A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I spent the summer working at a camp for kids with disabilities, and I had a blast... but I was gone the entire summer and had very little time to write... and what I did have I spent working on my "Victorious" story.
Thanks to all my reviewers, readers, and followers! Enjoy! :)
Dinner was an exciting affair. The Howard parents sat at each end of the table, talking loudly about a hundred and one topics, constantly asking Mr. Schuester if he'd like more stir-fry, or pouring more lemonade for Rachel. Liz inserted herself into the conversation in between several conversations she seemed to be having via text message.
The meal was almost finished when the front door banged open. From the hall came an effeminate voice, filled with anger. "You would not believe what they're doing to our sets at the theater!"
Rachel looked up in surprise. "Is that…?" she asked, hardly daring to believe that her one of her idols, Rand Philippe, was within earshot.
"Rand, get in here," Mrs. Howard said. "You've almost missed dinner."
At that, a short, dark-haired man entered the dining room, looking upset. He wore dark purple trousers and a black button-down, with a green scarf tossed about his shoulders. "I couldn't possibly eat, Susan," he said, obviously put-out. "I'm too upset."
"Rand," Mrs. Howard said. "You know you need to keep your energy up. We've got rehearsals all weekend."
"I couldn't possibly eat," Rand Philippe repeated. "I'm weary just thinking of it."
He flopped into the empty chair at the dining room table, which happened to be next to Rachel.
"Hello, Mr. Philippe," Rachel said a bit nervously.
"Oh, hello, dear," he said, closing his eyes. "Elizabeth, I've got to say that you really should ease up on the schoolgirl look."
"Rand, you dumbass," Liz said mildly, "that's not me."
Rand sat up and opened his eyes. "Oh. My goodness. I'm sorry, Elizabeth."
"Any time," Liz said, a bit icily.
"I'm Rachel Berry, Mr. Philippe. I'm a huge fan."
"Rachel Berry," Rand said. "Hmm. Are you a Lovely, my dear?"
"Rand," Mrs. Howard said.
"I'm sorry, Susan dear. I just can't keep track of them all. Especially if they're in the chorus."
"You mean like how you confused Pamela Chang and Jamesha Morton?" Liz asked, spearing a piece of broccoli with her fork.
"They all look the same to me," Rand said, waving his hand dismissively.
"Despite the fact that one is Asian and one is black?"
"Liz," Mrs. Howard hissed across the table. "Not now."
"No, no, I'm from William McKinley," Rachel said.
"Oh," Rand said, with a look on his face that suggested he was considering slugs or something as equally disgusting. "Oh, you're one of the… New Directions."
"That's right," Rachel said.
"And I'm their coach," Mr. Schuester said from his side of the table.
Rand looked over, still distastefully frowning. "Ah, yes. William Schuester. I've heard about your… glee club."
"They've got a pretty good chance of beating the pants off the Lovelies," Skyler typed.
"Is that so?" Rand muttered.
"We're just honored to be competing," Rachel hurried to say.
"Yes, yes, Rand, Skyler composed a song for the New Directions," Dave Howard said, waving his fork in the air. "Really inspired. Some of her best work, I'd say."
"That's right… you compose," Rand said, speaking to Skyler in the most patronizing tone Rachel had ever heard.
She didn't like that – Skyler could obviously stand up for herself, but it was strange to hear such a dismissive tone coming from one of her idols. "It's brilliant," Rachel said.
"We're honored to have her with us," Mr. Schuester added.
Skyler gave Rachel a small smile.
"Well, I've got to run," Rand said, heaving himself out of the chair.
"You won't have dinner, Rand?" Mrs. Howard asked.
"No, no, I'm much too worked up to eat. I've got to call Esmeralda Hawkins. It seems she allowed her ham-fisted arts crew to change the colors on our set. If they were talented they'd be in the Lovelies," Rand said. He waved as he headed out of the room.
"He really needs to get laid," Liz said in the silence that was left in Rand's wake.
"Oh, Liz," Mrs. Howard said, but she smiled.
Liz and Mr. Howard cleared the table. Mrs. Howard said to Skyler, "Let's go get your treatment done." To her other guests, she said, "We'll be right back."
Rachel took a sip from her water glass and turned to look at Mr. Schuester. "Mr. Shu, I've been thinking."
Mr. Schuester leaned back in his chair. "Are you thinking you were wrong about Rand Philippe?"
"No," Rachel said.
"The guy's a jerk, Rachel," Mr. Schuester said.
"Well, yes, but many choreographers and directors are temperamental…"
"Temperamental, but not jerks. You saw how he treated Skyler."
"Mr. Shu, I'm not saying that it's right, but a lot of people are dismissive towards the handicapped. And you have to admit that at first look Skyler seems very obviously disabled. Very obviously disabled. When I first met her…" Rachel's statement trailed off.
"Assume competence," Mr. Schuester said, reaching for his water glass.
"What?"
"When you meet someone, always assume competence, whether they're disabled or not," Mr. Schuester replied.
Rachel took a second for this to sink in. "Is Skyler… will she… um… be onstage with us?"
"I hadn't thought much about it," Mr. Schuester said, setting his glass down. "Are you going to argue against having her up there with us?"
"No," Rachel said.
With that Mr. Schuester looked up.
"I want her there, Mr. Shu," Rachel said. "That song she composed… it's beautiful in ways that I can't even begin to explain. It makes me feel things that I can't understand, but which I know are beautiful and amazing. She's musical to a degree that most of us aren't. She's wickedly talented… and she's on our side. We're lucky to have her and the audience deserves to know it was her that helped propel us to first place."
The teacher smiled. "That's the Rachel Berry I know," he said.
Skyler was the first one to the choir room the next day after school. She gave the empty room a small smile, considering the possibilities. Then, without much further thought, she pulled up iTunes on her computer and scrolled through the songs until she found what she was looking for.
She cranked the volume up as far as it would go, and hit "play." As the music spooled out of her speakers she activated the switch that drove her chair, and spun in wild circles with reckless abandon.
"Don't be fancy, just get dancy / Why so serious…? / So raise your glass if you are wrong…"
Skyler laughed over the music, over the noise of her ventilator, as she spun faster and faster.
From the doorway Mr. Schuester watched her.
She was, as Rachel had said, so very obviously disabled. Skyler Howard was a girl who weighed less than the machinery keeping her alive, but at the same time she was a free spirit, wildly musical, and happy. It was the last that Will Schuester admired so much. To see someone so obviously tethered to worldly things, like a ventilator and a wheelchair, who was at the same time so free in her body, so free in the world around her, was almost an impossibility.
And yet, there was Skyler, spinning around the choir room to the tune of Pink's "Raise Your Glass."
When the song ended so did the spinning. For a moment Mr. Schuester thought he saw Skyler's eyes roll a bit, but then she focused and saw him in the doorway. She blushed, hurrying to pull up her speech program. "I must look like an idiot," she typed.
"No," Mr. Schuester said, coming in to set his briefcase and music on the piano. "You look happy."
"Well, isn't that funny?" Skyler typed with a wry smile. "Because I am happy."