The Sparkle Squad

Marnie Gordon, 25, a strawberry blonde who favors paisley skirts and infinity scarves, was in her third year teaching English to juniors and seniors in Pine City, Minnesota. Daughter of Tim and Lori Gordon of White Bear Lake, Minnesota, with younger sisters Amber, a nurse, and Kellie, who recently landed a job as a graphic arts designer with an online advertising agency, Marnie was the quiet one in the family. She gravitated to books at an early age and, by high school, decided she wanted to become an English teacher.

It was at the grade 7-12 school in Pine City where she met her boyfriend, social studies teacher Ethan Thurston, who started teaching the year before her. As young educators, they grew together professionally, though over the past six months, the relationship has expanded to become more personal and mutually romantic. Marnie fell for Ethan’s sense of humor but also the compassion and love he displayed toward his profession as a teacher – and to his students. And, being the stereotypical tall, dark – with a beard, that made him look professorial – and handsome being part of the package, Marnie had it all!

Pine City hadn’t necessarily been Marnie’s first thought to begin her teaching career. A graduate of the University of Minnesota-Duluth, Marnie loved going to school near Lake Superior. Periodic trips to the Lakewalk for study breaks were something she hoped she could continue if she could land a teaching job in Duluth, Hermantown, Proctor, or Superior. Marnie also considered some Iron Range schools and had an interview in Hibbing. But teaching positions in the area were always heavily sought after, and she wasn’t chosen. Broadening her search, she found the listing for the Pine City opening. The school was somewhat dated. The building was built in 1958, of mid-century modern design that looked modern at one point but whose time had seemed to pass it by. It had few updates since it was new. It served not only Pine City but the nearby communities of Beroun, Henriette, and Rock Creek, with about 800 students total. But, in her interview, she found that what it might have lacked upon first appearances from the outside (and inside) it more than made up for with the warmth and closeness of the staff. Marnie sensed that the staff truly enjoyed being there and that it was more than just a school or a job to them. Pine City seemed like a community. Ultimately, Marnie was offered the position, and sensing it would be a good fit for her, she enthusiastically accepted.

For a couple of years, even before coming to Pine City, Marnie had been contemplating something personal, something quietly meaningful to her, and something bold and daring. Marnie was thinking about getting her nose pierced. It finally happened the Thursday afternoon of MEA weekend in mid-October, after school, where she made an appointment with a studio in North Branch to get it done. Her small silver stud in her left nostril added an unmistakable sparkle to the young English teacher who naturally had a sparkle in her eyes, framed by strawberry blonde bangs on her forehead above. She made the appointment alone and didn’t tell anyone – not even Ethan. Her new adornment would be a surprise to him when they walked into the teacher’s lounge on Monday morning after school was back after MEA weekend.

Monday morning, 7:45 arrived early enough as Marnie and Ethan arrived within seconds of each other at school. Marnie was in the lead, going through the doors of the main foyer, down the hall, and into the second door on the left into the teacher’s lounge. Ethan, recognizing Marnie from behind, stepped up his pace and entered the room shortly after. It was just the two of them.

Marnie put her lunch away in the refrigerator. As she closed the door, she glanced toward Ethan. He saw the difference immediately.

Marnie Gordon

“Whoa! Marnie! You got a nose ring! Cute!” Ethan exclaimed.

“Really?” Marnie answered, nervously. She knew she had taken a risk getting it and not telling him, nor anyone else, ahead of time. She had visited her parents and sisters over the weekend and had unanimous affirmation from them. But Marnie’s relationship with Ethan was something special, and she was relieved that he liked it.

“I am surprised. You’ve always had a quiet vibe about you, not someone I could see getting her nose pierced. But I really like it,” explained Ethan. “It looks good on you.” Marnie blushed.

The couple shared a kiss and a long embrace, still just the two of them, in the teacher’s lounge. Eventually, they heard the voice of Bob Lansing, principal of Pine City High School, in the distance and footsteps down the hall. The two wrapped up their moment of expression, and a few seconds later, Mr. Lansing entered the lounge.

“Good morning, Mr. Thurston and Miss Gordon,” said Mr. Lansing, age 61, very much the “old school” – figuratively and literally – style principal, whose presence could intimidate students, yet with faculty he juggled setting firm expectations with a sense of humor and assurance that he was someone they could trust. Mr. Lansing was getting close to retirement, and he had mastered being able to lead without coming across as overbearing.

“Good morning, Bob,” Ethan and Marnie answered in unison.

Mr. Lansing was close enough where he could see Marnie’s new piercing, and quietly observed it, as well as the increasing frequency where the two could be found spending time together. While he was about the last person who would be interested in contemporary trends nor endorsed them, he said nothing about Marnie’s new style choice, instead going in a different direction entirely.

Principal Bob Lansing

“Don’t forget to submit your grades for the first marking period by end of day Wednesday, so we can issue report cards before the end of the week,” Mr. Lansing advised his two young teachers.

Grading Papers After School

The classroom is quiet, the late afternoon sun slanting through the window in the classroom door from across the hall. Stacks of essays sit between them on the desk in Room 208, Marnie’s English classroom. Marnie is focused, red pen in hand, making notes on a student’s paper. Ethan, on the other hand, is supposed to be grading quizzes — but his eyes keep drifting.

He leans back in his chair, chin resting on his hand, watching her. The silver glint of her nose ring catches the light every time she looks down.

Ethan says softly, “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how cute that nose ring looks on you.”

Marnie glances up, amused.

Marnie smiled and answered, “You’re supposed to be grading, Mr. Social Studies. Not staring.” From the start, Marnie had a way of being able to put Ethan in his place.

Ethan would not be outdone and showed he was a master of one-liners. He answered, “I am grading. I’m grading how lucky I am to be with you.”

She laughed, shaking her head, but her cheeks flushed.

Marnie said, “You’re impossible, Ethan.”

Ethan leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“Impossible to stop admiring you, maybe. That nose ring… it’s not just cute. It’s you. Bold, brilliant, a little rebellious. And every time I see it, I remember that kiss in the lounge this morning.”

Marnie set her pen down, eyes softening.

“That was a good kiss,” Marnie complemented.

Ethan smiled and responded, “Best grading break I’ve ever had.”

They shared a quiet laugh, papers forgotten for the moment, the classroom filled with warmth.

Students Catch On

It’s a Friday afternoon. Marnie and Ethan are chatting in the hallway after classes, papers tucked under their arms. They lean a little closer than usual, sharing a laugh about a student essay. Ethan brushes a strand of hair from Marnie’s face, and for a moment, their eyes linger.

Down the hall, a group of sophomores notices.

Josiah, with a wide-eyed expression, whispered to his friend Hunter, “Did you see that? Miss Gordon and Mr. Thurston…”

Hunter grinned and responded, “They’re totally into each other. Not sitting in a tree, but still… k‑i‑s‑s‑i‑n‑g!”

The group bursts into muffled giggles, trying not to be obvious.

Later, in the cafeteria, the whispers spread: “Miss Gordon and Mr. Thurston! Couple alert!”

By Monday, a few students start humming the old playground chant whenever the two teachers pass by together. Marnie blushed when she heard it, Ethan chuckled, and they exchanged a knowing glance. Neither denied it. Their sparkle is too obvious.

The students’ discovery added a ripple of joy to the school, and their teachers’ courage and affection became a playful legend in the halls of Pine City High School.

Miss Gordon’s English Class

The hum of chatter filled the room as students settled in. A few in the back started whispering the playground chant again, just loud enough for others to giggle: “Miss Gordon and Mr. Thurston, k‑i‑s‑s‑i‑n‑g…”

Marnie set her papers down, raises an eyebrow, and smiled. She wasn’t flustered, but thoughtful.

“You know, I hear you. And I want to talk about it, because this is actually a perfect English lesson.”

The room quiets, curious.

Marnie continued. “Stories — whether in books or in life — are about courage. Characters make choices that show who they are. Sometimes it’s a nose ring. And sometimes… it’s letting people see you care about someone.”

She paused, letting the words sink in.

“Mr. Thurston and I do care about each other. And that’s not something to be embarrassed about. It’s something to be proud of because healthy relationships are built on respect, kindness, and courage. And those are themes you’ll find in every great story we read.”

A student, Kaleigh, in the front row raised a hand.

“So… you’re saying it’s okay to be visible about who you love?” Kaleigh asked.

Marnie smiled warmly. “Exactly. Love isn’t about hiding. It’s about showing up, being authentic, and treating each other well. If you can learn that now, you’ll write better stories and live better ones too.”

The class nodded, some smiling, some thoughtful. The teasing faded, replaced by a quiet respect. Marnie transformed the moment into a lesson about authenticity and courage, tying her budding romance to the very themes she teaches in literature.

Across the hall in Room 207, Ethan turned the teasing into a thoughtful social studies lesson, weaving their budding romance into themes his students can relate to. His students were buzzing as they settled in. A few in the back started humming the playground chant again: “Miss Gordon and Mr. Thurston, k‑i‑s‑s‑i‑n‑g…”

Ethan set his notes down, paused, and smiled.

“You know, I hear you,” Ethan said. “And I want to use this moment as a lesson. Social studies isn’t just about dates and maps — it’s about people, choices, and courage.”

The room got quiet, curious as to what Mr. Thurston would say next.

Ethan explained, “Throughout history, people have had to decide whether to hide who they are or live openly. Think about leaders who stood up for their beliefs, or citizens who chose to be visible about their values. Those choices shaped communities, nations, even revolutions.” He leaned against the desk, voice steady. “Miss Gordon and I care about each other. And yes, you’ve noticed. That’s not something we’re ashamed of. It’s something we’re proud of — because healthy relationships are part of civic life too. Respect, kindness, and authenticity aren’t just personal values; they’re civic values. They’re what make communities strong.”

A student, Eva, raised her hand.

“So… you’re saying being open about love is kind of like being open about your beliefs?” Eva asked.

Mr. Thurston nodded and answered, “Exactly, Eva. Whether it’s love, faith, or justice, courage means showing up honestly. And when you do, you give others permission to do the same. That’s how societies grow stronger.”

The students nodded, some smiling, some thoughtful. The teasing faded, replaced by respect.

Ethan reframed the moment as a civic lesson: Authenticity and courage aren’t just personal choices, they’re the building blocks of community.

A few weeks later, Marnie and Ethan brought those same classes together for a joint lesson, modeling courage, respect, and authenticity. The students filed into the auditorium, buzzing with curiosity.

Marnie stepped forward first, her nose ring catching the light. Ethan stood beside her, hands folded, smiling warmly.

Marnie Gordon and Ethan Thurston

Marnie began. “A few weeks ago, some of you noticed something about us, and you teased us a little. We each talked with our classes about courage and authenticity. Today, we wanted to bring everyone together, because this lesson matters for all of you.”

She glanced at Ethan, who nodded.

Ethan continued. “In social studies, we talk about how societies grow stronger when people live openly and honestly. In literature, you see characters who find their voice and dare to be visible. What Miss Gordon and I want you to understand is that those lessons aren’t just in books or history. They’re in real life too.”

Marnie expounded, “We care about each other. And we’re not hiding that. Because healthy relationships are built on respect, kindness, and courage. Those are values you’ll need, whether you’re writing essays, building careers, or starting families someday.”

Eva, from Mr. Thurston’s class, rose her hand.

“So… you’re saying it’s okay to be open about who you love, even if people tease you?” Eva asked.

Mr. Thurston smiled and answered, “Exactly. Teasing fades. Respect lasts. When you live authentically, you give others permission to do the same. That’s how communities and classrooms become stronger.”

Marnie added from the literary perspective. “And that’s how stories become richer too. Every great story has characters who dare to be visible. We want you to be those characters in your own lives.”

The room grew quiet and thoughtful. The students exchanged glances, with the teasing replaced by admiration.

Mr. Thurston wrapped up the discussion. “So yes, you can keep humming your little chant if you want. But remember: what you’re really seeing is courage, respect, and love. And those are things worth celebrating.”

The students broke into applause, some smiling, some inspired. The joint lesson became a ripple moment, a story they’ll carry long after high school. This joint address turned playful teasing into a powerful model of authenticity, showing students how courage in relationships mirrors courage in literature, history, and life.

“I Only Have Eyes for You”

It’s the first Saturday in May, and the air is thick with warmth and humidity, a record-setting spring evening in Minnesota, with temperatures in the low 90s earlier that afternoon. The gym is glowing with string lights and soft pink uplighting, transformed into a dreamy oasis.

Marnie and Ethan have been chaperoning all evening, laughing with students, dancing between punch refills, and sneaking glances at each other that say more than words ever could.

As the night winds down, Ethan quietly slipped away to speak with the DJ. The DJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the moment.

Then the music shifts. The dreamy doo-wop intro of “I Only Have Eyes for You” begins to float through the gym. The room hushes.

Marnie turns, surprised. Ethan is walking toward her, eyes locked on hers, one hand behind his back.

Ethan turned to Marnie, and softly said to her, “You know this song? It’s been playing in my head since the day I saw you in the teacher’s lounge with that nose ring and that sparkle in your eyes.”

He dropped to one knee. Students gasped. Phones rose.

“Marnie Gordon… I only have eyes for you. Will you marry me?” Ethan proposed.

Marnie’s hands fly to her mouth, tears welling instantly. She nodded, laughing and crying all at once.

“Yes! Yes, Ethan!”

The gym erupted in cheers. Students chanted: “Miss Gordon and Mr. Thurston, k‑i‑s‑s‑i‑n‑g!”

They kissed as the Flamingos’ harmonies swirled around them, the lights twinkling, the air warm, and the moment eternal.

With “I Only Have Eyes for You” as their soundtrack, Ethan and Marnie’s love story became a prom night legend, a ripple of romance that made those Pine City students’ prom night memorable for years.

Marnie’s Journal: 12:30 a.m., Sunday, May 4

I just got home. My shoes are off, my cheeks are still flushed, and my heart is absolutely soaring.

Tonight was prom, with warm, humid, record-breaking heat for May in Minnesota. The gym shimmered with string lights and laughter, and Ethan and I were just supposed to be chaperones. But he had other plans.

Late in the evening, the DJ played a song I hadn’t heard in years . It was “I Only Have Eyes for You” by The Flamingos. That dreamy, slow harmony filled the room, and suddenly Ethan was walking toward me, eyes locked on mine, one hand behind his back.

He dropped to one knee.

I gasped. The students gasped. And then he said it — “Marnie Gordon, I only have eyes for you. Will you marry me?”

I said yes. Of course I said yes.

The gym erupted. Students cheered, some cried, some chanted that silly playground rhyme. But all I could hear was the music and Ethan’s voice. All I could feel was the warmth of being seen, completely, joyfully, with sparkle.

He sees me. Not just the teacher, not just the girl with the nose ring. He sees the woman I’m becoming. And tonight, he asked to walk beside me as I become her.

I’m going to be Mrs. Thurston.

I keep whispering it to myself. Mrs. Thurston. It feels like a story I’ve always wanted to live — and now it’s mine.

Ethan’s Journal: 12:50 a.m., Sunday

The thunder is rolling in the distance. The air is heavy, still warm from the record-breaking day. My room feels quiet, but my heart is anything but. Tonight was prom, and tonight, Marnie said yes.

I can still see her face when the DJ started playing “I Only Have Eyes for You.” That dreamy harmony filled the gym, and suddenly it was just us. Hundreds of students, teachers, lights, and laughter faded away. It was only her. It’s always only her.

When I dropped to one knee, I thought my heart might stop. But then she laughed, cried, and said yes. Yes to me. Yes to us. Yes to forever.

The students cheered, phones flashed, chants rang out, but none of that mattered. What mattered was the sparkle in her eyes, the way she looked at me like I was the only man in the world. And I knew, in that moment, that I was the luckiest.

I’ve dreamed of this night for months, but the reality was better than any dream. Marnie Gordon is going to be my wife. Mrs. Thurston. The girl of my dreams, the woman of my future.

The thunder is closer now, rumbling like applause from the heavens. And I’m sitting here, wide awake, knowing that tonight was the most exciting night of my life. The night I asked, and the night she said yes.

Sunday Brunch: May 4, 10:45 a.m.

The air outside was heavy with humidity, 69 degrees already, the scent of wet earth and budding trees lingering after the overnight thunderstorm. Inside the café, sunlight filtered through wide windows, catching on vases of tulips set at each table.

Marnie and Ethan arrived hand‑in‑hand, still glowing from prom night. Marnie’s cheeks are flushed, her nose ring sparkling, Ethan’s smile impossible to hide.

At the long table, family is already gathered:

• Amber and Kellie, Marnie’s sisters, leaning in with wide eyes.
• Tim and Lori, her parents, smiling knowingly.
• Ryan, Ethan’s brother, grinning, waiting for the announcement.
• John and Brenda, Ethan’s parents, clasping coffee mugs, expectant.

