“Hang on.” The post from her grad school roommate, the one that included Julia Abbott’s video, sat at the top of her profile. It had garnered fifteen likes and a couple of those surprised-face “reactions.” A few more people had liked Isobel’s own comment on the video, There’s no accounting for crazy.
That remark must have been what set off this emergency? She selected the post and deleted the whole thing, not just her comment. Still, Isobel couldn’t think how it had made its way off of her own profile page. She wasn’t friends with any students or their parents on Facebook. She’d been meticulous about that.
In any case, there wasn’t time to puzzle it out now. The news segment was set to air in eighty minutes, and she decided she ought to make the call that could potentially stop that first. She dialed Randy, the news producer. Mark pulled the minivan into the garage. “You go in with the kids,” she told him as the phone rang in her ear. “I’ve got to take care of something.”
“You’ll get cold,” Mark said, wary.
“I’ll be quick.” The kids clattered out of the backseat with their soccer bags over their shoulders, still whipping the dangling straps at each other. As the doors slammed shut, Randy answered, sounding harried. Maybe if she denied permission to use her comment—if she somehow disavowed it?—it wouldn’t appear in the story.
“Randy, it’s Isobel Johnson,” she said quickly.
Randy paused and then said, “The teacher! Thanks for calling back. Do you want to offer an expanded comment? I’ve got just enough time to amend the story.”
“That’s great news,” said Isobel, “because I actually don’t want to comment at all.”
Randy fell silent, and Isobel waited, too. After a few uncomfortable seconds, Randy said, “You already have.”
“I haven’t,” Isobel said firmly. She felt tempted to go on, to explain that she had no idea that a stupid, innocent comment on her seemingly private Facebook page could be used in a local news story, but it seemed best to give Randy as few details as possible. “I have no comment.”
“Are you saying you didn’t write ‘There’s no accounting for crazy’ on your Facebook page?”
Isobel felt angry now, in addition to desperate. What right did this guy have to mine her profile, to encroach on her conversation with her roommate? “I’m saying,” she said clearly and slowly, “I have no comment.”
“Ms. Johnson, we’ve got your statement. If you don’t want to add anything, I’m afraid—”
“I want to retract whatever you think is my statement!” Isobel felt surprised to be shouting.
“I’m afraid our story is locked. Have a good evening.” Isobel pulled the phone away from her ear as it beeped at the conclusion of the call. She blinked, letting her eyelids close for an overlong moment. The heat faded in the front seat, and when she opened her eyes, she could see her breath. February, she knew, was too early for the Minneapolis public schools to post their job openings, but maybe she should reach out to her former principal at East High. Plant the seed that she’d love to return to her roots. Certainly she’d be fired from Liston Heights after this.
JULIA ABBOTT
The local news story was as demeaning, minimizing, and one-sided as Julia imagined it would be. She was right about everything in the piece down to the tacky graphics overlay, red font and all. And though she was horrified by the image, she couldn’t help being pleased that she’d called it. Even as an intern at YM, she’d had a sense for design, in addition to copy writing.
The only thing she hadn’t predicted was the extra jolt of rage she experienced when Isobel Johnson’s comment appeared as a Facebook screenshot, her words circled in red. The serious-faced anchor said, “While the Liston Heights School District declined to make an on-the-record comment, one teacher perhaps reveals officials’ true feelings. On her Facebook page, English teacher Isobel Johnson wrote in response to the clip, ‘There’s no accounting for crazy.’ And, George, that’s certainly one way to describe Julia Abbott’s behavior as depicted in this viral video.”
At that point, the camera panned out to include the torsos of both anchors, George, to the right of the woman who’d read the comment, barely containing his mirth at Julia’s expense. “We’ve heard of parents removed from sports fields,” George said. “Maybe we need time-outs for theater parents, too.”
Julia covered her face with her hands and felt a rush of gratitude that Tracy was out babysitting and Andrew had made last-minute plans to see a movie with a group of friends. Henry watched the piece and then grabbed his duffel bag from the mudroom.
