She hadn’t gotten a response.
ISOBEL JOHNSON
On Monday afternoon, the spider plants on Isobel’s windowsill looked extra healthy, the contrast between the green edges and the cream centers of the leaves crisp and clear. She sat at her desk after the last junior had left her classroom, fist-bumping her as he passed her desk.
She put her copy of The Great Gatsby down in front of her. The rips in the corners of the cover extended a bit toward Daisy’s disembodied eyes, staring out over blurry carnival lights. Isobel smiled. Today had been the first day of discussion, the day she’d drawn Long Island on the board in green marker, dividing the Eggs.
Nick, first-person observer, unreliable narrator, Midwest. All of the teaching points bubbled to the surface of her consciousness, even after a year between readings. She loved this book, and she’d seen the enthusiasm in the faces of her students, too. She’d have them, she knew, just like always.
In December, she’d convinced Mary and Eleanor that the students should read The Crucible first, before Fitzgerald’s classic. “Let’s show them, more blatantly, desire gone wrong,” she’d argued in a team meeting. “Let’s show them what a powerful motivator lust really is.”
Eleanor had flinched at “lust,” which made Isobel smile. Mary waited a beat, glanced sidelong at Eleanor, and then said, “I agree with you, Isobel.”
And so she’d gotten her way.
Isobel turned toward her bookshelf, where she’d placed the Excellence in Teaching certificate, signed by Wayne Wallace himself, she’d received last spring. Allen Song hadn’t just acknowledged her in the Ellis Island playbill; he and Maeve Hollister, both active in collecting petition signatures, had nominated her for the Liston Heights Teacher of the Year award. At the luncheon, she’d clapped along with everyone else when a physics teacher who performed weekends at a comedy club downtown was chosen. But still, she was there.
Isobel slid her workout bag from beneath the desktop and rummaged through it, pushing aside her new heavy tights and jacket. (You’re shopping at a real store? Caroline had gasped when Isobel had texted photos of the outfit. And it’s not Old Navy?!) She wanted to be sure she’d remembered both of her shoes as well as a hat and mittens. The Liston Heights Striders adult running club was meeting in fifteen minutes. She’d seen the club advertised on Julia’s Facebook group, Celebrate Liston: Behind-the-Scenes Information for Parents Who Care. The page had also featured her picture as a Teacher of the Year honoree.
Want to run a personal best at the annual Theater Booster Club 5K? the ad for the running club had asked.
She surprised herself by finding she did, in fact, want that. And a month after she’d achieved it, finishing once again in a dead heat with Julia, she was still in the club.
She strode out to the parking lot just in time to meet a group of twelve others, including one well-bundled woman she could identify only by her long blond ponytail.
“Julia,” she said, walking up to her. “Hi.”
“Ready?” Julia’s voice was slightly muffled under a pink fleece neck warmer.
“I think so.” Isobel stood next to her, feet apart and stretching. “Race this weekend,” she said.
“Yep.” Julia leaned over, gloved hands reaching for the asphalt. “I think I’ll go faster than last month,” she said, a hint of laughter in her tone.
“Me, too,” said Isobel. “No doubt about it.”
A loud and tiny PE teacher from East Liston Middle, whom Julia had hired to lead the workouts, piped up from the front of the group. “Okay! We’re warming up for ten minutes, and then we’re doing tempo-paced loops around the building to simulate the end of this weekend’s five-K. Ready? Let’s go!”
Isobel and Julia began the run in the middle of the pack, not speaking much on the warm-up. Between intervals, they whispered breathless “Good jobs,” and both ran decidedly faster than prescribed on the last repeat, each trying to edge in front of the other.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my agent, Joanna MacKenzie. You’re brilliant and caring, and I appreciate so much your impeccable eye and your sky-high standards. I look forward to working together on many more books. Thanks also to the team at Nelson Literary Agency that helped with every segment of this big, exciting project. I want to extend a particular thank-you to Angie Hodapp. Your editorial notes pushed me to reimagine so many critical aspects of this book.