Marnie sat, and Ethan stood behind her chair for a moment, clearing his throat. Ethan recalled the previous evening. “Last night was prom. And it was unforgettable, not just for the students, but for us. I asked Marnie to marry me… and she said yes.”

The table erupted. Amber squealed. Kellie clapped. Lori wiped a tear. Tim nodded with quiet pride. Brenda leaned across to hug Marnie. John shook Ethan’s hand firmly. Ryan whistled low.

“Prom night? That’s so perfect. You two are a storybook couple.” Amber said.

Tim, smiling at Marnie, said “You’ve always had sparkle, Marnie. Now you’ve found someone who sees it fully.”

Marnie blushes, squeezing Ethan’s hand.

“I only have eyes for him. Always.” Marnie said.

The family laughed, the words echoing the song from the night before. Plates of pancakes, eggs, and fruit arrived, but the real feast is joy, shared stories, hugs, and the promise of a wedding to come.

Ethan and Marnie opted for a short engagement and quickly planned their wedding. With summer approaching, the best time to get married in a teacher’s schedule, they wanted to work in both the wedding and a honeymoon in time before school started again in the fall. Amazingly, they were able to get the necessities lined up with comparatively short notice. A venue, photographer, and caterer were all available on a Saturday date – July 12. The wedding would be held on the beautiful grounds of the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum in Chanhassen, which would be a fairly convenient location for both Marnie’s Twin Cities-area family, Ethan’s family from New Ulm, Minnesota, and mutual friends from Pine City. The venue had indoor options in case of bad weather. For a honeymoon, Ethan and Marnie chose Door County, Wisconsin, where its lakeside charm, quaint towns, orchards, and summer breezes off Lake Michigan offered a backdrop for plenty of memories to be made.

Mrs. Thurston’s Classroom: Early September

The morning sun filtered through tall windows, casting warm light across rows of desks. Outside, the air is crisp, the trees just beginning to turn, but inside Room 208 there’s a hum of new beginnings. Posters of literature and history line the walls, alongside a fresh bulletin board that reads: “Welcome to a Year of Stories.”

Marnie Thurston, still glowing from her July wedding and Door County honeymoon, stood at the front of the room. Her paisley scarf draped loosely over her shoulders, her nose stud catching the light as she smiled at her students. On her desk sat a small vase of late‑summer flowers, a quiet nod to Ethan’s habit of surprising her with little touches of beauty.

The students, a mix of familiar faces and new ones, settle in. Some whispered about how Mrs. Thurston got married over the summer, others notice the sparkle in her eyes.

“Welcome back, everyone,” Marnie said warmly, with a grin. “I hope your summer was full of adventures. Mine certainly was — I became Mrs. Thurston.”

A ripple of smiles and congratulations moved through the room.

Marnie continued, her voice steady but full of joy: “This year, we’ll explore stories. They will be stories from books, from history, and from our own lives. Because stories shape us, and they remind us that every chapter matters.”

As she speaks, Marnie felt the weight of her own new chapter as a wife, a teacher, and a dreamer, along with the joy of carrying that identity into her classroom. The students leaned in, sensing her authenticity, ready to follow her lead.

The bell rings, the school year begins, and Mrs. Thurston’s classroom hummed with promise. Room 208 would be a place where learning, laughter, and legacy would intertwine.

5th Period American Literature, Early September

The hum of chatter filled Room 208 as juniors settle into their desks. Posters of Whitman and Dickinson lined the walls, and Mrs. Thurston stood at the front, her paisley scarf draped loosely, her nose stud catching the afternoon light.

Lily Jorgenson, a bright‑eyed 16‑year‑old junior, raises her hand, half‑smiling.

“Mrs. Thurston… we heard you got married this summer. What was it like?” Lily asked.

The class got quiet, curious. Mrs. Thurston paused, her smile widening, eyes softening.

Marnie answered warmly, “It was beautiful. We were married at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, surrounded by gardens in full bloom. The day was full of laughter, family, and love. And afterward, we went to Door County, Wisconsin for our honeymoon.”

The students leaned in, intrigued.

Lily grinned, whispering to a friend, “That’s so cool.”

Mrs. Thurston nodded, her voice steady but full of meaning.

Marnie continued, “And that’s what literature teaches us too. Stories are about those moments that shape us, the ones we carry. This year, I want us to find those moments in the books we read, and maybe even in our own lives.”

Lily’s Journal: A September Evening

Today in American Lit, I asked Mrs. Thurston about her wedding. I wasn’t sure if she’d answer, but she did, and it was beautiful. She said they got married at the Arboretum, surrounded by gardens, and then went to Door County for their honeymoon. I’ve never seen a teacher look so alive.

It made me think: love isn’t just about the big things, like weddings or rings. It’s about the little surprises, the moments that make you laugh until you cry. Mrs. Thurston said her husband keeps giving her memories she’ll never forget. I want that someday. I want someone who sees me, who makes life sparkle.

I guess that’s why I love literature too. The stories we read are full of those moments, like joy, courage, heartbreak, and hope. And maybe that’s what Mrs. Thurston meant when she said every chapter matters. She’s living her chapters with joy, and it makes me want to live mine that way too.

Tonight, I’m dreaming about my own future. Not just about falling in love, but about finding someone who surprises me, who makes me laugh, who helps me see the world differently. If Mrs. Thurston can have that kind of sparkle, maybe I can too.

American Literature : Mid‑Semester

The leaves outside the classroom windows are turning gold and crimson, the air crisp with autumn. Marnie stood at the front of her 5th period class, her paisley scarf draped loosely, her eyes sparkling as she begins a new unit.

Marnie leaned against her desk and recalled, “Earlier this semester, some of you asked about my wedding and honeymoon. I told you about one of the most joyful moments — visiting a winery in Door County, Wisconsin.

The students smiled, remembering her story. Lily nodded, recalling how inspired she felt.

Mrs. Thurston paused, her tone shifting slightly, becoming more thoughtful. “But grapes don’t always symbolize joy. In literature, they can carry heavier meanings. Today, we begin John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. This novel takes us to the Dust Bowl era, where families like the Joads traveled west, desperate for work and survival. Grapes here are not about celebration — they become symbols of struggle, injustice, and even wrath.”

She writes Joy → Struggle → Wrath on the board, underlining each word.

Marnie explained, “I want you to think about this contrast. My wedding and honeymoon with a winery visit was about abundance and love. Steinbeck’s grapes are about scarcity and anger. Literature often takes something familiar like grapes and shows us how context changes meaning. That’s what makes stories powerful.”

The students leaned in, intrigued.

Marnie went on, softly but with conviction. “As we read, ask yourselves: how do ordinary things such as food, land, family become symbols of hope or despair? And how do those symbols still speak to us today?”

Class Discussion

Room 208 hummed with autumn light, leaves drifting outside the windows. Copies of The Grapes of Wrath lie open on desks, margins filled with notes. Marnie leaned against her desk, scarf draped loosely, listening as her students wrestled with Steinbeck’s imagery.

Marnie prompted, “Remember when I told you about my honeymoon? For me, grapes were joy, abundance, laughter. But Steinbeck uses grapes differently. What do you notice?”

Lily rose her hand, thoughtful.

“It’s almost the opposite. In your story, grapes meant love and celebration,” Lily observed. “But in Steinbeck, grapes symbolize anger and injustice. The Joads dream of California’s vineyards, but instead they find exploitation. Grapes become a symbol of wrath, not joy.”

Marnie nodded, smiling at the connection Lily made.

Marnie responded, “Exactly, Lily. Literature takes ordinary things and reshapes them. Grapes can be sweetness or bitterness, depending on the context. What does that tell us about symbols?”

A student in the back, Zachary, chimed in. “That they’re not fixed. Grapes aren’t just grapes. They can mean joy, or they can mean suffering. It depends on the story.”

Marnie answered encouragingly. “Yes! And Steinbeck wanted us to feel that tension, the promise of abundance, twisted into exploitation. That’s why the title is so powerful. Grapes of Wrath. It’s about fruit that should nourish, but instead becomes bitter.”

Lily leaned forward, voice soft but certain. She answered, “It makes me think about how joy and struggle can exist side by side. Your vineyard trip was joy. Steinbeck’s grapes are struggle. But both are real. Both are part of life.”

Mrs. Thurston’s eyes sparkled, proud of the insight. “Beautifully said, Lily. Literature helps us hold both truths, joy and struggle, in the same hand. And that’s why we read: to see the world more fully.”

The bell rings, but the students linger, their minds alive with the contrast: Grapes as joy, grapes as wrath, and the power of stories to transform meaning.

American Literature: End of Unit

Marnie’s 5^th hour American Literature class was alive with discussion as the students finished Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. Marnie stood at the front, her infinity scarf draped loosely, her eyes warmed with pride at how deeply her juniors engaged with the novel.

Marnie smiled and said, “You’ve all done incredible work with Steinbeck. Now, for your final assignment in this unit, I want you to think about symbols. Grapes in my honeymoon story meant joy and abundance. Grapes in Steinbeck’s novel meant struggle and wrath. Your task is to choose an ordinary object from your own life — something simple, like shoes, a meal, or a place — and write about how it carries multiple meanings depending on context. Show me how it can symbolize joy, struggle, hope, or something else entirely.”

She writes on the board: Assignment Prompt: Choose an ordinary object from your life. Write a 2–3 page reflection on how it symbolizes different emotions or experiences depending on context. Use Steinbeck’s grapes as your model.

The next week, the papers on symbolism were due. Marnie selected several to read for the class. Lily Jorgenson had hers read aloud, describing one of her fashion accessories – an infinity scarf, something she was inspired to start wearing because of Mrs. Thurston wearing them. It’s clear Lily had a particular fondnesss for Marnie. She was Lily’s favorite teacher that year – maybe ever. She wrote in her journal that night:

Today was one of the best days of school I’ve ever had. Mrs. Thurston actually read my story about my infinity scarf as a symbol. I don’t think she realizes she inspired it, by the same type of scarf she likes to wear.

We had read Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, where grapes meant struggle and anger. Mrs. Thurston showed us how symbols can hold both truths, and I’ll never forget that lesson. The writing assignment allowed us to see how our own lives contain symbolism we might not even realize.

She’s my favorite teacher this year. From the very first day, when she told us about her wedding and honeymoon, I felt like she was different. Mrs. Thurston is real, authentic, someone who lives her life with sparkle and then brings that into the classroom. Today proved it again. She doesn’t just teach us literature; she helps us feel it, live it, and connect it to our own stories.

I want to remember this day forever. Not just because it was fun, but because it showed me what learning can be: Learning came alive, joyful, and meaningful. Mrs. Thurston makes me believe that my own life can have chapters like that too. She’s the kind of teacher who changes you.

Lily had also been pondering a question about another of Marnie’s fashion accessories. Lily has also admired Marnie’s nose ring. Lily has wanted one for some time, and since the start of the school year she has been thinking about asking her parents if she can get one. Lily decided to ask Marnie for some advice after school one day the next week. The last bell at the end of 7^th hour rang, and students drifted out of the room. Lily came down the hall from her last class, clutching her notebook, and waited until the room was quiet. Marnie was erasing the board, humming softly, then noticed Lily standing nearby.

“Hi, Lily. Did you need something?” Marnie asked.

Lily hesitated, then stepped closer, lowering her voice.

Um… I wanted to ask you something. It’s kind of personal. Your nose ring… I really like it. I’ve been thinking about asking my parents if I can get one. But I’m not sure what they’ll say.”

Marnie paused, her expression softening. She touched the small stud gently, then nodded. Warmly, Marnie replied, “I got mine because it felt like me — a way to express who I am. For me, it’s a symbol of courage and individuality. But it’s also something I chose carefully, knowing it would be part of how people see me.”

Lily listened intently, eyes wide.

Marnie continued in an encouraging tone. “If you’re thinking about it, I’d suggest talking with your parents honestly. Tell them why it matters to you, not just that you want it. Sometimes when we explain the meaning behind our choices, people understand better.”

Lily nodded, thoughtful, then explained. “I think I want it because… it feels like me too. Like a way to show who I am, not just what people expect.”

Marnie smiled, proud of her student’s self‑awareness. “That’s a beautiful reason, Lily. Whether it’s a nose ring or something else, expressing yourself with authenticity is important. Just remember, it’s not about what others think, it’s about what feels true to you.”

Lily beamed, with her admiration for Marnie deepening.

“Thanks, Mrs. Thurston. You always make me feel like it’s okay to be myself.”

Mrs. Thurston’s eyes sparkled. “It is more than okay, Lily. It’s essential.”

That evening at the Jorgenson Home

Lily sat at the kitchen table, with her notebook closed and heart pounding. Her parents, Stephen and Margaret Jorgenson, were finishing dinner dishes. Stephen was the president of Pine City State Bank. He was well respected and well connected to many of the community’s business owners. Margaret was a homemaker. Finely dressed, with her dad preferring a shirt and tie for work and her mom preferring department-store skirts and coordinated outfits, Lily’s parents followed fairly traditional, conservative values. They were also very protective of their only daughter.

After some hesitation, Lily eventually spoke up.

“Mom, Dad… I’ve been thinking about something. I’d like to get a nose ring. Mrs. Thurston has one, and she said it’s about expressing who you are. I feel like it would be a way to show my individuality too.”

Her parents exchange a glance. Her mom sets down the dish towel, her dad folds his arms.

Margaret answered first, gently but firmly. “Honey, we don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re still young, and a piercing like that is a big statement. We’d rather you wait.”

Stephen added, “It’s not just about style. People judge. Plus, it can be a distraction. We don’t want you to face that kind of reaction yet.”

Lily felt her cheeks flush. She nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show. Softly, Lily replied, “I understand. I just… wanted you to know why it matters to me. It’s not about rebellion. It’s about being myself.”

Margaret reached for her hand. “We hear you. And we love that you want to express yourself. But for now, we’re asking you to hold off. There are other ways to show who you are.”

Lily swallowed hard, blinking back tears. She knew they meant well, but her heart ached. Lily went upstairs to her bedroom. Later that night, she wrote in her journal.

I asked Mom and Dad about the nose ring. They said no. I tried to explain that it’s about being myself, not rebellion, but they don’t see it that way. I feel disappointed, but I’m glad I spoke up. Mrs. Thurston was right — sometimes people don’t understand at first. Maybe someday they will. For now, I’ll keep finding other ways to show who I am. And I’ll remember that being authentic doesn’t always mean being understood right away.

A few days later, Lily shared an update with Marnie when she stopped by her room after school. The last students were gone. Lily lingers by the door to Room 208, notebook in hand. Marnie looked up from her desk, sensing something on Lily’s mind.

“Hi, Lily. You look thoughtful. Want to talk?”

Lily nodded, stepping closer.

“I asked my parents about the nose ring. They said no. I tried to explain it wasn’t rebellion, just… me. But they don’t see it that way.”

Marnie set down her pen, giving Lily her full attention. “I’m proud of you for asking. That takes courage, even when the answer isn’t what you hoped for.”

Lily sighed, with her shoulders slumping.“I feel disappointed. Like they don’t understand who I’m trying to be.”

Marnie leaned forward, with her voice steady but kind.“Sometimes people need time to understand. Parents often see choices through the lens of protection. It doesn’t mean they don’t value your individuality; it just means they’re cautious. And that’s okay. You can still express yourself in other ways right now.”

Lily looks up, curious.

“Like how?”

Marnie smiled and continued. “Through your writing, your style, and your voice in class discussions, to name a few. Authenticity isn’t limited to jewelry or piercings. It’s about living true to yourself in every choice you make. And when the time is right, you’ll have more freedom to decide.”

Lily nodded slowly, her disappointment easing into thoughtfulness.

Softly, Lily said, “Thanks, Mrs. Thurston. You always make me feel like being myself matters, even if others don’t see it yet.”

Mrs. Thurston’s eyes sparkled, and her voice was warm. “It does matter, Lily. And I see you. Keep holding onto that truth.”

That evening, Lily wrote in her journal again.

I told Mrs. Thurston today that my parents said no to the nose ring. I was nervous to admit it, but she listened so kindly. She said she was proud of me for asking, even though the answer wasn’t what I hoped for. That meant a lot. Sometimes I feel like people don’t understand me, but she always makes me feel seen.

She reminded me that authenticity isn’t just about jewelry or piercings. Authenticity is about how I live, how I write, how I speak. That really stuck with me. I guess I don’t have to wait for a nose ring to be myself. I can show who I am in other ways, every day.

Mrs. Thurston is my favorite teacher. She doesn’t just teach us books. She teaches us how to live with courage and sparkle. I want to carry that with me, even when people don’t agree with my choices. She makes me believe that being myself matters, and that someday, I’ll have the freedom to express it fully.

