The Notebook

It's a fact of life that students will pass notes during class. As a veteran teacher of teenagers, I've learned when to step in and when to let it slide. I've seen notes on just about every topic under the sun - parties, crushes, complaints about my teaching, comments on my looks, parents, prom, arguments, grief, school projects - you name it, I've probably read a note about it.

I'm not the kind of teacher to embarrass a kid by reading a note aloud to the class. If I catch it, and it's distracting, I'll ask for the note and toss it in the trash. Of course, I did read a note aloud to my class once, years ago, or rather several pages worth of notes. But that was a special situation.

There were three girls in my AP Government class - seniors, good kids. I noticed early in the school year that they had a notebook - one of those black and white composition books - that they would pass between them. It usually changed hands at the beginning or end of class, and though they were clearly writing in it during my lessons, all three of them participated in class and proved through their test scores that they were learning the material. Since they were never distracting, I let it slide.

But the notebook intrigued me. Passing notes was so run of the mill that I've never thought twice about it, but a whole notebook? It continued throughout the school year, and my curiosity started getting the better of me. I asked the girls' other teachers if they had seen the notebook. Most of them had. Apparently, there were also two other girls in the group, and they would pass it between them throughout the school day. My fellow teachers had the same mentality I did - it wasn't a distraction, the girls did well in class, so they didn't call attention to it.

But none of us knew what they were writing about in that notebook! Was it just the typical teenage girl notes, but in a book instead of ripped pieces of paper?

My curiosity ate away at me for most of the year until I couldn't stand it. I had already decided years before that this would be my last year of teaching before retirement, and I did NOT want to retire with this unanswered question hanging over my head.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, I took action. I was pretty lax during lessons, but extremely strict for tests - nothing on the desk except the test and a pencil with a good eraser. During the last test of the year, one of the girls, Mary, was writing in the notebook. I knew she wasn't cheating, and she never actually passed the book to another student, but technically, a rule had been broken, and I seized the opportunity to confiscate the notebook.

I brought it to my desk and set it aside, knowing I couldn't read it in front of them. The girls shared glances but said nothing as they continued with their tests.

The class finished the test, the bell rang, and my students filtered out the door. Well, all except the notebook girls. "Mr. Bern?" Mary said, approaching my desk. "I'm sorry for having my notebook out during the test." She paused like she was waiting for me to accept her apology and hand her the notebook. Ordinarily, I would, but I had to read it! I decided to simply nod to acknowledge her apology. She looked at the other two nervously before continuing. "I'd really like to have my notebook back, Sir."

"I'm sorry, Mary," I said sternly. "You were using it during a test. I need to look through it and make sure you weren't cheating. It'll probably take me a few days to get through it all. If I find that you were cheating, I'll have to give you a failing grade." As I suspected, Mary didn't look concerned by that threat. As I said, I knew she wasn't cheating. "If not, I'll give you the book back before the end of the year."

The girls looked dejected but didn't argue. I finished up my day and went home to crash on the couch with a beer and the notebook.

I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. It looked like these girls had given themselves extra English homework! The notebook was full of writing prompts and answers to each one. Many of the prompts were in the same handwriting (Mary's, if I had to guess), but every few pages, there was a prompt written in another girl's handwriting.

The prompts ranged from mundane (what is your favorite fruit and why?) and typical teenage girl interests (who's your celebrity crush and why?) to interesting (create a character who is the complete opposite of you) to the downright brilliant (tell a horror story in less than 50 words).

Even more surprising, the girls' responses were good! Most of them were well-written and creative. I knew from the papers I'd assigned throughout the year that the three in my class were decent writers, but I had no idea how creative they were! And to do this on their own and put so much thought and effort into making it good, was unheard of! What teenager gives themselves more work?

I read the notebook from the front cover to the last page that was written on, about three-quarters of the way through. True, not every entry was a winner, but there was enough in there to keep me reading.

Near the end, the girls had gotten the idea to write a story together, each girl writing a paragraph or two and then passing it to the next girl. There were other entries intermixed with the story, but it continued for several pages. The last entry, which I had apparently interrupted mid-sentence, looked to be nearing a conclusion. When I saw that, I came up with a plan.

The next day, I called the girls up to my desk after class and held up the notebook. "It's clear you weren't cheating," I say sternly. "However, you still broke a rule during a test. Because of that, I could confiscate this. But-"

The girls collectively held their breaths as I paused. "That would be a crime. This is good!" The girls exhaled and then looked at me in confusion. "I'm impressed that you girls would do something like this on top of your schoolwork and extracurriculars! You and your friends have a lot of talent!"

Small smiles appeared on the girls' faces as I continued. "Here's my proposal - I give you your notebook, and you finish the story you were working on by the end of the year. Then, you let me read the story to the class on the last day of school. If you like, I can even make it anonymous."

The girls looked at each other and conferred through their glances. Then, Mary stepped forward. "It's a deal."

There were only a few weeks left in the school year, the last of which was earmarked for graduation practice and other end-of-year activities for the seniors. In all the hubbub, I wasn't sure if the girls would remember our deal, but on the last day of school, before the first bell rang, Mary stopped by my classroom and handed me a few sheets of paper stapled together, neatly typed. "We'd really like to remain anonymous," she said. I nodded to her, and she left the room.

True to my word, I read their story to the class, only saying that it was a side project for a few students in their year. Being the last day, I expected most of the students to ignore or tune me out, but they were surprisingly attentive. They were as intrigued as I was.

When I finished the story, I let my students sign yearbooks or whatever else they wanted to do. I heard many of them discussing the story, speculating about who wrote it. A few even asked me, but I refused to say.

The bell rang, and I bid farewell to that class. The three girls stopped by my desk. I handed their story to them and thanked them for allowing me to read it aloud. "You girls should seriously consider pursuing writing," I told them. You have a gift, and you clearly enjoy it."

They smiled, thanked me, and left. I end every school year wondering if I've made a difference in my students' lives, but that year, I found myself hoping that what I said stuck with those girls. Who knows? Maybe one or two of them took my advice.