“I can’t believe that teacher made that comment,” Julia moaned.
“I’m going to the gym,” Henry said. “Blow off some steam.” His anger had simmered through the last day since the video resurfaced, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize one more time for the same ten-second incident. She didn’t say anything as he shuffled around in the mudroom and eventually slammed the back door behind him.
When he’d left, Julia walked to the kitchen counter and opened her laptop. How could Isobel Johnson call her crazy? The teacher was clearly unhinged. She’d poisoned Tracy against motherhood (and her mother!) and was currently suspended from her job. Of course, the television station didn’t mention any of that.
Though Julia dreaded finding another story about herself, she thought it better to know what people were saying. She clicked on the Inside Liston Facebook page. There was nothing new on Channel 6, thank goodness, but just above Marilyn Ogilvie’s Watch This! post, Lisa Lions had added something. Breaking: Isobel Johnson suspended from teaching pending investigation. The usual comment storm exploded beneath the spare announcement. Julia skimmed the responses until one in particular stopped her. Has anyone actually verified this woman’s credentials? someone asked.
There were no responses yet, and Julia had a Saturday night alone to do some digging. Perhaps she could help Wayne Wallace along to a favorable conclusion of his investigation.
TRACY ABBOTT
When Tracy had first read the Facebook page, she’d been certain that Lisa Lions was a mother, someone who’d lost herself like those missing-voices women from the stories in English class. But once she’d retreated to her room on Sunday night under the pretext of preparing for her vocabulary quiz (SAT words beginning with “s”) and pored over posts by Lisa Lions, she realized she’d been wrong.
There was the breathless “Breaking” update on Ms. Johnson’s suspension, the tidbit about requests for Ms. Woodsley, even periodic little dispatches from the lunchroom detailing which poor food choices were most popular among students. Lisa Lions had a particular disdain for the chicken patty, Andrew’s favorite. She’d even photographed one once, the sandwich under the heat lamp in the ready-made section of the cafeteria.
This is not a mother, Tracy decided. There was no way a kid would stand for their parent hanging out at lunch and taking pictures of food.
Lisa must work at Liston Heights High School. Tracy imagined her skulking (a word from the SAT list) around the building, being friendly with everyone while always on the lookout for her next post, as salacious (another one) and stupid as one of those shows on the CW. Who would do that? She pictured the surreptitious (and again) photo of Ms. Montague’s clog against the blue-gray carpet they had in every classroom. Had an adult in the building taken that picture during some faculty meeting? And there’d been a recent post about layoffs—something the teachers would know about first.
An older teacher, Tracy reasoned, wasn’t likely to do something as shortsighted as moderating a forum for online gossip. A younger teacher would worry about layoffs and find Ms. Montague’s clogs notable enough to publicly ridicule.
* * *
• • •
Meet me in the bathroom? Tracy texted to Anika Bergstrom on Monday during study hall.
“You couldn’t have chosen the set room, where at least it doesn
’t smell?” Anika asked once they’d each arrived.
“This is closer. I didn’t want to raise suspicion.”
“Raise suspicion?” Anika rolled her eyes, and then her playful smile transformed into a look of sheepish concern. “I was actually wondering how you are. Like, at home.”
“Did you see the news story on Saturday night?” Tracy imagined this was why Anika would be worried. “Now that’s floating around social media, too, in addition to the Watch This! video. Even my dad’s barely speaking to my mom at this point.”
“Did you see Ms. Johnson’s comment on the story?”
“‘There’s no accounting for crazy’? Yeah, I saw it.” Tracy shrugged. “Crazy” was exactly how Tracy herself had described her mother to Ms. Johnson after they witnessed the cast-list incident. Ms. Johnson’s response that afternoon by the drama bulletin board had been “We’re all a little crazy.” The Facebook comment seemed harsher, but wasn’t it a version of the same idea? “It’s not important right now,” Tracy said, leaning her hip against a sink. “I want to show you something.” She shoved her phone at Anika, Inside Liston already loaded on the screen. “This is that secret group on Facebook that our moms are in, the one I mentioned in English.” Tracy had already checked Anika’s mom’s activity. Robin had liked a few things, but had never commented. “It’s awful, and it has this anonymous moderator.”