Later that school year, in the spring, Pine City High School had its annual Presentation Day. Part of it was the end of year literature showcase. The auditorium hummed with anticipation. Parents, teachers, and students filled the seats, programs in hand. Marnie stood to the side, proud as her juniors prepared to present their final projects. Lily’s parents sat near the front, curious but unsure what to expect. On stage, a banner reads: “American Literature: Stories That Shape Us.”The juniors shared creative projects inspired by The Grapes of Wrath and other novels they’ve studied. Lily steps to the front of the room, her notebook in hand, wearing a flowing scarf she picked out herself — a small but meaningful way she’s begun expressing her individuality with her parents’ blessing. She got her first one earlier in the year, but now wants to wear one almost every day – like her favorite teacher, Mrs. Thurston.When Lily’s name is called, she steps onto the stage, scarf draped gracefully around her shoulders — her chosen symbol of individuality. She carries her notebook, her voice steady as she begins.

Lily began confidently. “This year, I learned that symbols aren’t just in books. They’re in our lives. Grapes can mean joy, like Mrs. Thurston’s honeymoon trip to a winery, or wrath, like Steinbeck’s Joad family. For me, a scarf means warmth, but it also means identity. It’s a way to show who I am, even when I’m told to wait for other choices. Literature taught me that ordinary things can carry extraordinary meaning. And I’ve learned to carry my own meaning too.”

Her words rang clear, her presence was poised. The audience applauded warmly.

From their seats, Lily’s parents exchanged a look. They were surprised, yet moved. Margaret Jorgenson’s eyes glistened, while Stephen Jorgenson leaned forward, pride softening his expression.

Margaret whispered, “Lily’s grown so much this year. She’s finding her voice.”

Stephen turned to his wife and answered quietly with admiration. “She’s stronger than I realized. Confident. Thoughtful. I’m proud of her.”

Marnie smiled from the wings, watching Lily shine. She knew this moment was more than a presentation. It represented a culmination of courage, authenticity, and growth.

As Lily stepped off stage, her parents embraced her tightly.

You were wonderful,” Margaret told Lily. “We see how much this means to you.”

“You’ve really come into your own, Lily,” Stephen added. “We’re proud of the young woman you’re becoming.”

Lily beamed, her heart full. For the first time, she felt her parents truly saw her individuality, not just as a request they denied, but as a strength she’s claimed.

In late August, class schedules are mailed out for Lily’s senior year. She scans the roster and smiles when she sees Mrs. Thurston’s name again for her senior year English class. The schedule makers have been kind. While the English department head, Tim White, usually teaches most of the senior English sections, with just one, maybe two going to another teacher, Lily’s senior class was a little larger than most, and as such the English department supportive by splitting up the senior English course load this year between Mr. White and Mrs. Thurston, giving Mrs. Thurston two sections of British Literature, the course taken by seniors. Lily got assigned to one of the two sections Mrs. Thurston is teaching. Lily was ecstatic at the prospect of getting another year with her favorite teacher.

Room 208 felt familiar yet fresh when Lily walked in on the first day of school in September. The bulletin board now read: “Voices Across the Ages: From Chaucer to Woolf.” Marnie greeted her seniors with the same sparkle Lily remembered from junior year, but now with a deeper confidence, her reputation among colleagues and students firmly established.

Marnie greeted Lily’s class warmly. “Welcome to British Literature! This year, we’ll journey through centuries of British voices, including poets, playwrights, novelists, each one shaping the way we see ourselves and the world. And just like last year, I want you to find your own voice in the process.”

Lily sat near the front, scarf draped around her shoulders, feeling a quiet joy. She knows this year will be different, sure to be more challenging, more mature, but she also knows she’ll thrive under Mrs. Thurston’s guidance.

Later, as the class period ends and Lily makes her way toward the door out of the room, Marnie notices Lily’s smile and paused for a moment, recognizing the bond they’ve built.

“Glad to have you back, Lily,” Marnie said softly to her. “Senior year is going to be special.”

Lily beamed, her admiration for Marnie still deepening. She felt seen, supported, and ready to step into her final year of high school with courage.

One day later that fall, the seniors are gathered in Marnie’s classroom, discussing Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. The conversation turned toward symbols of individuality and self‑expression. Marnie, as always, wore her paisley infinity scarf looped around her neck.

As she moved about the room, her eyes caught on Lily in the front row. Lily’s own infinity scarf rested around her shoulders. It wasn’t identical, but the echo was unmistakable.

Mrs. Thurston paused, her smile deepening. “Woolf reminds us that self‑expression can be quiet but powerful. Sometimes it’s in the words we write, sometimes in the choices we make about how we present ourselves.” She glanced at Lily, her voice softening just slightly, though still meant for the whole class. “Even something as simple as a scarf can carry meaning, whether it’s warmth, identity, or individuality. Symbols aren’t just in literature. They’re in us.”

Lily felt her cheeks flush, realizing the connection. She smiled back, knowing Mrs. Thurston has noticed. Mrs. Thurston continued the lesson, but her heart was full. She realized that her own small act of individuality has inspired Lily to find her own way of expressing herself. That night, at home, Lily wrote in her journal.

Today in British Literature, Mrs. Thurston talked about symbols again — how even something as simple as a scarf can carry meaning. She looked right at me when she said it, and I knew she was making the connection. My scarf isn’t just fabric anymore. It’s a reminder of her, of individuality, of courage. I felt seen in that moment, like she understood exactly why I chose it.

I love being in her class. Every day feels alive, like literature isn’t just old words but something breathing in us. She makes Shakespeare and Woolf feel personal, like they’re speaking to us about our own lives. And she makes me believe that my voice matters too.

Sometimes I think about how much she’s shaped me. Last year, it was “The Grapes of Wrath” and her vineyard stories that inspired me. This year, my scarf is my way of carrying a piece of her example while still being myself. She doesn’t just teach us books; she teaches us how to live authentically. I want to remember that forever.

I’m grateful I get to have her again this year. She’s more than my favorite teacher. She’s the one who makes me believe I can be brave, that I can shine in my own way. And tonight, I feel proud to wear my scarf, because it means I’m learning from her, and becoming me.

In early November, the application period for scholarships opened. Lily needed a letter of recommendation from a teacher for one she’s applying for…one that could award her $2500 per year for each of her four years of college. Lily asked Marnie for a letter of recommendation. Room 208 was quiet after the bell. Lily lingered, clutching a scholarship packet in her hands. Marnie looked up from her desk, sensing Lily’s hesitation.

Warmly, Marnie asked, “Hi, Lily. You look like you’ve got something important on your mind.”

Lily stepped closer, her voice soft but steady.

“I do. There’s a scholarship I’m applying for. If I win, it would be $2,500 a year, for all four years of college. I need a letter of recommendation from a teacher. I was wondering… would you be willing to write one for me?”

“Of course I would. Lily, I’d be honored. You’ve grown so much these past two years — your voice, your confidence, your individuality. I’ve seen you shine in ways that deserve recognition.”

Lily exhaled, relief washing over her. With a beaming smile, Lily said, “Thank you! I couldn’t imagine asking anyone else. You’ve inspired me so much, and I feel like you really know me.”

Mrs. Thurston was touched.

“I do. And I’ll make sure the committee knows the Lily I see. You’re a student who not only engages deeply with literature, but who brings authenticity and courage into everything she does. That’s exactly the kind of person they’ll want to support.”

Lily’s eyes glistened.

Softly, Lily replied, “That means a lot. Thank you for believing in me.”

Mrs. Thurston reacheed for the packet, her voice steady but warm. “You’ve earned it, Lily. Now let’s make sure your next chapter begins with the support you deserve.”

Letter of Recommendation

To the Scholarship Committee,

It is my great privilege to recommend Lily Jorgenson for your scholarship program. As Lily’s English teacher for both her junior and senior years, I have had the joy of watching her grow into a confident, thoughtful, and authentic young woman whose voice deserves to be heard and supported.

From the very beginning of her time in my classroom, Lily distinguished herself not only through academic excellence but also through her ability to connect literature to life. She approaches texts with curiosity and depth, asking questions that reveal both intellectual rigor and emotional insight. Whether analyzing Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath or Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, Lily consistently demonstrates a rare gift: she sees symbols not just on the page, but in the world around her, and she applies those lessons to her own journey of individuality.

Lily’s courage and authenticity shine in her work and in her presence. She has a gift for spoken word presentations, where her voice carries conviction and clarity. Her senior showcase performance, in which she explored how ordinary objects can carry extraordinary meaning, left a lasting impression on her peers, her parents, and our faculty. She is not afraid to express herself, but she does so with thoughtfulness and grace, qualities that will serve her well in college and beyond.

Beyond academics, Lily is a student who uplifts others. She listens attentively, encourages classmates, and models respect in every interaction. Her leadership is quiet but powerful, rooted in empathy and authenticity. She is the kind of student who makes a classroom better simply by being in it.

I am confident that Lily will thrive in higher education. She has the intellect, the discipline, and the courage to succeed, but more importantly, she has the character to make a meaningful impact on her community. Supporting Lily through this scholarship would not only invest in her future but also in the ripple effect of her authenticity and leadership.

Thank you for considering her application. I recommend Lily without reservation and with great enthusiasm.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Marnie Thurston

English Department

An early February morning found the low winter sun filtering through the blinds. The principal, Mr. Lansing, had asked for Lily and Marnie to come to his office for a brief meeting about 15 minutes before the start of the school day. Lily sat nervously in a chair across from Principal Lansing’s desk, her scarf looped neatly around her neck. Marnie sat beside her, smiling reassuringly.

Holding a folder in his hand, Mr. Lansing began. “Lily, thank you for coming in. I have some wonderful news to share. The scholarship committee has reviewed your application, and I’m pleased to inform you that you’ve been selected as one of the recipients of the $2,500 per year scholarship, renewable for all four years of college.”

Lily’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “I… I got it?”

“You did,” Mr. Lansing reassured Lily. “This is a significant award, Lily. It recognizes not only your academic excellence but also your character and individuality. We’re proud to see you honored in this way.”

Lily turned toward Marnie, her eyes shining.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thurston, for writing the letter. I don’t think this would have happened without you.”

“Lily, you earned this. I simply told the committee what I see every day. I see your courage, your authenticity, and your brilliance. This award is yours because of who you are.”

Lily smiled, tears welling.

Mr. Lansing continued. “This scholarship will open doors for you, Lily. It’s a recognition of your potential, and I have no doubt you’ll make the most of it. Congratulations.”

Lily answered, her voice trembling but strong. “Thank you, Mr. Lansing. Thank you, Mrs. Thurston. This means so much. I feel… seen.”

Marnie reached over, giving Lily’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“You are seen, Lily. And this is just the beginning,” Marnie said.

Graduation Day: Pine City High School Gymnasium

The gym was transformed: banners hung high, rows of chairs filled with families, and the stage draped in school colors. The graduates, in caps and gowns, lined up with nervous excitement. Lily Jorgenson stood among them, her infinity scarf tucked neatly beneath her gown, a quiet symbol of individuality carried into this milestone.

Principal Lansing walked up to the podium, his voice steady and proud. “Today we celebrate not only academic achievement, but the courage, resilience, and individuality of this graduating class. Each of you has written your own story here, and now you carry it forward into the world.”

Applause filled the room. Lily’s parents sat near the front, eyes shining as they watched their daughter.

When Lily’s name was called, she walked across the stage, her steps confident. She shook Principal Lansing’s hand, who leaned in with a smile. “Congratulations, Lily. You’ve made us proud.”

In the audience, Lily’s parents clapped with pride. Margaret Jorgenson whispers to Lily’s father, Stephen, “She’s grown so much. Look at her — confident, radiant.”

Stephen replied, nodding, “She’s ready. And I’m glad she had teachers like Mrs. Thurston to guide her.”

Later, after the ceremony, families mingled in the courtyard in front of the school. Lily’s parents embraced her tightly.

Stephen Jorgenson told his daughter, “We’re so proud of you, Lily. You’ve become your own person.” Lily’s mom added, “And you’ve inspired us too. That scholarship, your voice, everything — it’s all you.”

Marnie and Ethan Thurston approached, smiling warmly. “Congratulations, Lily. You’ve got a bright future ahead,” Ethan proclaimed.

“I’ll miss having you in class,” Marnie lamented, “but I know you’ll carry your individuality into college and beyond. Keep shining, Lily.”

Lily responded, “Thank you. For everything. You’ve been more than a teacher — you’ve been an inspiration.”

Jorgenson Home: Graduation Party Saturday

The Jorgenson house buzzed with celebration. Balloons in school colors lined the porch, and a banner stretched across the living room: “Congratulations, Lily!”

On the dining table, the spread was classic and comforting: crockpots of meatballs in barbecue sauce, steaming and savory; a meat and cheese tray, neatly arranged with crackers; a frosted cake with Lily’s name piped in bright letters; bowls of assorted chips; and bottles of pop scattered for easy reach.

In the living room, a group of Lily’s classmates sprawled across couches and the floor, flipping through their yearbooks. They laughed at old photos, passed their books around to gather signatures, and snapped a few last pictures together before heading off to different futures. Lily sat among them, her infinity scarf draped loosely, smiling as friends teased her about her “teacher’s twin scarf.”

In the kitchen, the adults gathered with plates in hand. Lily’s parents beamed as they greeted guests, pride radiating from them.

Marnie Thurston, scarf looped elegantly, chatted warmly with Lily’s mom about the scholarship and Lily’s plans for college. Ethan Thurston joined the conversation, joking about how many meatballs he’s already had.

Mr. Lansing, the principal, stops by to congratulate Lily’s parents again. “She’s one of the finest students I’ve seen graduate,” Mr. Lansing told Mr. Jorgenson. “You should be very proud.”

Stephen Jorgenson nodded, smiling, and said “We are. And we’re grateful she had teachers like Mrs. Thurston to guide her.”

Marnie’s eyes sparkled, touched by the words.

Later, Lily drifted into the kitchen, her cheeks flushed from laughter with her friends. She sees Mrs. Thurston and Mr. Lansing talking with her parents.

Marnie smiled at Lily and announced, “There’s the graduate. Still glowing.”

Lily grinned and said, “It’s been a good day. Thank you for coming! It meant so much to have you here.”

Marnie leaned in, her voice warm, and said, “I wouldn’t have missed it. You’ve inspired me just as much as I’ve inspired you.”

Lily’s parents exchange a glance, their pride deepening.

In late August, after high school graduation and a summer spent reading and getting ready for new adventures, Lily headed north to the Twin Ports of Duluth and Superior and the start of her freshman year of college at the University of Wisconsin-Superior. Inspired by her favorite teacher, Mrs. Thurston, Lily would be majoring in English education, hoping to someday teach English in a classroom of her own. A few days before classes begin, Mr. and Mrs. Jorgenson accompanied her to Superior to move into the dorm . The UWS campus hummed with energy as families unloaded cars, carried bins, bedding, and boxes up stairwells. Lily Jorgenson arrived with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jorgenson, their Chevrolet Tahoe SUV packed to the brim as it made its way down Catlin Avenue and next to one of the dormitories.

Inside the dorm room, Lily set down a box of books and her infinity scarf drapes loosely around her neck, a quiet reminder of home and Mrs. Thurston’s influence. Margaret Jorgenson straightened the bedspread while Stephen Jorgenson joked about how many trips up the stairs he’s already made.

Then came a knock at the door.

Allison Besonen stepped in, smiling brightly, arms full of bags. She was from Negaunee, Michigan, a Yooper through and through. Allison was the same height as Lily, with long, light blonde hair nearly to her waist, wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and her favorite Birkenstock “potato shoes” that she thought were the most comfortable invention known, besides seeming to be an unofficial part of the uniform on campus.

“Hey there! “ Allison introduced herself cheerfully. ‘I guess we’re roommates. I’m Allison, straight outta Negaunee. Hope you don’t mind a Yooper accent now and then.” Lily laughed, instantly charmed.

Lily responded warmly with a healthy dose of Minnesota Nice that pairs well with Yooper. “I’m Lily, from Pine City, Minnesota. I think we’ll get along just fine. Welcome!” They both grin, sensing the start of something good. It was the start of a lifelong friendship.

Lily Jorgenson and Allison Besonen, in their dorm room at the University of Wisconsin-Superior.

Mr. and Mrs. Jorgenson then greeted Allison’s parents, Art and Lorraine Besonen, who have followed Allison in. Art was a mine worker at the Cleveland-Cliffs Tilden iron ore mine near Ishpeming, Michigan. Balding, somewhat overweight, with glasses, and the classic, stoic, Upper Peninsula Finlander, Art was a quiet man of few words, spoke only when he had to, and valued traditions that came with the way of life in the Upper Peninsula. Lorraine, also of Finnish descent, worked as a paraprofessional in the Negaunee Public Schools. Allison was the Besonen’s only daughter, and Art in particular was fiercely protective of her. He would wait for her in his old Ford pickup truck outside the school any time he took her to school functions, making sure that she would be OK.