Thank you to my editor, Kerry Donovan. From the moment we first spoke, I knew your vision for this story would lift it. It’s better and bigger—more than I thought it could be—because of our work together, and I feel so lucky to be on your team. And thank you to the fantastic crew at Berkley: Diana Franco, Jessica Mangicaro, Dan Walsh, Craig Burke, Jeanne-Marie Hudson, and Claire Zion. And thank you to Anthony Ramondo for the cover, which dazzles me every time I see it.
Thank you to Mary Carroll Moore, who taught me how to structure a novel, and thanks to the Loft Literary Center for offering Mary’s classes. Thank you to Chadd Johnson, my genius friend who fixed this story on no fewer than three separate occasions, including at least once while we were doing recess duty together in the middle school gym.
My writers’ group is the best writers’ group. Thank you to the Toucans: Nigar Alam, Maureen Fischer, and Stacy Swearingen. You keep me laughing and honest, and you require my absolute best while still being gentle. Our collaborations are invaluable. Thanks also to my online writers’ groups, The Ink Tank and Every Damn Day Writers. You make me feel capable and reasonable, even on those days I’m neither.
I have the best friends, early readers, and stalwart cheerleaders. Thanks to those who tackled partial, messy, incoherent drafts of this novel and never once told me I was foolish to think I could finish it: Jordan Cushing, Lee Heffernan, Jessie Hennen, Emily Koski, Mary McAdaragh, KK Neimann (who also helped me dream up the whole viral video scene), Mary Scavotto, and Dan West. Thanks especially to my mom, Miriam Williams, who read every single iteration of this story even though there were about a thousand. And thanks to the friends who expressed their excitement and pride and urged me forward. These include Erin Dady, Susan Klobuchar, Adriana Matzke, and so many wonderful others.
As I’ve worked on this novel, I’ve thought so much about my excellent teachers and coaches at Visitation School in Mendota Heights, Minnesota. Thank you for encouraging me to be the very best version of myself. Thanks especially to Robert Shandorf, my sage English teacher for my junior and senior years. I’m not sure he would have liked this book, but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t been in his class. He loved Gatsby the very best.
Speaking of Gatsby, Isobel Johnson has clearly read Deborah Appleman’s Critical Encounters in Secondary English, a seminal text for literature teachers everywhere. I read it, too, and it changed my practice. Thank you, Deborah. Isobel and I have also internalized the four dimensions of critical literacy as articulated by Mitzi Lewison, Amy Seely Flint, and Katie Van Sluys. These include “Interrogate Multiple Perspectives,” which Isobel has quoted on the sign in her classroom. Thank you to these authors and a second thanks to Lee for teaching me about this framework.
Thank you to the many talented and dedicated teachers with whom I’ve worked in my twenty-year career. We all know teaching is a hard and sometimes ridiculous job, and if you’re a teacher, you need your team. Thanks especially to Renee Corneille, Rachel Hatten, and Robin Ferguson for dealing with my daily dramas and assessing whether I needed to reapply deodorant between classes.
Thank you to my students! You are now age nine to about thirty-three, and I’ve loved being with you! You’ve consistently inspired me and made me laugh, and I’d like it if you would all please send me your latest writing and updates.
I’d like to offer an insufficient but sincere thank-you to my parents, Miriam, Martha, and Paul; my siblings, Kevin, Loren, Devin, Mary, Rachel, Noah, and Ben; and my in-laws, J
ane, Dobby, Sarah, and John. You’ve made my life a great adventure from birth to adulthood. I love you all, and I’m so lucky.
Thank you to Shef and Mac for being the world’s best and most interesting kids. I adore you, and it’s so much fun to be your mom. Thank you to Dan. I’m so grateful for our life together. Everyone knows I couldn’t empty the dishwasher, let alone write a novel, without your support. Lucky for me, you’re far better than the best I could do.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathleen West is a veteran middle and high-school teacher. She graduated with a degree in English from Macalester College and holds a Master's degree in literacy education from the University of Minnesota. She lives in Minneapolis with her hilarious husband, two sporty sons, and very bad goldendoodle.
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Minor Dramas & Other Catastrophes Page 33