voice hushed in the quiet auditorium. “Think about it. He gets a whole lot of chances before he gets it right.”

Theo bites at his lip, nodding his head as he faces forward. He’s silent for a beat before he whispers, “Yeah. You’re right.”

A shot of happiness ripples through me.

Pride.

And that’s when the lights dim to dark and the curtains open. That’s when the announcer welcomes us, and the show begins. That’s when the dancers walk out onto the stage, the youngest group going first—June.

They are mere silhouettes on the shadowy stage, but when the lights ping back on, neon and pastels, June stands in a line with five other ballerinas with one hand on her hip and the other clinging to a vibrant lollipop accessory.

I leap from my seat. I can’t help it.

I whoop and holler so loud, the whole crowd of parents laugh. Theo laughs, too. Mrs. Bailey hides her face behind her palm, while Mr. Bailey tugs me back down to my chair, and I continue to wave like a lunatic to the tiny performers on stage.

June spots me, her face beaming.

She only breaks character that one time, right at the beginning, waving back at me and accidentally dropping her lollipop. But the moment the music starts, she dances like a dream; like she was always meant to dance.

She is flawless.

She is magical.

My heart flutters with joy as I watch June skip around the stage, twirling and proud, confident and strong. She takes a bow, and the crowd erupts with applause.

She is brave.

June never stopped dancing after that.

She loved it so much, she did it a hundred more times, then a hundred more. She told me once, a long time ago, that that recital might have been her very first memory—only, she doesn’t even remember the recital itself.

She remembers me.

She has a vivid recollection of me rising to my feet in a sea of people, shouting like a maniac, calling her name, and cheering her on. She also remembers what I told her when she got scared. The thing about being brave. She said she’s kept those words with her all her life, clinging to them tightly whenever she has felt afraid.

I wish I could admit to doing the same… but fear is an ugly, unpredictable beast, and the greater the fear, the more strength it takes for us to face it.

I’ve had a lot of fears over the years, but only one has truly torn me up, shredded me from the inside out, and nearly killed me.

The fear of losing June.

Two years later, I came face-to-face with that fear.