The two families exchanged pleasantries amid some differences between their similarities: Minnesota politeness meeting Upper Peninsula friendliness, the Jorgensons’ white-collar, upper-middle class management background, meeting the Besonens’ blue-collar, working-class union labor background.

Margaret Jorgenson observed, “We’re so glad Lily has someone like you to room with, Allison.”

Lorraine Besonen replied,: “Oh, she’s been so excited. We told her, ‘Make friends quick, and don’t forget to share the pasties!’”

Everyone laughed as the ice has surely been broken. Lily hangs up her clothes, carefully placing her scarf on a hook. Allison unpacks a small stash of snacks: cheese curds, trail mix, and yes, a box labeled “Yooper pasties,” homemade by her mom, straight from their kitchen in Negaunee.

Lily and Allison compared schedules, realizing they both have freshman English together and a shared interest in literature – and a common major. Both want to be English teachers.

“Guess we’ll be study buddies too. Works out pretty good, eh?” Allison suggested.

Lily smiled and answered, “Perfect. I was hoping for someone who loves books as much as I do.”

By the time the parents headed out, Lily and Allison were already laughing over yearbook photos and hometown stories. Minnesota Nice and Yooper hospitality blended seamlessly. Two young women stepped into college life, ready to support each other.

UW–Superior: Freshman English, First Day

The morning air was crisp, late August carrying a hint of autumn. Lily and Allison walked across campus together and entered the English classroom, buzzing with freshmen settling into seats. The professor, Dr. Matthews, greeted them warmly, his desk stacked with syllabi.

Allison grinned as they sat side by side.“Here we go. First official college class. Ready, Pine City?”

Lily smiled back. “Ready, Negaunee. Let’s do this.”

Lily’s Journal — Late August

Today was my very first day of classes at UW–Superior, and I can’t stop smiling. Moving into the dorm last week felt like such a huge step, but now that classes have started, it feels real — I’m officially a college student.

I’m so thankful for Allison, my roommate. From the moment we met, it felt easy. She’s from Negaunee, Michigan, and her Yooper friendliness matches perfectly with my Minnesota Nice. We’ve already laughed about our hometown quirks, shared snacks, and even took a walk at Wisconsin Point. I think we’re going to be great friends.

My schedule looks exciting: Freshman English (which I already love), Intro to Psychology, College Algebra, and a history course on American society. English is my favorite, of course. I can already tell it’s going to shape me as I work toward becoming a teacher. Sitting in that classroom today reminded me of Mrs. Thurston, and how much her encouragement helped me find my voice. I want to carry that forward.

I have so many hopes for these four years. I want to grow into myself, meet new people, and learn everything I can. I want to keep being brave, like I was in high school, and let my individuality shine. And someday, I want to stand in front of my own classroom, helping students discover their voices the way Mrs. Thurston helped me.

For now, I’m just grateful. Grateful for Allison, for my family, for this chance. College feels like the beginning of something big, and I’m ready.

Allison’s Journal — Late August

Well, here I am — officially a college student at UW–Superior. Move‑in day feels like a blur, but now that classes have started, it’s sinking in. I’ve got my own room and roommate, my own schedule, and my own future to shape. It’s exciting and a little scary, but mostly exciting.

Meeting Lily has been the best part so far. She’s from Pine City, Minnesota, and right away I could tell we’d get along. She’s got that Minnesota Nice thing going — polite, thoughtful, steady — and it matches perfectly with my Yooper hospitality. We’ve already laughed about our hometowns: hers with farming and Twin Cities commuters, mine with iron ore mining and Finnish traditions. Different backgrounds, but the same kind of values. Hard work, family, community. It feels easy with her.

Our first walk at Wisconsin Point was perfect. The sand, the waves, the lighthouse blinking in the distance — it felt like freedom. I think we’re going to make a lot of memories like that.

Classes started today. Freshman English is my favorite already. Dr. Matthews seems like he actually wants us to think, not just memorize. Lily and I paired up for the first exercise, and it was fun to write about each other’s hometowns. I can tell she’s serious about becoming a teacher, and I admire that. I’m still figuring out my own path, but I know I want to make my family proud and carry on the hardworking spirit of Negaunee.

So here’s to four years ahead: Full of learning, friendship, and maybe a few more trips to Wisconsin Point. I think Lily and I are going to be a great team.

It didn’t take long for Lily and Allison to feel more and more connected to the community and to each other as friends. They explored more of the campus and enjoyed conversation while getting to know each other along with more students in the dorms and in classes. The next evening, Lily and Allison were in the common lounge area. Softly lit, the hum of conversation mixed with faint music from down the hall. A few girls have gathered after dinner, sprawled across couches and beanbags with mugs of cocoa and tea.

Lily sat cross‑legged on the couch, her infinity scarf draped loosely, a notebook open beside her. Allison lounged nearby, her blonde hair spilling over the armrest, Birkenstock clogs kicked off as she wiggles her toes against the carpet. They joined three other girls they recognized from their freshman English class. Joining them were:

• Maya Patel, from Minneapolis, of mixed Caucasian and African-American heritage, raised by parents who immigrated from India, adopted by them as an infant. Maya started at UWS studying psychology, though she would change to a teaching English major after one semester, like Lily and Allison. Maya came with a quick wit that didn’t hesitate to tell it like it is and a love for indie music.
• Sophie Kowalski, from Ashland, Wisconsin, majoring in biology, who grew up near the lake and loves sharing stories about fishing trips. Sophie also loves environmental stewardship and participating in beach clean-up events.
• Rachel Schneider, from Green Bay, was an undecided major when she enrolled at UWS, but was already known for her cheerful laugh. Rachel was also Sophie’s roommate.

The five girls would all begin to get to know each other that evening, and unknown to them at the time, it would be the start of a bond that would carry them not only through the next four years, but through both their professional and personal lives well beyond the University of Wisconsin-Superior. Maya noticed Lily and Allison had already seemed to get to know each other, and started the conversation. “So, Lily, Allison — you two are already the inseparable duo. What’s your secret?”

Allison, grinning, answered, “Homemade pasties from the U.P. and coffee shops. Works every time.”

Lily laughed, and added “And a walk on the beach. We went to Wisconsin Point.”

Sophie nodded and agreed, “That’s the best part of Duluth–Superior. Festivals, the lake, and the community. You’ll never run out of things to do.”

Rachel smiled and added, “I love that you’re already exploring. I’ve been stuck in my books all week.”

Lily encouraged Rachel and said, “Balance is key. We’ve been studying too, but getting out makes the work feel lighter.”

The girls then started swapping stories about their hometowns: Lily shared about Pine City’s farming and commuter blend, a mix that coexisted in a growing community. Allison talked about Negaunee’s mining heritage and Finnish pride. Maya joked about city life in Minneapolis where she was born and raised. Sophie described growing up with Lake Superior practically in her backyard. Rachel laughed about Packers fandom dominating Green Bay. As the stories wove together, the room filled with warmth. They had different backgrounds, but shared excitement for this new chapter.

Allison looked around and commented, “Feels like we’re building our own little community here.”

Lily agreed. “Yeah. College isn’t just about classes. It’s about finding your people.”

The girls smiled, sipping their cocoa, the September night settling in outside.

Allison reflected, thinking about home. “You know, Duluth feels like a bigger version of Marquette. Same hardworking spirit, same lake pride, just more ships and more people. It feels familiar, like home.”

Lily smiled at her newfound friend. “And now it’s our home too. I love that we’re finding our place here together.”

As the fall semester went on, the five girls – Lily, Allison, Maya, Sophie, and Rachel – still barely knew each other in the big scheme of things, yet they all liked how they fit together, they liked each other, and they could sense they were building something real. They felt like they were building something that would last long after they left Superior, if that’s where life took them. One evening in mid-October, Lily and Allison were in their room. The room was cozy, lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp. Lily sat cross‑legged on her bed, her scarf draped loosely around her shoulders, flipping through her journal. Allison was sprawled on her bed across the room, her blonde hair fanned out. She was scrolling on her phone. Lily had been thinking about something that had been on her mind off and on for a few years, but more so again recently. Lily hesitated, then looked up at Allison.

Lily spoke softly, but with a spark in her eyes. “Hey, Allison… remember how I mentioned once that I’d thought about getting my nose pierced?”

Allison set her phone aside, intrigued by Lily’s question. “Yeah, I remember. You said you’d wanted to for a while. Why?”

Lily, a little nervous, smiled. “I think now’s the time. I’ve been wanting to do it for years, but I never felt brave enough in high school. College feels different. I feel more like myself here, and I want to show it.”

Allison sat up, grinning, her curiosity piqued.

“Honestly, I’ve never thought about it much before, but now that you say it… I’d be interested in getting my nose pierced too. It’s kind of bold, but I like the idea.”

Lily was relieved. “Really? That makes me feel better. I was worried you’d think it was silly.”

Allison shook her head. “Not at all. It’s a way of saying, ‘This is me.’ And I think it would suit you. You’ve got that scarf‑and‑sweater vibe, and a nose ring would add just the right touch.”

Lily blushed slightly. “Thanks. I guess I want it to be a symbol. Of courage. Of starting fresh. Like Mrs. Thurston’s nose ring back in high school. She inspired me then, and now I want to carry that forward.”

“Then let’s do it together,” Allison suggested. “Two freshmen, two nose rings. We’ll make it our own little statement.”

Lily beamed, her nervousness replaced with excitement. “Deal. We’ll find a place in town and make it happen.”

The two laughed, the October night settling in outside, their friendship deepening with the promise of a shared act of courage. Before they do – they brought their idea to Maya, Rachel, and Sophie. Lily texted the other three and asked if they could meet her and Allison in the lounged. They agreed. A few minutes later, the five friends were gathered in the lounge, mugs of cocoa on the table, textbooks stacked nearby but forgotten for the moment. The air was cozy, filled with the hum of conversation.

“So… Allison and I were talking,” Lily explained. “I’ve wanted to get my nose pierced for a few years, and I think college is the right time. Allison’s interested too.”

The other three leaned in, curious. Maya’s eyes lit up right away: “Wait, really? That’s awesome. I’ve thought about it before, but never seriously. If you two are doing it, I’m in.” Sophie brushed her hair back and grinned, explaining, “Same here. I’ve always liked the look, and I’ve wanted to do it for years, but I didn’t want to be the only one. Doing it together makes it way less intimidating.” Rachel, laughing and clapping her hands in excitement, said “Count me in! Five for five! Imagine us all walking into class with matching nose rings. We’ll be the Sparkle Squad of UW–Superior!”

Allison burst out laughing, shaking her head. “I love it. It’s not just about the look. It’s about saying, ‘We’re here, we’re confident, and we’re owning this chapter.’”

“Exactly,” Lily added. “For me it’s about courage, about finally doing something I’ve wanted for years. And now we’ll all share it.”

The five started brainstorming. Maya suggested finding a reputable piercing studio in the area. Sophie joked about making it a “study break adventure.” Rachel imagined the caption to the Instagram post with their group selfie: “Five nose rings, five friends, one fearless fall.” Allison promised to hold Lily’s hand if she got nervous while she was in the piercing chair. And Lily smiled, feeling the weight of her hesitation and years of waiting lift into excitement.

The girls clinked their cocoa mugs together like a toast.

“Here’s to courage, friendship, and nose rings,” Maya said.

“Five for five. Let’s make it happen,” Allison replied.

The lounge filled with laughter, the October night outside cool and crisp, their bond deepening through the promise of a shared act of self‑expression.

On Friday afternoon after their last classes, Lily, Allison, Maya, Sophie, and Rachel met in the dorm lounge, bundled in fall jackets and scarves. It was crisp outside, but their energy is buzzing. Lily had called the day before to make the appointments for their piercings at a place in Superior.

“Okay, today’s the day. We’re really doing this.” Lily said.

Allison grinned and added, “Five for five. No backing out now.”

They piled into Allison’s car, laughter filling the short ride to downtown Superior.

The studio on Tower Avenue was bright and welcoming, with posters of jewelry styles and tattoos lining the walls. A friendly piercer greets them, explaining the process and showing them the sterilized equipment. The five girls filled out the papers and signed the forms.

Maya, half-joking and half-serious, asked “So… does anyone want to go first, or should we draw straws?” Lily, taking a deep breath, said, “I’ll go. I’ve wanted this for years. It’s time to be brave.”

The piercer brought Lily back to the chair first. The piercer cleaned Lily’s left nostril and marked the spot for the piercing. Lily approved. Then Allison squeezed Lily’s hand as the piercer worked quickly, taking the sterile, hollow needle. As Lily exhaled, the piercer slid the needle through Lily’s nose and quickly placed the jewelry. Lily’s eyes shined as she saw the tiny stud sparkle. “It’s perfect. I feel… free,” Lily said as she admired her nose ring in the small hand mirror.

Allison followed, laughing nervously but steadily. Likewise, the piercer cleaned her left nostril, marked the spot for the piercing, and then unpackaged a new, sterile needle. Allison felt only a slight prick as the piercer put the needle through her nose. When it was done, she grinned at Lily. “It’s so cute! We match! And it suits me more than I thought.”

Maya went next. Maya also had her left nostril pierced, barely feeling anything. She snapped a selfie immediately after. “Okay, this is officially my new favorite accessory,” Maya said. “It looks SO good! And I can’t wait to get a hoop once it heals!”

Sophie chose a delicate silver stud. Like the first three, she had her left nostril pierced. When the piercer slid the needle through Sophie’s nose, she produced a few tears, as it hurt more than she thought, but then smiled softly, “I love it. I’ve wanted it for the longest time. It feels like me.”

Rachel finished the round, dramatic as always. “I’m going to be different…I’m getting my right nostril pierced.” Rachel was having so much fun with the experience she didn’t feel the pain when the piercer put the needle through her nose. When it was done and the piercer handed her the small mirror, Rachel proclaimed, “Five nose rings, five friends. We’re unstoppable.”

After Rachel got out of the piercing chair, the group gathered in front of the studio mirror, leaning close to admire their new piercings.

Allison, with a beaming smile, proclaimed, “We did it. Together.”

Lily, her eyes bright, said, “It’s more than jewelry. It’s courage, friendship, and starting fresh.”

Maya added, “And the best Instagram post ever.”

They laughed, snapping group photos, scarves and jackets framing their faces, each nose sparkling with a new stud.

After the group left the piercing studio, they headed to a nearby café, sipping chai lattes and hot cocoa, still buzzing with adrenaline. The conversation flowed easily about classes, about how brave they felt, and about how this moment will always mark their first fall in college.

Rachel raised her mug. “Here’s to us! Five friends, five nose rings, one fearless fall.”

The others clinked their mugs, the autumn sun streaming through the café windows, their bond sealed with courage and sparkle. What started as Lily’s quiet, long‑held dream blossomed into a ripple effect of courage and belonging for the whole quintet. Now every time they looked at each other across the dorm lounge or in class, those little nose rings were like a shared badge of friendship and bravery. The quintet realized their shared act of courage wasn’t just personal. It was inspiring their circle, sparking conversations across campus.

“Bold move, freshmen,” an upperclassman from their dorm remarked to them as they were sitting in the commons that evening.

Later that evening, Lily decided to send a text to Marnie Thurston, along with a photo of her smiling with her new nose ring, a tribute to the woman who inspired her during high school:

Hi Mrs. Thurston 💛

I wanted to share something special with you! I finally got my nose pierced. I’ve thought about it since junior year, ever since I saw yours and felt that quiet spark of possibility. Back then, I wasn’t ready. I had goals, but the timing wasn’t right, and my parents weren’t supportive.

Now I’m in college, surrounded by friends who encourage me, and I feel more like myself than I ever have. So I took the leap, and it felt like claiming a piece of my story.

Thank you for being the kind of teacher who made courage feel gentle and attainable. You showed me that self-expression and strength can coexist, and that waiting doesn’t mean giving up . Sometimes, it just means honoring the right moment.

I hope this little stud makes you smile. It’s more than jewelry. It’s a symbol of growth, friendship, and the ripple effect of your encouragement.

With love and gratitude, Lily Jorgenson.

Marnie replied shortly thereafter. Here was the message from Mrs. Thurston to Lily:

Oh Lily, this made my day. Truly.

I remember the quiet strength you carried even as a junior. I remember the way you asked thoughtful questions, the way you encouraged others without needing the spotlight. Watching you grow into your voice these past few years has been one of the great joys of my teaching career.

That nose ring? It’s beautiful. But what’s even more beautiful is the courage behind it. You waited until the moment felt right, and then you stepped forward with intention and grace. That’s the kind of growth that lasts.

I’m so proud of you! Not just for your academic excellence, but for the way you’re shaping your life with authenticity and kindness. And I love that you’re surrounded by friends who celebrate you.

Keep shining, Lily. You’ve always had the sparkle. Now the world gets to see it too.

With admiration and joy,

Mrs. Thurston 💛

Later that evening, the Sparkle Squad was curled up in the lounge with mugs of cider and fleece blankets. The energy shifted cozy and reflective after their big piercing day. Lily scrolled through her phone, then paused.

