Most schools say they’re inclusive.
This one means it.

At Tempe Preparatory Academy, students wear blazers. They conjugate Latin verbs. They’re ranked among the top charter schools in the country. And yes—neurodivergent kids are right there in the front row, reading Plato.

No special tracks. No lowered bars. Just radical belief in what every student can do—with the right kind of support.

Mariah Romero started her career as a paraprofessional. Now she’s pushing an entire school system to think differently as the Tempe Preparatory Academy Special Education Director.

Here’s how she does it.

Different Is Not Less

Tempe Prep is, as Romero describes it, a Level A school. That means neurodivergent students spend at least 80% of their day in general education classrooms. Full immersion. Sink or swim.

This is a stark difference when compared with other schools, where most students with disabilities spend their time outside of general education.

And yet, the students thrive.

“I started to see how much a student can succeed in a general education classroom,” she said. “Not just survive. Succeed.”

In many public schools, students with similar needs might be classified as Level C—given more dedicated resources but often isolated from their peers.

Romero says the gaps in traditional education force her to look closer, to question assumptions, and most importantly—to listen.

“When a new student comes in, I’m handed a piece of paper,” she explains. “Their reading level, math baseline, all of it. But that doesn’t tell me who they are.”

She finds that a diagnosis rarely tells the full story. Sometimes it doesn’t tell the story at all.

Romero doesn’t ask how to make school easier. She asks how to make it work.

That starts by ditching one-size-fits-all approaches

The Tempe Trust Method

Romero’s philosophy can be boiled down to three deceptively simple principles:

• Differentiate relentlessly
• Built trust before instructing
• Let students lead

It’s not flashy. It’s not expensive. But it is remarkably effective. Here’s how she’s transforming lives.

The Power of Differentiation

Ask Romero about her secret, and she won’t talk about test prep or software tools. She’ll say differentiation.

“It means not one size fits all,” she said. “Especially in a school like this, where the curriculum is all honors-based. If we want our students to succeed, we have to meet them where they are.”

For Romero, that often means reteaching basics like grammar and skip-counting—skill gaps that are exacerbated after the coronavirus pandemic.

“We have to step back and say: What do we have to work with right now?”

The emotional and social gaps can be just as deep—and just as invisible. Inclusion becomes a quest for a relationship.

Romero’s method is slow presence. Gentle persistence. Radical availability.

She shows up first. Then waits.
That’s when behavior shifts. Confidence blooms. Students feel safe enough to try.

Don’t Lower the Bar—Build a Ladder

Usually, when a student struggles, we pull them out. Romero pulls them in.

Take one of her sixth graders. The IEP flagged the student for behavioral issues. The kind of note that would make some teachers brace for impact.

Romero didn’t. She watched. She waited. She stayed present.

“I told him, ‘Whatever you need, come find me. Take a break. Ask a question. I’m here for you,’” she said. It took a week. Just one week for trust to bloom.

Soon, the behaviors began to fade. And in their place? Growth. Belonging. Confidence.

Romero grinned as she recalled the moment.

“It’s all about communication. Once the student knows you’re not going anywhere, that you’re really here to support them—that’s when it starts.”

Another student with a speech IEP refused to speak altogether. Romero adjusted her energy, toned down her excitement, and started slow. One question a day. Then two. Then a story about her weekend. Then an invitation.

Weeks later, that same student was giving presentations in class.

“You have to read the individual,” she said. “Some students want you loud and chatty. Others just want to sit in silence next to you for a while. You mirror them until they’re ready.”

Connection is Romero’s method.

The Power of Peer-to-Peer

Romero’s real genius might be how she turns students into advocates for each other.

Each year, she brings in her older high schoolers—students who were once middle schoolers struggling with the same challenges—and pairs them with incoming sixth graders. It’s not a formal mentorship program. It’s more human than that.

“They just step up,” she said. “I tell them, ‘We’ve got a game plan next year—you’re going to help the new kids.’ And they do.”

The results have been nothing short of transformational. Students who once struggled with social skills are now leading the campus, answering questions, and owning their space.

It’s counterintuitive. Conventional thinking says, “Take pressure off these students.” Romero gives them responsibility instead.

And they rise to meet it.

“Even the students are resources,” she said. “They want leadership. They want community. You just have to give them the chance.”

If She Could Rewrite Day One

If Romero were to redesign a school from scratch, she wouldn’t start with a syllabus. She wouldn’t even start with an icebreaker.

“The first day should be about meeting each other,” she said. “Not teachers talking at students—but students getting to know one another.”

In her class, it’s already happening. Sixth graders are greeted by twelfth graders who once stood exactly where they’re standing now.

That, Romero insists, is how inclusion starts. Not in policies or programs, but in trust. In relationships. In seeing and being seen.

A Million-Dollar Job

Today, Romero wears many hats—504 Coordinator, Special Education Director, IEP architect. But if you gave her a million dollars?

“I’d go back to being a paraprofessional,” she said, laughing. “Because that’s where I learned the most—just being in the classroom, side by side with the students.”

Romero isn’t chasing headlines. She’s not angling for awards. But she’s changing lives in ways most of us will never see.

And in a world that often fails to accommodate difference, she offers a quiet blueprint for how to begin:

Differentiate. Empathize. Trust.

The Big Idea

Romero shows us that inclusion isn’t something supplemental to teaching.

It is the teaching.

Inclusion isn’t charity; it’s what works.

When we stop pulling students out, and start pulling them in, everyone rises.