“Oh my God,” Anika said, scrolling. “It’s like Gossip Girl for adults.”
“It’s exactly like that,” Tracy said. “And I want to find out who Lisa Lions is.”
Anika handed the phone back. “Why?” she asked.
“Because this person is getting everyone in trouble. Well, getting my mom and Ms. Johnson in trouble. The video is ruining my life, and also, don’t you hate the sub?”
Anika shrugged. “She’s fine, right?”
“Okay,” Tracy conceded, “I don’t hate her, but Ms. Johnson is, like, getting fired and it’s because someone’s writing stuff—posting stuff—about her online without context. And I think it’s another teacher.” Tracy quickly summarized her reasoning, and Anika reacted strongly to the chicken-patty evidence.
“So, what do you want us to do?”
“I’m not totally sure, but I thought we’d start by making a list of every teacher hired within the last three years. The people with tenure wouldn’t risk this, right? It’s pretty dumb.”
“Start a Google Doc,” Anika said. “I’ll get on it back in study hall. First”—she swirled her finger toward the ceiling—“I want to get out of here.”
JAMIE PRESTON
On Monday afternoon, Mary skidded a desk along the carpet, moving it so she and Jamie sat facing each other, tabletops touching. Jamie felt oddly relaxed, a contrast with how she usually experienced a meeting with her boss. This wouldn’t be a Grow and Glow, but rather a conversation about Isobel. Mary had been making the rounds, the other members of the department whispering about their meetings at lunch while Isobel was absent. She hid in the library, Jamie knew, or, as was the case on Friday, didn’t even come to work. Everyone was careful about what they said in front of Jamie and Lyle, Isobel’s friends, and changed the subject when they approached. Still, Jamie had heard that some people—Eleanor, especially—had unloaded when they’d had their chances with the department chair, using the occasion of Isobel’s suspension to vent eight years of frustration with their self-righteous colleague.
Mary smiled at Jamie apologetically now. She cleared her throat and glanced at the teacher desk, where neat piles of paper sat in front of a potted jade.
The department chair looked nervous. It struck Jamie that their usual roles were reversed. Jamie typically fretted as Mary marched composedly through her agenda. This time, Jamie’s impressions would set the tone. “I need to talk to you about Isobel,” Mary began hesitantly.
“Okay.” Jamie matched the slow pace of Mary’s speech. While she’d known this meeting was approaching, she hadn’t totally decided what to say. It was true Jamie needed some of Isobel’s class sections to retain her full-time contract. How far should she go in her criticism? What would be impactful and yet not suspicious? She didn’t want to seem as if she were angling for anything. At least, not yet.
“So,” Mary began again, “I imagine you’re aware of Isobel’s situation.”
“Her situation?” Jamie thought it best to force Mary to do most of the talking.
Mary raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised. “Well, we—Wayne and I—have fielded a number of complaints about Isobel’s . . .” She looked over Jamie’s shoulder. “Isobel’s interpretation of the Liston Heights curriculum.”
“Okay.” Jamie pinched her lips together.
“And I’m trying to gather some more information.” Mary scrolled through what seemed to be several pages of notes. “I’d like to know what types of mentoring you’ve received from Isobel in the last year.” Mary tugged at her scarf, pulling it tighter against her neck.
“Isobel’s been wonderful to me,” Jamie said, “generous with her time and materials from the very beginning.” She scanned the back wall as Mary made notes. Rows of novels lined the shelves behind the student desks, hundreds of copies of The Scarlet Letter stacked neatly in front of the cinder block.
“What kinds of things does Isobel share with you?”