“Hey… I want to show you something,” Lily exclaimed.

She held up her phone, revealing Mrs. Thurston’s reply, the message glowing with warmth and pride.

Allison leaned in. “Is that your high school teacher?”

Lily nodded. “Yes. That’s Mrs. Thurston. She was my role model. She wore a nose ring, taught English with so much heart, and always made me feel seen. I’ve wanted to be an English teacher ever since then because of her.”

Maya smiled. “That’s beautiful. And she sounds amazing.”

Sophie read part of the the message aloud from Lily’s phone. “‘You’ve always had the sparkle. Now the world gets to see it too.’”

Rachel grinned. “Okay, I love her. Can we adopt her?”

They laughed, but the mood is tender. Lily’s eyes shone, not just from the compliment, but from the feeling of being understood.

Lily added, “She reminded me that waiting doesn’t mean giving up. It just means honoring the right moment. And today was mine.”

Allison squeezed Lily’s hand and said, “And we got to be part of it.”

The five sat together, cider mugs warm in their hands, the sparkle of their nose rings catching the soft dorm light. They formed a circle of courage, friendship, and shared beginnings. However, the attention they received interfered with their studies to some degree. Increasingly, their textbooks were found half open but forgotten. The entire Squad struggled the few weeks after they got pierced, and final exams for fall semester were looming.

UW–Superior: College Algebra Classroom

The fluorescent lights hum softly as students shuffle papers. Lily sits at her desk, heart pounding as the professor handed back graded tests. A red “D” stares up at her from the top of the page.

She exhaled, whispering under her breath: “A ‘D’ certainly doesn’t mean delightful…”

Her stomach sunk. She flipped through the test. It was full of missed steps, careless errors, and story problems she thought she understood. The sparkle of her nose stud felt heavy now, like a reminder of how much time she spent laughing with her friends instead of drilling equations. After class, she met Allison, Maya, Sophie, and Rachel in the student union. They were all clutching papers, faces pale.

Allison grimaced.“I got a C‑minus. I’m barely hanging on.”

Maya sighed. “Same here. I thought I had it, but… nope.”

Sophie spoke quietly. “I got a D too. I’ve never struggled like this before. Math and science are my strongest areas.”

Rachel, half‑joking, half‑serious, summed up the obvious. “I guess we’re the Sparkle Squad, all right. We’re certainly not the Study Squad.”

They laughed weakly, but the mood was heavy. Their textbooks sat unopened in their bags, reminders of late nights spent socializing instead of reviewing formulas. They realized they needed to turn things around quickly. Lily, gently but firmly, stated, “We can’t let this define us. Finals are coming. If we don’t turn it around, we’re in trouble.”

Sophie sounded determined “Then we’ll make a plan. Study sessions. No distractions. We’ve got to prove we can shine in more ways than one.”

Jim Dan Hill Library, UW-Superior Campus

The Sparkle Squad gathered around a large wooden table, textbooks stacked high, laptops open, notebooks spread out. The mood was different this night, with no cocoa mugs and no playful chatter. Just focus. Lily set the ground rules. “Okay. No distractions. We’re here until we understand this.”

Allison nodded, pulling out her psychology notes. “I’ll quiz you on formulas if you quiz me on theories. Deal?”

Maya offered to help. “And I’ll keep us on track. No phones. I’m the timekeeper.” She sets her phone face‑down after starting a timer.

Sophie opened up her laptop. “I found a set of review questions online. Let’s work through them together.”

Rachel adjusted her glasses and added, “And if anyone gets stuck, we slow down. No rushing. We’re in this as a team.”

As the clock neared midnight, the group was tired but energized. Their studs caught the fluorescent light as they leaned over their notes, faces determined.

This feels different,” Lily observed. “It was like we’re finally doing what we came here for.”

Allison added softly, “We’re the Sparkle Squad, yeah. But tonight we’re also the Study Squad.”

They laughed, but it was a laugh of relief. It was the kind of laugh that comes when you know you’ve turned a corner.

Sophie closed her laptop. “Finals are going to be tough. But we’re tougher.”

Maya raised her water bottle like a toast. “To discipline, to friendship, and to proving we can shine in more ways than one.”

The five clinked their bottles together, the sound echoing in the quiet library. Their sparkle now carried a new meaning: They showed courage, yes, but also resilience and responsibility.

Last Day of Finals Week

The Sparkle Squad collapsed in the dorm lounge, exhausted but smiling. Their phones buzzed with grade notifications. Lily announced, “C+ in algebra. Not perfect, but I passed.” Allison added, “B‑ in psych. I’ll take it.” Maya was pleased. “I ended up with a solid B in sociology.” Sophie’s phone buzzed next. “I got a B in algebra. I’m relieved. Finally Rachel said, “C+ in history. Better than I feared.” They looked at each other, realizing they’ve survived.

“We didn’t sparkle perfectly… but we sparkled enough.” Lily commented.

Sophie added, “And we proved we can shine in more ways than one.”

They clinked cocoa mugs together, the stress fading into laughter. Finals week didn’t break them. It continued to bond them.

Final grades for their freshman English class posted shortly after, and the Sparkle Squad gathered around Lily’s laptop in the dorm lounge. Their nerves give way to smiles.The group cheered, their relief palpable, as Dr. Matthews gave all of them an A except for Sophie, who ended up with a B. While she was a litte bummed, Sophie realized English wasn’t her strong suit – she hoped to be a scientist, not a writer or a literature expert – but still she had hoped to match the success of her friends. After the stress of algebra and history, English felt like home for all of them. It was a class where their voices mattered, where Dr. Matthews encouraged them to connect literature with life, and the class that all five of them had together and led to their new mutual friendship.

Lily reflected. “It’s funny. English was always my favorite in high school, and now it’s our favorite here too. Dr. Matthews reminds me of Mrs. Thurston. They were both encouraging, both challenging, but always believed in us.”

Allison agreed. “It was the class that kept us grounded. Even when math and history felt impossible, English reminded us why we’re here.”

Rachel raised her mug like a toast: “Spring semester, we shine smarter. Sparkle and study. Both.”

The five clinked their mugs together, the sound echoing in the quiet lounge. Their nose studs glinted in the lamplight — no longer just symbols of rebellion or belonging, but reminders of resilience and responsibility.

And they did. In spring semester, they set a rigid study schedule right away, leaving some time for social activities in the right balance, and the Squad’s grades improved. No one has lower than a B for a grade in any class.

In late August, the group returned for their first week back for their sophomore year, in the new rhythm, and celebrated Rachel’s major declaration with a night out for Chinese food. Their choice was New China, a Chinese restaurant not far from campus where they went a couple of times during their freshman year. After another getting another A in English for spring semester, Rachel decided she was going to be the fourth teaching English major of the group, joining Lily, Allison, and Maya in that program! The five walked together down Belknap Street from campus to the restaurant, the late August breeze warm and playful. Inside New China, they settled into a table near the window facing west, the scent of sesame and ginger wrapping around them.

Allison rose her chopsticks and declared, “To Rachel: Future teacher, sparkle sister, and literary queen!”

Maya added playfully, “You’ll be the cool teacher with the nose ring and the best book recs.”

Sophie, smiling warmly, added “And I’ll be your biology backup when your students ask weird science questions.”

They laughed, clinked water glasses, and dove into plates of lo mein, sesame chicken, veggie fried rice, and cream cheese wontons.

Rachel was feeling overcome by the attention. “Last year, I was unsure. Now I feel steady. And it’s because of you guys.”

Lily replied, “We’ve all grown. And we’re still growing together.”

Outside, the sun set over the Twin Ports, casting golden light on five friends walking back to campus, bellies full, hearts fuller. Their nose studs catch the last rays of sunlight, tiny sparks of courage, belonging, and the joy of becoming.

The Sparkle Squad settled into their study routine they used from the spring semester of their freshman year, and they enjoyed similar success. As October approached, the group had a little idea for a mid-semester fall getaway of sorts. The plan depended on Allison and her parents, Art and Lorraine Besonen, being willing to host the Squad for an overnight. They agreed.

M-28 Eastbound, Near Bruce Crossing, Michigan

The trees lining the highway were ablaze during the second weekend of October, with crimson maples and golden birch stretching endlessly in every direction. The sun filtered through the canopy, casting flickering shadows across the dashboard.

Allison was driving, sunglasses on, and smiling. “Just passed through Bruce Crossing!” Allison texted her mom as they headed east. Allison’s mom texted back. “She’s making pasties and apple crisp. And Dad’s got the fire pit ready.”

Rachel sat in the passenger seat with her feet on the dash, flipping through indie playlists and occasionally humming along as a Trampled by Turtles song came up. In the back, Lily leaned her head against the window while Maya and Sophie shared a bag of trail mix.

For a few minutes, no one spoke. The western U.P. had that effect, as if the silence itself invited honesty. But Lily finally broke it.

“I’ve been thinking about last Christmas break,” she said quietly, still watching the trees blur past.

Allison glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Everything okay?”

Lily hesitated before answering. “It was the first time my parents saw the piercing.”

The music kept playing, soft and steady. No one interrupted.

“They didn’t yell,” Lily continued. “They never yell. They just… looked at me like I’d done something irresponsible. Or embarrassing. Or both.” She let out a slow breath. “My dad asked if it was removable. My mom asked if it was a phase.”

Rachel twisted around in her seat. “Lily, come on. You look amazing. And it’s not like you got a face tattoo.”

Sophie reached over and touched Lily’s arm. “I’m sorry they reacted that way. You were so excited about it.”

“I was,” Lily said. “And I still am. I love it. I just didn’t expect them to be so disappointed. They didn’t say it out loud, but I could feel it every time they looked at me.”

Maya shook her head. “That’s their issue, not yours. You’re allowed to make choices about your own body.”

Lily smiled a little at that. “I know. It’s just… they’re so image‑focused. My dad’s the president of the bank. My mom’s on every committee in town. They care a lot about how things look.”

Allison kept her voice gentle. “Did things get better before you came back to school?”

“A little,” Lily said. “We talked about normal stuff. Classes. Christmas plans. My mom even helped me pack. But it felt different. Like they were being polite instead of warm. And it continued through this summer vacation.”

The SUV rolled on through the quiet forest, the road stretching endlessly ahead.

“I guess I’m still figuring out how to deal with that,” Lily added. “I didn’t want to bring it up earlier because it felt silly compared to everything else going on.”

“It’s not silly,” Sophie said. “It matters because it matters to you.”

Rachel tossed a piece of trail mix into Lily’s lap. “And your nose ring is adorable. They’ll get over it eventually.”

Lily laughed softly. “Thanks. I needed that.”

The conversation faded into a comfortable quiet again. The music shifted to another soft track, and the SUV continued eastward through the endless trees.

For the first time since Christmas break, Lily felt lighter.

The Sparkle Squad arrived at the Besonen house in Negaunee about an hour and 45 minutes after they passed through Bruce Crossing. Allison’s SUV crunched up the gravel driveway, autumn leaves swirling in the crisp October air. Allison parked, and before anyone can grab their bags, the front door swung open.

“Allison! My girl’s home!” Lorraine Besonen shouted, arms wide open, running toward her.

Lorraine pulled her daughter into a long hug, rocking her slightly, while Art Besonen stood nearby, smiling but cautious, hands in his pockets.

“Mom, Dad, meet the Sparkle Squad!” Allison announced.

The other four stepped forward, each with a sparkle in their nose stud catching the sunlight. Mr. Besonen’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his smile faltering just a bit.

Half‑joking, muttering, Art said, “Five nose rings… what did I get myself into?”

Lorraine lightly swatted Art’s arm, chuckling. “Oh, hush, Art. They’re beautiful. And hungry. Come in, girls. Lunch is ready!”

Inside, the kitchen smelled of pastry and beef, onions, and rutabaga — the unmistakable aroma of Upper Peninsula pasties. A tray of golden, steaming turnovers waited on the counter, alongside pitchers of cider.

Maya, with her eyes wide, looked on, delighted. “I’ve never had a pasty before. This smells amazing.”

Sophie grinned. “You’re about to experience the U.P. at its finest.”

The girls gathered around the table, plates filled, laughter rising as they bit into the hearty, flaky crust. Mr. Besonen watched from his chair, slowly warming as he saw their joy and heard their chatter.

Rachel smiled at him and said, “Mr. Besonen, you’ve got a good thing going here. Hospitality and pasties. What an unbeatable combination!”

He chuckled, finally relaxing.

“Well, if you girls can eat like Yoopers, you’ll fit right in,” Art said.

The room filled with warmth, with the sound of cider glasses clinking, cheeks flushed from the oven’s heat, and the unmistakable sense that the Sparkle Squad has found another home away from home.

The group had a hearty breakfast on Saturday morning before heading to Marquette, 8 miles to the east. The downtown hummed with weekend energy: students, families, and locals strolled past brick storefronts. They checked out a coffee shop, ordering lattes, chai, and pumpkin spice drinks. The barista smiles at their nose studs, joking, “Sparkle Squad, huh? You brighten the place up.” and other small businesses on Washington Street downtown. Maya tried on a scarf, Sophie flipped through biology field guides, and Rachel found a vintage poetry collection. It was a pleasant fall day by U. P. standards, with a high predicted close to 70 and light winds.

Just after 2:00 p.m., after grabbing some lunch at a small cafe in Marquette, the Sparkle Squad left Marquette to return to Wisconsin. They gained an hour back going from Eastern to Central time…so it was about 4:45 in the afternoon as they pulled up to the Kowalski’s driveway to the scent of charcoal. In Ashland too it was close to 70 that day, and Mr. Kowalski has the grill fired up for burgers and a Wisconsin favorite, brats.

As Allison pulled into the Kowalski driveway, parking between Mr. Kowalski’s Ram Rebel pickup truck and Mrs. Kowalski’s Dodge Grand Caravan, Sophie’s parents were already outside. Mr. Kowalski stood by the grill, tongs in hand, smoke curling up from sizzling burgers and brats. Mrs. Kowalski stepped forward, arms wide.

Sophie jumped out first, flushed with excitement “Mom! Dad!”She’s swept into a big hug, her parents holding her tight, smiling at the sight of their daughter home again.

Mrs. Kowalski greeted her with a beaming smile. “Welcome home, Sophie. And welcome, Sparkle Squad! We’re so glad you’re here.”

The rest of the group piled out, greeted with handshakes, hugs, and that unmistakable Wisconsin hospitality.

Mr. Kowalski gestured to the grill and grinned. “Hope you girls are hungry. Burgers and brats: Nothing fancy, but it’s the Wisconsin way.”

Rachel laughed, with her nose stud catching the firelight from the grill. “After pasties yesterday, this feels like the perfect sequel.”

Maya sniffed the air, delighted. “Brats on the grill — now we’re honorary Wisconsinites too.”

The girls settled into lawn chairs on the driveway, shoes kicked off, toes brushing the warm concrete. Mrs. Kowalski brought out bowls of potato salad and chips, while Mr. Kowalski flipped the brats with practiced ease.

Lily smiled at Sophie. “You weren’t kidding about Ashland hospitality. This feels like family.”

Sophie glowed, looking around at her friends and parents. “It is family. And now you’re part of it.”

After supper, the Sparkle Squad sit comfortably on the couch and armchairs in the Kowalski living room, mugs of tea in hand. Mr. Kowalski leaned back in his recliner, listening intently, while Mrs. Kowalski perched on the edge of her chair, eager to draw out stories.

Mrs. Kowalski smiled warmly. “So, Sophie tells us you’re all pretty close. What’s it like, five friends navigating college together?”

Rachel grinned, with her nose stud catching the lamplight. “It’s amazing. We started freshman year not knowing what we’d become, but now we’re like family.”

Mr. Kowalski asked, “And you all study the same thing?”

Lily laughed softly and answered, “Almost. Four of us are English majors — me, Allison, Maya, and Rachel. Sophie’s the outlier, biology major.”

Sophie playfully nudged her dad. “See? I’m the science one. But I still join them for liberal ed classes, so we’re together a lot.”

Maya smiled and added, “We have different majors, different hometowns, but we keep finding more things in common.”

Curious as she glanced at their sparkling noses, Mrs. Kowalski asked, “And these nose rings… Sophie said you all decided together?”

Allison grinned. “Yep. Last fall, we went to a studio in Superior. It was kind of a dare, kind of a bonding thing.”

Rachel laughed and added, “We walked in nervous, walked out sparkling. It felt like a declaration that we were in this together.”

Sophie smiled at her mom and explained, “It wasn’t about rebellion. It was about belonging. We wanted something visible that tiRachel laughed and added, “We walked in nervous, walked out sparkling. It felt like a declaration that we were in this together.”ed us together.”

Mr. Kowalski chuckled and shook his head slightly. “Five nose rings. That’s commitment. But I’ll admit it suits you.”

Mrs. Kowalski continued. “But you all grew up in different places, right? How do you find so much in common?”

Lily answered. “We realized early on that we value the same things, such as kindness, loyalty, and making space for each other.”

Maya added, “And we love traditions. Whether it’s bonfires in the U.P., murals in Ashland, or late‑night talks in Superior, we make rituals out of everything.”

Rachel said,“Even our differences connect us. Allison’s Yooper roots, Sophie’s from here in Ashland, Maya and Lily are the Minnesotans, and my Green Bay background – it all adds flavor.”

Sophie smiled at her parents. “That’s why I wanted you to meet them. They’re not just classmates. They’re my people.”

Mr. Kowalski leaned back, quietly satisfied. Mrs. Kowalski beamed, clearly delighted. The girls sipped their tea, laughter rising and falling, their sparkle not just in their nose studs but in the way they carried themselves.

Mrs. Kowalski said softly to her husband, “They’re good girls. Sophie’s lucky — and so are we.”

The group arrived safely back at the UW-Superior campus just before 12:30 Sunday afternoon. The group gathered in Lily and Allison’s room, where shoes come off right away and they settled into an afternoon of conversation and some light study for their psychology class, comparing personality types of the Besonen and Kowalski parents.

By the end of their sophomore year fall semester in early December, a year and a half into their college careers, the Sparkle Squad had recovered nicely from some shaky moments their first semester. Sophie led the way with an overall cumulative GPA of 3.7 through the first half of sophomore year, but all five Sparkle Squad members had a GPA of 3.5 or higher. The steady discipline and study habits of the last two semesters have paid off handsomely for the group! Heading home for Christmas vacation, Lily decided to make a side trip to her old high school. She timed it so she arrives just after classes let out for the day, the halls buzzing with students heading home. She walked into the familiar building, memories flooding back, and heads up the stairs from the commons area to 2^nd floor and down the hall of the academic wing to Room 208. Marnie Thurston, her former teacher, was tidying up papers at her desk when Lily appeared in the doorway.

“Hi, Mrs. Thurston,” Lily announced. “Thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

Marnie’s eyes lit up as she stood to hug her. “Lily Jorgenson! Look at you! A college student now. I’m so glad you came.”

They sat together for a few minutes, catching up. Lily told Marnie about UW-Superior, her teaching English major, and the Sparkle Squad. Marnie listened with pride, recalling Lily’s essays and her knack for storytelling. They laughed about old classroom memories, and Mrs. Thurston encouraged Lily to keep writing, reminding her that her voice mattered.

“You’ve grown so much, Lily. I always knew you’d find your place,” Marnie reassured Lily.

Lily responded softly but gratefully. “I wouldn’t be where I am without your encouragement, Mrs. Thurston. Thank you.”

The next day in the teacher’s lounge at Pine City, lunchtime hummed with the clatter of trays from those who went to the cafeteria to get lunch, the rustling of bags, and the ever-present smell of coffee. At one table, Marnie sat with her husband Ethan, joined that day by Principal Bob Lansing, English department head Tim White, art teacher Ann Nylund, and biology teacher Eugene Munson.

“You’ll never guess who stopped by yesterday — Lily Jorgenson,” said Marnie, smiling and excited. “She’s back home on Christmas vacation from UW-Superior and came by after school just to say hello.”

Ethan grinned and said, “That’s wonderful. She always had such a spark in her writing.”

Marnie agreed. “Exactly. And now she’s thriving at UW–Superior. She told me about her English major, her friends, and even how they all got nose piercings together as a symbol of belonging.”

Ann Nylund laughing softly, added “That sounds like Lily — bold but thoughtful. She always wanted her choices to mean something.”

Principal Lansing, taking a bite from his sandwich, leaned forward, interested. “It’s students like her that remind us why we do this. Seeing them grow, succeed, and then come back to share it. That’s the reward, even after almost 40 years in education.”

Eugene Munson smiled and stirred creamer into his coffee, adding, “She was sharp in science too when I had her as a sophomore. Always curious, always asking questions. I’m not surprised she’s doing well.”

Marnie said softly but with pride, “That’s what inspires me — following their stories, seeing them carry forward what we tried to instill. Lily’s visit reminded me that teaching isn’t just about the classroom. It’s about mentoring, encouraging, and watching them find their place in the world.” The group nodded in agreement, a quiet moment of shared satisfaction settling over the table.

Tim White, the English department head, observed as he finished the last of his burrito from the cafeteria, “And you’ve always had a gift for that — making students feel seen. Lily’s visit proves it.”

Marnie responded gratefully, with her eyes shining. “She’s one of those students who remind me why I love this work.”

On Catlin Avenue in Superior in early January, the campus is hushed under a blanket of snow, the air biting cold. Inside Lily and Allison’s dorm room, the Sparkle Squad gathered again, reunited after Christmas break. The room glowed with string lights and the hum of a small space heater. The girls sat in a circle on the rug, leggings or jeans tucked into fuzzy socks — stripes, polka dots, and holiday patterns still lingering from December. The girls shared stories about their holidays, whether it was the Packers-Vikings game, which Rachel reminded everyone that the Packers won, or Maya recounting some alternative ways her family spent the period around Christmas.

(left to right) Rachel Schneider, Sophie Kowalski, and Maya Patel studying together.)

Rachel remarked playfully, “We should make fuzzy socks sometime during spring semester. Fuzzy socks are good for cold nights.” Lily smiling as she looked around. “It’s perfect. Belonging doesn’t just sparkle in nose rings. It’s in moments just like this.”

Their plans for this first weekend back in Superior were about to get disrupted by some bad news. The Thurstons, Ethan and Marnie, were in a bad car accident on their way home from school that Friday afternoon. Ethan’s injuries were minor enough where he was treated and released…but Marnie was taken to a St. Paul hospital with more serious injuries. Lily got the text from her mom about 8:30 Saturday morning. The room was quiet, sunlight barely filtering through frosted windows. Lily sat cross‑legged on her bed, phone in hand. A new text from her mom flashed across the screen:

“Honey, I need you to know… Ethan and Marnie Thurston were in a car accident yesterday. Ethan’s okay, but Marnie is in St. Paul with more serious injuries. We’re praying and waiting for updates.”

Lily’s breath caught. Her eyes filled instantly, and she burst into tears, shoulders shaking as the weight of the news hit her.

From across the room, Allison looked up from her notebook, startled. She was at Lily’s side in seconds. Allison slid onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her friend.

“Oh Lily… I’m so sorry. I’ve got you. Let it out. What happened?”

Lily buried her face against Allison’s shoulder, tears soaking through the fabric. Allison held her close, rubbing her back, grounding her in the moment.

Lily choked through sobs. “It’s Marnie…Mrs. Thurston. She’s hurt bad. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Lily showed Allison the text on her phone screen.

Allison reassured Lily, firmly but gently. “She’s strong. And her husband’s okay. We’ll pray for Marnie, and we’ll be here for you. You’re not alone.”

The dorm room felt suspended in silence, broken only by Lily’s sobs and Allison’s quiet reassurances. Lily’s phone lies on the blanket, the text still glowing. Allison’s embrace was steady, her presence a shield against the fear. The bond between Lily and Allison deepened through this experience. Their friendship became family in the face of crisis.

After a pause, Allison said softly, “We’ll tell the others. The Squad will rally around you. That’s what we do.” Lily nodded through tears, still clutching Allison’s hand tightly.

Word spread quickly through the Sparkle Squad. By 9:00, Maya, Rachel, and Sophie arrived from the other dorm building, coats and boots piled by the door, faces etched with concern. Lily sat curled on her bed, eyes red from crying, Allison beside her like a steady anchor. The room felt heavy, but also sacred, the kind of silence that invited presence. None of the five girls were regular churchgoers, nor were any of their families deeply involved in church life. But in this moment, they know instinctively what to do.

They formed a circle on the rug, hands linked.

Sophie spoke softly, breaking the silence. “We don’t have fancy words. But we can ask for strength, for healing, for peace.”

Maya added, with her eyes closed and voice steady, “For Marnie. For Ethan. For Lily’s family. For everyone waiting and worrying.”

Rachel, whispering, said, “And for us to be strong enough to hold Lily up.”

Allison squeezed Lily’s hand, her voice quiet but firm. “We’re here. We’re together. That’s our prayer.”

When they finished, they sat in silence for a moment, listening to the hum of the heater and the muffled sounds of campus outside.

Rachel said, “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Maya agreed. “That’s what makes us family.”

Lily, in particular, spent an unbearable Saturday and Sunday morning waiting, filled with worry and uncertainty. A horrifying thought gripped her: Was her abbreviated visit with Mrs. Thurston in December her last?

On Sunday afternoon, the Sparkle Squad was gathered again, bundled in sweaters and fuzzy socks, the winter light slanting through the window. Lily’s phone buzzed with a new text from her mom. She read quickly, then gasps, tears springing to her eyes — but this time, they’re tears of relief.

Lily’s voice trembled as she smiled through tears, reading the text. “She’s out of intensive care… Marnie’s going to be okay. No brain injury. Just fractures and pain. She’ll be in the hospital for a while, and they don’t know if she’ll be back teaching this year… but she’s going to be okay.”

The room erupted in a wave of hugs and exclamations.

Allison wrapped Lily in a tight embrace, whispering: “Thank God. That’s the best news we could hope for.” Rachel clasped Lily’s hand and added, “She’s strong. She’ll heal. And you’ve been strong too.” Maya wiped her own eyes, laughing softly: “We prayed, and she’s improving. That circle meant something.” Sophie leaned in, steady and calm. “She’ll need time, but she’s safe. That’s what matters.”

Lily looked around at her friends. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been my family through this.” Allison smiled and squeezed Lily’s shoulder. “That’s what we are. The Sparkle Squad doesn’t just shine in good times — we shine when it’s hard.”

That evening, Lily sat at the desk in her room, a mug of cocoa beside her, pen in hand. Allison watched from the bed, offering quiet encouragement. Maya, Rachel, and Sophie sat nearby, their presence steady and supportive. Lily pulls out a piece of stationery, decorated with a pine tree motif that reminded her of home, and began to write a note to Marnie. After she finished, Lily folded the paper carefully, slipped it into an envelope, and wrote the Thurston home address. She knew Ethan was back home and would make sure Marnie sees it, whether in the hospital or once she’s home again.

Allison smiled softly. “That’s perfect, Lily. She’ll feel your love in every word.”

Lily, with eyes misty, said “It’s the least I can do. She gave me so much — I want her to know she’s not alone.”

Regions Hospital, St. Paul – Midweek

The room was softly lit, with machines humming steadily, and the air carrying the faint scent of antiseptic. Marnie Thurston rested propped up in bed, her arm in a sling, bandages visible beneath her gown. She was tired and still in pain, but alert enough to notice when Ethan entered.

“Hey, love. Got something for you. It came to the house, but I thought you should see it now.”

He set the envelope on her lap. Marnie looks at him curiously, then carefully opened it, her fingers slow but deliberate. Her eyes scanned the handwritten words, and as she read, her expression shifted from surprise to tenderness to tears welling.

“Oh, Ethan… it’s from Lily. She wrote me the sweetest note.”

She paused, swallowing against the lump in her throat, then read aloud a line: “Your encouragement in high school gave me the courage to pursue English, and your belief in me still carries me through my college days.”

Her voice trembled, but her smile grew.“She remembers… she really remembers,” Marnie said.

Ethan sat beside her, taking her free hand. “Of course she does. You’ve touched so many lives, Marnie. Lily’s just one of the many who carry your lessons with them.”

Marnie leaned back against the pillows, clutching the note to her chest.

Marnie spoke softly, with tears slipping down her cheeks. “This… this is what makes it worth it. Even if I can’t go back to the classroom this year, knowing I’ve made a difference… it’s enough.”

The hospital room feelt transformed. The hum of machines faded into the background. The note lies open on Marnie’s lap, its words a balm stronger than medicine. Ethan’s presence steadied her, while Lily’s words reminded her of her purpose.

“Tell Lily… her note is the best medicine I’ve had yet.”

In early March, Marnie was home from Regions Hospital, and Lily, accompanied the Sparkle Squad, went to visit Marnie on a Saturday. It’s an easy day trip from Superior, and by this point, a year and a half in, the Squad has heard a lot about Marnie. They even said they’d adopt her at one point. Now the need is very real. The Sparkle Squad made the easy day trip from Superior, bundled in scarves and fuzzy socks tucked into boots. Lily leads the way, her heart pounding with anticipation. The others chatter softly, knowing this visit means more than just meeting a teacher. They pulled up to the Thurston home, where snow still lingered in patches across the yard. Ethan greets them at the door, smiling warmly, ushering them inside. The living room was cozy with sunlight streaming through lace curtains. Marnie sat in a recliner, her arm still in a sling. A blanket was draped across her lap. She looked tired, her smile lighting up the room as Lily rushed forward.

“Lily… and the Sparkle Squad. You’re really here!” Marnie expressed.

Lily kneeled beside her with tears in her eyes. “We wanted to come together. You’ve been part of my story since high school… and now you’re part of ours.” Marnie squeezed her hand, overwhelmed.

The girls gathered around, introducing themselves one by one.

Allison smiled and offering a small basket of U.P. pasties. “I’ve heard so much about you. Lily talks about your encouragement all the time.”

Maya grinned, with her nose stud sparkling. “We even said we’d adopt you once. Now it feels real. You’re family to us too.”

Rachel added with sincerity, “Your mentorship shaped Lily. And through her, you’ve shaped us.”

Sophie said, “We prayed for you in our own way. Seeing you here, healing, is an answer.”

Marnie listened with tears slipping down her cheeks, clutching Lily’s hand tighter. Ethan brought cocoa and cookies into the living room, smiling at the circle forming around his wife. The girls sat cross-legged on the rug. Laughter mingled with tears as stories were shared, from Lily’s essays as Marnie’s studen for two years in high school to the Sparkle Squad’s nose ring bond to their many study nights together.

Marnie spoke softly, with her voice breaking, “You don’t know how much this means. Teaching was always about more than the classroom. Seeing you here… it’s proof that love and encouragement ripple outward.”

Lily smiled through tears. “You taught me that. And now we’re carrying it forward.”

The Sparkle Squad’s visit transformed the Thurston home into a sanctuary of belonging. Marnie felt adopted into their circle, her role as mentor now expanded into family. For Lily, it was a full‑circle moment: the mentor who once inspired her was now held up by the very community she helped create.

Sparkle Squad — Junior Year, Fall Semester

By September, the UW-Superior campus came alive again. The Sparkle Squad returned with schedules that were heavier, filled with upper‑division courses and major requirements.

Lily, Allison, Maya, and Rachel, all on the English teaching track, began their teacher education sequence: Methods of Teaching English, Literature for Adolescents, Advanced Composition, and Educational Psychology. They spent evenings comparing notes, sometimes laughing at the complexity of lesson plans, sometimes groaning at the workload. Their sparkle circle continued as a study circle, nose rings glinting as they sit cross‑legged on the dorm floor with textbooks spread around them.

Sophie, meanwhile, continued her biology major, with courses such as genetics, ecology, cell biology, and the dreaded organic chemistry – her toughest class yet, one notorious for demanding precision and endurance. Her schedule was grueling, but the Squad rallied around her, cheering her on when labs ran late.

Back in Pine City, Marnie Thurston was back in the classroom, teaching American Literature again. She taught with renewed energy, weaving in themes of perseverance and belonging. When she discussed authors like Emerson, Dickinson, or Morrison, she framed their words through the lens of courage and community. They were lessons Marnie lived through her accident and recovery. Her students sensed the depth behind her teaching, though only Lily and the Sparkle Squad knew the full story.

UW–Superior Dorm Room — Late October Evening

The air outside was crisp as leaves swirled across campus. Inside Lily and Allison’s dorm room, the Sparkle Squad gathered in their familiar circle on the rug. String lights glowed softly and mugs of cocoa steamed in their hands. It was two years since the five got their noses pierced, becoming a symbol of the bond between them.

Lily leaned forward, her nose stud sparkling in the lamplight.

“Two years ago, we sat in that shop, nervous and excited, and got our nose piercings together. That was the start of everything — our way of saying we belonged, of daring to be ourselves.”

The girls nodded, remembering the laughter and tears of that day, how the sparkle grew into many of the things they all do together, and the bond they’ve built with each other.

Rachel grinned and said, “Two years later, we’re still sparkling. Stronger, closer, braver.”

Last Weekend Before Summer

The Sparkle Squad gathered one last time before heading home. Junior year flew by. The room was cluttered with packed bags, textbooks stacked for return, and posters half‑peeled from the walls. Outside, spring warmth filled the air, hinting at summer freedom.

They sat in their familiar circle on the rug, cocoa mugs swapped for iced tea. Grades had just been posted. Sophie grinned with relief. “Organic chem nearly broke me… but I pulled off a B+. I’ll take it.”