“Everything.” Jamie looked up, thinking. “Assessments, lesson plans, discussion questions . . .”
“For all of the novels?”
Jamie nodded. “Everything I need for American Lit. I don’t teach ninth grade.”
“Right. Okay.” Mary’s fingers clicked over the keyboard. “Do you notice any patterns in Isobel’s teaching materials? Certain pet topics?”
“Like what?” Jamie pulled her black cardigan across her blouse, wrapping her arms around her middle. They were getting closer now. Two students laughed in the hallway outside the classroom, and they both glanced toward the closed door. “Do you feel Isobel has a political agenda?” Mary asked, eyes back on her laptop.
“Well, everyone knows Isobel is a social justice educator.” She told Jamie at least monthly that “teaching for change” was every professional’s responsibility.
“And within that identity,” Mary continued, “do you think that Isobel maintains an openness to students who might disagree with her positions?”
Jamie considered. The honest answer was no, she knew. While Isobel enjoyed discussing controversial issues with students, she maintained an inflexible stance on many. “Isobel isn’t one to compromise her ideals.”
Mary typed, the glow of her screen accentuating the shadows beneath her cheekbones. Jamie’s boss looked exhausted. “And what does that look like in class? I know you observe her teaching sometimes. Do you think students feel marginalized?”
Jamie thought about the angry mothers on the Inside Liston page, the ones whose daughters no longer wanted to have children. She also recalled those who, in response to the news that Isobel had been suspended, wrote that they hoped she’d never return. In fact, the number of people requesting to join Inside Liston had picked up after Isobel’s suspension. She’d recently approved more than fifty new members, so many that she’d given up the minor vetting she used to do before accepting them. No matter how nice Isobel had been to Jamie, she was clearly a lightning rod. “Mary,” she said, confident, channeling Lisa Lions, “it seems like you’re asking me if Isobel has a liberal bias. Is that right? Are you asking me if she’s using literature to impart a certain message to kids?”
Mary pulled at her scarf again. “Yes,” she said, “I guess that’s what I’m asking.”
Jamie leaned back in the student desk, ready. “Isobel’s teaching is steeped in liberalism. In fact, I’d call some of her work white liberal elitism.” She folded her hands on the desktop as she delivered the phrase she’d read on CNN.com last weekend. A wave of relief spread over her. A
lthough Isobel had always been nice to her, the current flood of complaints indicated the egregiousness of her agenda. Jamie had always walked her own lessons back from the leftist stance Isobel embodied. There should be consequences for political indoctrination. Though Jamie—Lisa—had given that most recent queer theory handout a wider audience on Inside Liston, Isobel had created it all on her own.
Mary’s mouth dropped open. “You’re sure?” she asked.
“Each book becomes a tool for advancing her agenda.” Jamie looked up from her hands to meet Mary’s eyes, feeling old and experienced for the first time since she’d begun teaching.
Mary coughed. “I have to say, Jamie, I’m surprised by your candor.”
Jamie shrugged. “If Isobel’s taught me anything,” she said, “it’s that teachers should tell the truth.”
TRACY ABBOTT
Tracy grabbed her ski duffel from her locker after the final bell rang and she startled when someone tapped her shoulder. She turned to find Anika close behind her, her eyes darting.
“You scared me.” Tracy smiled, recovering. “What’s up? You look like you’re here to deliver a coded message. Do you have a new theory?” The girls had typed the names of newish teachers by department during study hall, using the LHHS website to generate their list. They’d planned, via comments on the Google Doc, to narrow the field to an initial list of suspects that evening. Tracy had shared Kate Awakened’s log-in credentials so they could both investigate.
“I think things have gotten worse,” Anika said. “There’s something new on the Facebook page.”
“Since study hall?” Tracy glanced at her Apple Watch. It had been less than two hours since she’d introduced their task.
“Your mom posted something about Ms. Johnson’s suspension.”
Minor Dramas & Other Catastrophes Page 21