Allison smiled. “I got an A in adolescent lit. Guess all those late nights paid off.”

Maya added, “Methods of Teaching English , an A‑. I’m calling that a win.”

Rachel nodded. “Educational psych was tough, but I managed a B+. Not bad at all.”

Lily shared, “Advanced comp, an A. And I think I finally feel like a teacher in training.”

They laughed, teased each other, and celebrated the victories. Even the hard grades felt lighter in the circle.

The mood shifted as they looked at their packed bags.

Lily, misty‑eyed, remarked, “We’ll be scattered again to the U.P., Minneapolis, Green Bay, Ashland, and Pine City. But we’re still the Sparkle Squad.”

Allison sounded encouraging. “But we’ll keep it alive online. Posts, photos, sparkle check‑ins. Just like last summer.”

Maya tapped her nose ring, her stud now replaced with the hoop she wanted. “And these — they’ll remind us every day. We sparkle, even apart.”

Rachel added, “And when we come back in the fall, it will be our senior year. Our last year together here already.”

Sophie, smiling and calm, stated, “Final year, final sparkle. We’ll make it count.”

UW–Superior Campus Senior Year Move‑In

The campus hummed with energy as students hauled boxes, hugged parents, and reconnected after summer. The Sparkle Squad reunited outside their dorm, nose rings sparkling as they laughed and embraced. They’ve done this move‑in ritual three times before, but this one felt different. It would be their last regular semester together before student teaching scattered them in the spring.

Reflection in the Dorm Room

Later that evening, the Squad sat in their familiar circle on the rug, iced tea and lemonade in hand. Posters went up on the walls, books stacked neatly on desks, and the air was filled with chatter and nostalgia.

Lily began by commenting, “Three years. From that October night when we got our piercings… to now. We’ve grown so much.”

Allison grinned, “And we’ve sparkled through it all. Nose rings, exams, family trips. Even fuzzy socks in February.”

Maya, reflecting, “We’ve made rituals out of everything. And they’ve carried us through.”

Rachel added, “We’re seniors now. One more semester together before student teaching. Some of us will be farther away, but the circle doesn’t break.”

Sophie smiled, “Exactly. Biology labs, lesson plans, whatever comes next, we’ll still be the Sparkle Squad. Sparkle doesn’t fade.”

The room glowed with warmth and memory, the weight of three years settling into gratitude.

The Sparkle Squad, at least the four English teacher cohort, prepared for student teaching. About a week before Thanksgiving, they learn their placements. Rachel and Allison, the two who live farthest from Superior, will be at Superior High School and Superior Middle School, respectively, and will stay in Superior on campus. Maya, from Minneapolis, got placed at Hudson High School, a Twin Cities suburb just over the state line in Wisconsin from Minnesota, where she can live at home and commute from Minneapolis to Hudson daily. Lily got placed at Grantsburg High School, on Wisconsin Highway 70 just over the state line from Minnesota. Similar to Maya’s situation, it’s not far from Pine City, so Lily will be back at home for spring semester. Finally Sophie, a scientist, not a teacher, has a normal last semester class load all in Superior and will be in the dorm with Rachel and Allison. While the Squad is broken up geographically for spring term, they pledged to get together at least once a month and stay in touch in between those visits online and through calls and text messages.

This was actually, in addition to their last classes and, for the English teachers, important preparation for their careers, preparation for the five as a group. Their time together as close friends was likely coming to an end. In a few short months they will be landing professional jobs which could land them anywhere and moving to where those may be. Perhaps they all stay close in distance – but maybe one or more of them goes farther away. Or what of Allison and Rachel? Do they want to go back to the U.P. and to Green Bay, respectively? Or do any of them have aspirations to move even farther away, and the group splits up permanently? The group began to discuss their post-graduation plans with each other when they got together in Superior in early February.

Snow drifted outside the windows of a cozy downtown Superior coffeehouse. The Sparkle Squad has gathered for their monthly reunion, bundled in scarves and boots. They ordered cocoa and lattes, then settled into a corner booth, the hum of conversation around them.

Rachel broke the ice on the topic. “So… job applications. I’ve been thinking about Green Bay. It’s home, and I’d love to teach there. But part of me wonders if I should stay closer to Superior. It feels safe here.”

Allison nodded. “I get that. For me, the U.P. is calling. Negaunee, Ishpeming, maybe Marquette. I want to bring what I’ve learned back home. But I also know staying here in Superior would be easier if it worked out. My student teaching placement is going great so far at the middle school, and I’d love to stay in the district here if I could. It’s a tough choice.”

Maya grinned as she wiggled her toes inside her boots. “I’m leaning toward the Twin Cities. Hudson’s been great for student teaching, and Minneapolis feels like the right place to start. Big city, lots of opportunities. It’s home and while Superior has been great, I love the big city.”

Lily added with conviction. “Grantsburg has been good to me. And Pine City is home. I think I want to stay close — maybe teach in one of the smaller districts near there. It feels right to give back where I grew up.”

Sophie smiled. “For me, it’s grad school. Biology research, maybe ecology. I’ll apply to programs in Wisconsin and Minnesota, but I’m open to going farther if the right opportunity comes.”

Rachel smiled but got misty‑eyed. “No matter where we end up, whether it’s Green Bay, the U.P., the Cities, Pine City, or somewhere farther, we’ll always be the Squad.”

Allison raised her mug. “Exactly. Jobs may scatter us, but sparkle doesn’t fade. We’ll carry it into our classrooms, labs, and lives.”

Maya lifted her mug high. “To careers, to sparkle, and to staying connected, even if we’re miles apart.”

The Squad clinked mugs, their circle strong, their future wide open.

By the time the group met in mid-April, at the same Superior coffee house, the snow had finally melted, and spring sunlight streamed through the windows. The Sparkle Squad knew it would be one of their last in-person meet-ups before graduation. However, the uncertainty of where they would be to start their careers that they had from earlier in the semester was at least partially coming into focus, as the first Squad member landed a job.

Maya was beaming and unable to hide her excitement. “I got the job! Minneapolis – I’ll be at one of the high schools there, Minneapolis North, not far from my house! They said my background was exactly what they hoped for, and I can’t wait to start.”

The Squad cheered, clinking mugs together.

Sophie smiled and offered additional clarity to the Squad’s future. “And I got some news too. I got into UW‑Madison’s graduate biology program. It has the labs, research, everything I’ve been dreaming of. It’s going to be hard to leave the Lake Superior region, but I know it’s the right step.”

Allison grinned as she shifted in her chair. “I’ve got an interview lined up for the Monday after graduation. It’s at Ewen‑Trout Creek School, back in the U.P. It’s small, but it feels like home. It’s ninety miles west of Negaunee. I’m nervous, but hopeful.”

Rachel smiled. “I don’t have anything definite yet. Green Bay is still on my radar. I want to be close to family, but I’m keeping my options open. Superior’s been good to me too.”

Lily shared her update. “And I’ll be looking near Pine City. Grantsburg’s been wonderful for student teaching, and I want to stay close to home. It feels right.”

Maya said, “We may be scattered, but sparkle doesn’t fade. We’ll carry it into classrooms, labs, wherever we go.”

Sophie nodded. “And we’ll keep meeting up — maybe not every month, but enough to remind ourselves who we are.”

Allison raised her mug. “To jobs, grad school, and whatever comes next. And to friendships that last a lifetime.”

The Sparkle Squad’s college chapter closed with hope. They made friendships to last a lifetime, and new opportunities waited just beyond graduation.

UW–Superior Commencement

The weather is almost perfect for mid-May: blue skies, a gentle breeze off Lake Superior, and sunlight glinting on the caps and gowns. The Sparkle Squad walked together across the campus green toward the commencement ceremony set up inside Wessman Arena. Inside, the audience was filled with proud families. The Jorgensons, Besonens, Patels, Kowalskis, and Schneiders sat together in one section, a patchwork of hometowns united by their daughters’ friendship. They waved and cheered as the Squad entered, cameras ready.

Rachel and Allison beamed as they spotted their parents, knowing their Green Bay and U.P. roots were represented. Maya smiled at her family, proud that her multicultural background has already opened doors in Minneapolis. Lily caught her parents’ eyes, misty with pride. Sophie felt her heart swell as the Kowalskis cheered. Their daughter would be heading to Madison for graduate school.

The ceremony unfolded with speeches, music, and the roll call of names. When each Sparkle Squad member crosseed the stage, their families erupted in applause, their sparkle circle celebrated in public for the first time.

After the ceremony that evening, the families gathered at the Hammond Steak House, a classic Wisconsin supper club just across the bridge from Duluth. Lily’s father, Stephen Jorgenson, called ahead about two weeks before to make a reservation, and the restaurant set aside the private banquet room for the large group. The atmosphere was warm and celebratory, with wood-paneled walls, the glow of lights, and black cloth napkins and steak knives. Platters of prime rib, walleye, and a variety of steak cuts arrived, alongside baskets of rolls, salad plates, and baked potatoes. Laughter filled the room as parents and daughters mingled, sharing their stories of their recently completed college years and their future plans.

Maya’s parents, Rajesh and Anjali Patel, beamed as she shared details about her new teaching job in Minneapolis. Sophie’s family talked excitedly about Madison, proud of her acceptance into a respected graduate biology program. Art and Lorraine Besonen encouraged Allison about her upcoming interview the following Monday in Ewen, Michigan with the Ewen-Trout Creek school district, reminding her of the U.P. roots she’ll carry into her classroom and how important that can be in a smaller district where everyone knows everyone else. Rachel’s family reflects on possibilities in Green Bay, hoping Rachel will end up close to home, but proud of her steady determination to land a job wherever it will be. And while their relationship has grown somewhat cooler during her four years in Superior, Lily’s parents, Stephen and Margaret Jorgenson, celebrate her desire to look for a position closer to Pine City, knowing she will give back to the community she came from.

The Sparkle Squad sat together at one end of the long table, clinking glasses of soda and iced tea.

Lily said, “This is it. Our last circle here. But the sparkle goes with us.”

Maya grinned. “Into classrooms, labs, hometowns, cities. Wherever we land.”

Rachel reflected with a bit of melancholy. “We’ll be apart, but we’ll always be the Sparkle Squad.”

Allison raised her glass. “To sparkle, to friendship, and to the future.”

Sophie shared, “The circle stretches, but it never breaks.”

Over July 4^th weekend, the Sparkle Squad gathered once more in Superior, the city that shaped their college years. Fireworks were planned for the evening, but for now they sat together at a lakeside park, picnic blankets spread out. The air was warm, filled with the smell of grilled brats, exploded small fireworks, and the sound of families celebrating. The Squad members also had reason to celebrate.

Allison was smiling and relaxed. “I got the job at Ewen‑Trout Creek! For now, I’m staying with my aunt in Bruce Crossing. It’s just five miles from the school. And weekends, I’ll be back and forth to Negaunee. It feels good to be close to home.”

Rachel was grinning and proud. “Well…Green Bay won out! I’ll be moving back home, teaching there at Green Bay West High School. I’m excited to be in my hometown again. And listen, my door’s open for any of you. Packers games, summer visits, you name it.”

Maya, while she has known where she will be for almost three months, was still beaming and anxious for the school year to begin. “And I’m set in Minneapolis. High school English, multicultural classrooms. It’s exactly where I feel I belong. The Twin Cities are going to sparkle now.”

Sophie, with at least two more years of school ahead of her, was steady. “And I’m off to Madison. Graduate biology program, big labs, research opportunities. It’s bittersweet, but I know it’s the right step.”

Lily, with her eyes shining, a tear of joy, and her voice slightly trembling, shared her update next. “You won’t believe it. Pine City had an opening — and I got it! I’ll be teaching English one door down from Mrs. Thurston. My mentor, my friend… it’s everything I dreamed of, everything I could ever want.” The Squad cheered, hugging Lily as tears of joy spilled down her cheeks.

Lily was still smiling as the rest of the Squad reacted — cheering, hugging her, peppering her with questions about Pine City, about her classroom, about when she’d start. The Superior breeze carried the smell of charcoal from portable grills and lake water, and for a moment she felt the same flutter in her chest she’d felt the day she first learned the news.

It had been more than a month earlier, right after commencement, when the Squad had last been together in person. She could still picture the teacher’s lounge at Pine City, the hum of the vending machine, the stack of end‑of‑year forms on the counter. She hadn’t even been in the building that day, but the moment that new Pine City principal Danielle Savoy shared the decision with the staff had become part of the story she carried with her.

Marnie Thurston sat with her coffee, reviewing papers. The lounge hummed with chatter as teachers discussed end‑of‑year plans. The new Pine City High School principal, Danielle Savoy, mid‑40s, stylish yet approachable, at the end of her first year as principal after Bob Lansing retired, stepped in with a smile. A native of Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, Danielle graduated from Lake Superior State University with a degree in – yes, teaching English – and moved to the Twin Cities suburbs for her first teaching job. She finished the requirements for her principal’s license two years ago and landed the Pine City job after Bob Lansing’s retirement.

“I wanted to share some exciting news,” Principal Savoy began. “We’ve filled the English vacancy for next fall. Our new hire is Lily Jorgenson.” Marnie’s head snapped up, eyes wide. She nearly dropped her pen.

“Lily… Jorgenson? Here?” Marnie said, stunned.

Danielle Savoy nodded, smiling knowingly, and leaned in, her voice full of conviction. “Yes. I interviewed several candidates, but Lily stood out immediately. We clicked in a way I didn’t with anyone else. She’s fresh from her program, full of energy, and she already has a bond with you, Marnie. That synergy is exactly what this department, and this school, needs.”

Marnie felt tears of joy prick her eyes. She imagined Lily walking into the building, her nose stud sparkling, ready to teach. The thought of her mentoring her former student, this time as a teaching colleague, filled her with pride and gratitude. “She’s not just my student anymore. She’s my colleague. My friend. We’ll walk this journey together.”

Mrs. Savoy, catching the emotion, placed a hand on Marnie’s shoulder.

New Pine City principal Danielle Savoy

“Exactly. This is more than a hire. It’s a continuation of something already strong. I believe Lily will thrive here, and together you’ll make this department shine.”

Marnie sat back, her heart full, knowing that Lily’s arrival is not just fate but a choice made by a leader who values connection, authenticity, and sparkle. The circle that began in Superior now extends into Pine City High, with Danielle Savoy as an ally who understands the power of unconventional style and genuine belonging.

The first day of teacher orientation late that summer in Pine City, Lily and Marnie were in the empty hall together, still no students have returned from summer vacation yet, reflecting on how it is to be together as colleagues in the same school.

They stepped into the second‑floor hallway of the academic wing and felt the familiar shift in the air, the one that always met them halfway up the stairs. The lighting here was never quite bright enough, thanks to the single‑tube fluorescent fixtures mounted on alternating sides of the ceiling. They cast a slightly uneven glow that softened the edges of the lockers and made the floor look cooler than it really was. Above them, the acoustic ceiling tiles — twelve‑inch squares with their scattered polka‑dot perforations — absorbed just enough sound to keep the hallway from echoing, but not enough to hide the low hum of the lights.

They walked past the recessed classroom entries, each framed in birch that had darkened over the decades. The large windows beside the doors reflected the hallway light in a muted sheen, catching their own movement as they passed. Halfway down the hall, the double‑sided Simplex clock hung from the ceiling, its second hand making its steady sweep. They had both listened to that sound for years without ever admitting how much comfort each one took from its predictability.

The hallway carried its usual scent, a blend they could identify instantly even after a long summer away. There was the sharp tang of industrial floor cleaner from the early‑morning custodial rounds. Beneath it lingered the dry, chalky smell of 1958-vintage plaster, the kind that seemed baked into the walls themselves. And floating somewhere in the mix was the faint trace of whatever perfume was currently popular among the girls in the school. It was a fragrance that was sweet, floral, and impossible to ignore.

It was a strange combination, but to Marnie it meant home. And now, Lily would be coming home too. Marnie had taught in other buildings in Duluth for her student teaching years earlier, but none of them settled around her the way Pine City High did. Something about this hallway, whether it was the light, the smell, the steady rhythm of the clock, made her feel grounded, as if the building remembered her just as much as she remembered it.

They reached the recessed entry to Room 208, Marnie’s room. Lily would be in Room 210, the room next door on that side of the hall, vacated by the recently retired Mrs. Gorecki. Marnie rested her hand on the birch doorframe for a moment, and let the familiar calm settle in. Whatever the day held, this hallway had already done its quiet work.

Lily, softly, looking around, said, “It feels so strange walking these halls as a teacher. I used to be the student rushing to your class, Marnie. Now I’m here with you.”

Marnie smiled, her voice sweet and warm as always, but reflective. “And I used to wonder if any of my students would carry the spark forward. Seeing you here proves it. You’re not just carrying it, you’re expanding it.”

They paused near the bulletin board.

Lily added, “I keep thinking about how much you shaped me. And now, we’ll shape students together. It feels bigger than just teaching.”

Marnie’s tone was steady with experience. “It is bigger. It’s about belonging, resilience, and showing them that teachers are human too. My accident changed me, but it also taught me that students notice how we live, not just what we teach. You’ll find your own rhythm, and I’ll be right here beside you.”

Mrs. Savoy made her way down the hall to join them.

“I have to say, you two look fantastic together. The scarves, the nose rings, it’s stylish, but more than that, it’s symbolic. It tells a story of connection.”

Marnie Thurston smiled with her cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Danielle. It means a lot to hear that. Lily and I wanted to mark this new chapter with something visible, something shared.”

Lily Jorgenson added softly, “It’s our way of saying we’re in this together. Student and teacher once, colleagues now.”

“That bond is exactly why I knew you’d be the right fit, Lily. This school needs teachers who bring authenticity into the classroom. We need teachers who show students that resilience and belonging are real. You two embody that. And together, you’ll make this department shine.”

The Tuesday after Labor Day was the first day of school, and Mrs. Savoy, Marnie, and Lily happened to be standing together in the foyer waiting to welcome students. They will be directed to the auditorium where Mrs. Savoy will address the entire school before proceeding to a modified schedule for the first day. The foyer is polished and gleaming, with its terrazzo floors reflecting the morning light streaming through the glass doors. Bulletin boards were freshly updated with “Welcome Back!” signs, and the faint smell of wax and coffee lingers. Outside, the parking lot was still quiet. There were no buses yet, no parents dropping off kids. There was just the calm before the rush.

Danielle Savoy held a folder with her notes for the auditorium address, but her smile was relaxed, radiating confidence. Marnie Thurston was dressed in her signature paisley skirt and sweater, her presence steady and reassuring. She leaned slightly on the doorframe, her expression proud as she watches Lily. Lily had a scarf draped around her neck, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. Her youthful energy was palpable, but she stood tall, ready to step into her role as a teacher.

Marnie said, “It still amazes me. My student, now my colleague. Lily, you’re right where you belong.”

Lily replied, smiling, with her voice trembling with excitement, “And I get to start this journey with both of you beside me. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Danielle nodded, her tone shifting to vision.

Danielle said, “This year, we’ll show them what authenticity looks like. A department built on trust, resilience, and belonging. You two are the heart of that.”

As the first parents pulled into the lot and the first bus turned the corner, Danielle, Marnie, and Lily stood ready, a trio of strength and sparkle, prepared to welcome students into a year shaped by authenticity, resilience, and belonging.

Pine City had about 800 students between grades 7 and 12. With faculty and other staff, there were around 900 people in the auditorium as Mrs. Savoy began the opening assembly. She stepped to the podium, smiling warmly, the hum of voices quieting as the room settled.

“Good morning, Pine City! Welcome back, and welcome, especially, to our new seventh graders who are joining us for the first time. Today marks the beginning of another school year, and I couldn’t be more excited to see this auditorium filled with energy, anticipation, and possibility. This year, I want to talk about something that matters deeply to me: authenticity. Authenticity means bringing your whole self into this building — your talents, your quirks, your style, your story. It means not hiding who you are, but letting your individuality shine in ways that build trust and belonging.

You’ll notice that some of our teachers model this beautifully. Two of them are standing together today — Mrs. Thurston and Ms. Jorgenson. Many of you know Mrs. Thurston already; she’s been part of Pine City for years. And Ms. Jorgenson is joining us as a new English teacher, but she’s not new to Pine City. She once sat in these very seats as a student, mentored by Mrs. Thurston.

Now, they stand side by side as colleagues. Their bond is visible in their friendship, in their shared values, even in the small details like the scarves they wear. Those aren’t just accessories. They’re symbols of resilience, belonging, and continuity. They remind us that what happens here doesn’t end at graduation. It carries forward into the lives we build.

That’s the vision I have for Pine City: a school where authenticity is celebrated, where resilience is honored, and where belonging is visible in the way we treat each other. Whether you’re a student, a teacher, or a staff member, you are part of this circle.

So as we begin this year, I challenge you to be yourself, unapologetically; to support one another, visibly and consistently; and remember that every act of kindness, every spark of courage, every moment of authenticity ripples outward. Together, we’ll make Pine City not just a school, but a community where everyone belongs. Thank you, and let’s make this year one of connection, resilience, and sparkle.” Mrs. Savoy smiled, stepped back from the podium as applause filled the auditorium, and gestured toward the staff to begin directing students to their modified schedule.

As the new teacher and least in seniority, as is typical in most schools, Lily gets the sections other teachers in the department more senior to her did not want to teach. She has primarily basic level English classes for the 7th, 8th, and 9th graders with one section of sophomore English. Lily will be doing a lot of lesson planning with 5 class periods total to teach with 4 different classes, two sections of 9th grade, and one each of the other three. About a quarter of her students have IEPs of some type. The honors or advanced students are all with the more senior teachers, so Lily has some of the most challenging students to work with in the building and only her student teaching experience at Grantsburg, her classroom education, and an important mentor in Marnie. Her 5th period class, a section of 9^th graders, unfolds somewhat chaotically and will prove to be Lily’s pain point throughout the year. By the time 5th period rolled around on opening day, Lily was already tired but still determined. Her scarf was draped neatly as she moved around the room. Ninth graders filed in, louder, taller, and more opinionated than the younger grades.

The bell rang, and chaos set in. A group of boys in the back, Gunnar, Brad, and Jack, immediately started joking, one tossing a crumpled paper ball across the room. Sabrina in the front row pulled out her phone until Lily reminded her to put it away. Another student, Kindra, slouched dramatically, sighing, “Do we really have to do this?” Lily tried to begin her lesson on short stories, but the chatter kept pulling her off track.

As Lily leaned against her desk, one girl rose her hand, eyes fixed on Lily’s face.

Abby, age 14, curious and smiling, asked, “Ms. Jorgenson, is that a nose ring? Did you always have it?”

The class perked up, suddenly interested. Lily blushed slightly but smiled.

Lily answered playfully but honestly. “Yes, it’s a nose stud. I got it in college. It’s part of how I express myself, just like you’ll find your own ways.”

A boy in the back row, Liam, muttered, “Cool,” and another girl, Victoria, whispered, “My mom would never let me get one.”

Before Lily can redirect, another girl points at her scarf.

Katie, age 14, grinning, asked “And you have an infinity scarf! Is that, like, your thing?”

Lily laughed softly, tugging her scarf as she answered.

Lily warmly answered. “It’s something I share with Mrs. Thurston. We decided to wear them together — it’s a symbol of connection. Teaching isn’t just about books; it’s about belonging, too.”

The class murmured, intrigued. A boy, Sam, in the back joked, “So if I wear two scarves, do I get extra credit?” The room erupted in laughter.

Lily smiled letting the laughter settle before steering them back.

Lily said, “See? Even accessories tell stories. And that’s what literature does. It tells stories about identity, belonging, and resilience. Today, we’re going to read a short story and look for the symbols that carry meaning, just like my scarf or nose ring carry meaning for me.”

The students finally quieted down, curiosity piqued. Some leaned forward, ready to see how symbols worked in the text.

The bell rang. Students scattered, but a few lingered. One girl, Hannah, said softly, “I like your style, Ms. Jorgenson.” Lily smiled, her heart warmed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was authentic, and that’s exactly what Danielle Savoy envisioned.

The 6^th period class tried to throw her a curve ball:

River, with a smirk on his face, asked, “So, did you have Mrs. Thurston? Is she really as nice as everyone says?”

Lily laughed softly, glancing toward the door as if Marnie might walk in.

Lily replied, “Yes, I had Mrs. Thurston. She was my mentor, and now she’s my colleague. She taught me that resilience and belonging matter just as much as grammar and literature.”

The students nodded, some whispering, clearly impressed.

After school, the building was quieter, the bustle of the first day fading. Lily sat at a table in the teacher’s lounge with her scarf draped loosely, sipping water, her nose stud faintly glinting. Marnie joined her, setting down her bag and smiling knowingly.

Lily laughed softly, a little nervous. “So… one of my ninth graders asked me point‑blank if you’re a nice teacher. I froze for a second, then said you were my mentor and now my colleague, and that you taught me resilience and belonging. I didn’t want to just say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

Marnie’s eyes lit up and nooded in approval. “That was perfect, Lily. You read between the lines. They weren’t really asking if I’m nice. They were testing you. They wanted to see how you’d talk about another teacher. And you showed them respect, authenticity, and quick thinking.”

Lily was relieved. “I worried it sounded evasive.”

Marnie reassured Lily. “Not at all. It was wise. You gave them more than a label. You gave them a story. That’s what students remember. And you kept the focus on connection, which is exactly what they need to see from you.”

Danielle Savoy walked into the teacher’s lounge. She settled into a chair next to Marnie and Lily. “I heard you had quite the lively ninth graders today, Lily. That’s no surprise. Those sections are always a handful. But I also heard you handled yourself with authenticity.”

Lily blushing, but a little nervous. “They asked me about my nose ring, and then about my scarf. I tried to use it as a teaching moment, but it felt like I was going off track.”

Marnie smiled proudly: “From what Lily described, she did beautifully. She reframed it, connected it to symbols in literature, and kept her professionalism intact.”

Danielle Savoy affirmed Marnie’s assessment. “Exactly. That’s what I mean by authenticity. You didn’t shut them down, you didn’t overshare, and you didn’t gossip when they asked about Mrs. Thurston. You gave them a story instead of a label. That’s quick thinking, and it builds trust.”

Danielle leaned forward, her tone steady but kind.

“Now, here’s the part I want you to keep in mind. Authenticity is powerful, but it needs structure. Students will test you. They’ll pull you into rabbit trails if you let them. Use those moments, but always bring them back to the lesson. Think of it like a dance: let them lead for a step, then guide them back to the rhythm.”

Lily thought for a moment. “So I can acknowledge their curiosity, but I need to be firmer about steering the class back.”

Danielle smiled in approval. “Exactly. And don’t be afraid to set boundaries early. They’ll respect you more if they know you can laugh with them but also keep the class moving.” Danielle continued as she stood, gathering her folder. “You did well today, Lily. Very well. Keep leaning on Marnie, keep leaning on your authenticity, and keep building your structure. That combination will make you not just a good teacher, but a great one.”

Lily was grateful. “Thank you, Mrs. Savoy. I’ll remember that.”

Danielle said, “You can call me Danielle. I prefer that with my staff because it sets a tone of me being approachable as your principal, and I want you to feel comfortable coming to me.”

Marnie smiled, raising her coffee cup. “And I’ll remind you when you forget.” The three women shared a laugh and a shared vision.

Ewen‑Trout Creek School — Orientation Week

The small K‑12 building sat nestled among pines and an open field just off M-28 on the west end of Ewen, its brick exterior a little bit weathered but welcoming. Inside, the halls were quiet, freshly waxed floors gleaming in the late‑August light. Bulletin boards waited for student work, and the smell of coffee drifted from the teachers’ lounge.

Allison Besonen, fresh out of college, stepped into the foyer with a mix of nerves and excitement. Her tote bag was filled with notebooks, lesson plans, and a few personal touches she hopes will make her classroom feel like home. The superintendent, Jim Erickson, age 58, a native of Trout Creek, and principal Marlene Koski, 63, originally from Ontonagon, greeted her warmly, emphasizing the school’s close‑knit nature. With fewer than 200 students total, everyone knows everyone, and new teachers quickly become part of the family. Marlene, as the long-time principal at Ewen-Trout Creek, an extremely extroverted lady about five-foot-three with short gray hair, strongly emphasized a close-knit family atmosphere among her staff and within the school. Perhaps to a fault, she was someone who, if she stopped by at the end of the school day, could take twenty minutes just to say goodbye. It was that long upper Midwest goodbye that she had mastered so well…but everyone in the school loved her so much, it was hard for anyone else to end the conversation too – even in a school population that was over 60% Finnish, a group usually not known for being outgoing.

Also meeting Allison her first day was a veteran teacher, Mrs. Rantala, who offered Allison advice about pacing herself, reminding her that in a small school, teachers wear many hats: advisor, coach, mentor, sometimes even bus duty. Other staff talked about how the school was the heart of Ewen, with Friday night basketball games filling the gym and Christmas concerts drawing the whole town – and people from Bruce Crossing, Trout Creek, Kenton, and beyond.

Allison sat through sessions on curriculum, IEP accommodations, and technology tools, jotting notes furiously. She toured her classroom. It was modest, with rows of desks, a chalkboard, and a window overlooking the pines. She imagined students filling the space, their energy transforming the quiet room. At lunch, she listened as colleagues share stories of teaching in the rural western U.P.: snow days, long bus rides, and the joy of seeing students grow up in such a tight community.

Later in the day, Allison lingered in her classroom. She whispered to herself:

“This is where it begins. My own classroom, my own students. My chance to belong here, and to help them belong too.”

The empty desks seemed to nod back, waiting for the stories that will unfold.

Orientation week continued with meetings, planning sessions, and community introductions. For Allison, it’s the start of her teaching career. This position was not just a job, but a calling rooted in authenticity, resilience, and the small‑town bonds of Ewen, Trout Creek, and the other communities in the Big Valley region of southern Ontonagon County that made up the district.

Ewen‑Trout Creek School: First Day of Classes

The morning air was crisp, pine‑scented, with a hint of autumn already in the breeze. The school parking lot filled slowly. Yellow buses pulled in from long rural routes. Parents dropped off kids before heading to forestry jobs or preparing for the winter sport tourist season.

Inside, the building buzzed with small school energy: fewer than 200 students, but every face familiar to someone. The gym banners hang proudly, reminders of state championships past, with basketball as one of the things that serves as the glue of the community.

Allison stood at the front of her modest classroom, her tote bag tucked by the desk. She’s nervous but excited, aware that in a place like Ewen, teachers aren’t just educators, they’re community anchors.

Her students trickled in. In a small school, classes often blended students with varied abilities. Some were shy, others outspoken, a few already sized up the new teacher. One boy wore a hoodie with a snowmobile brand. Another had deer antler keychains dangling from his backpack. A girl proudly sports an E‑TC Panthers basketball shirt.

Allison began with introductions, asking students to share something about themselves. One mentioned helping his dad cut firewood. Another talked about fishing on Lake Gogebic that summer. A girl beamed about her family’s basketball legacy, mentioning the championship banner in the gym.

Allison listened intently, weaving their stories into her opening remarks.

Allison, smiling and steady, responded. “What I love about this area is how every story connects family, tradition, the land, and this school. This year, we’ll learn how to tell our own stories, in writing and in life. Because your voices matter, and they’re part of what keeps this community strong.”

Throughout the day, Allison’s students were restless but curious, testing boundaries but warming to her authenticity. Her nose ring caught a few eyes, a subtle signal of individuality in a place where style was usually practical, more traditional, and generally more conservative, though not unheard of. The hum of small town life was palpable. Students know she’s not just teaching them, she’s joining their world. And they learned she’s a Yooper, originally from Negaunee.

As the final bell rang, Allison exhaled, relieved. It wasn’t perfect. There were interruptions, rabbit trails, and plenty of nerves, but she connected. A student lingered at the door, saying softly:

“You’re gonna fit in here, Ms. Besonen. You get us.”

Allison smiled, heart swelling. In that moment, she knew she’s not just starting a career, she’s becoming part of the fabric of Ewen‑Trout Creek, where teaching was inseparable from community. While not right in that area, Allison growing up in Negaunee still understood the small U.P. community life, plus she had ties to the area with her aunt in Bruce Crossing and her family’s deer camp near Bond Falls that had been in her family since the 1950s. It was an area that can be a little skeptical of outsiders at first, but once you’ve won them over, they’ll do anything for you.

Bruce Crossing — Aunt’s House, First Evening After School

The sun dipped low over the western horizon, casting long shadows across the pines and the quiet two‑lane roads. Allison drove the short stretch of M-28 from Ewen to Bruce Crossing, the late‑summer air cool, the smell of pine and damp earth drifting through her cracked window.

Her aunt’s house sat just off US-45. It was modest, wood‑sided, with a porch swing that creaked gently in the evening breeze. A stack of firewood was neatly piled near the garage, and the faint hum of crickets filled the air. Inside, the kitchen smelled of pasties reheated in the oven, a familiar comfort food from Allison’s childhood in Negaunee. The living room was cozy, with quilts draped over the couch and family photos lining the walls in multi-photo frames, reminders of the deep roots that anchored the home. Her aunt greeted her warmly, asking about her first day, listening with the patience of someone who knows how small town schools work.

Later, Allison sat at the kitchen table with a mug of cocoa. She journaled quietly, reflecting on the day:

“They were curious, restless, but real. I saw their stories in their shirts, their keychains, their laughter. I think I can reach them if I show them I belong here too.”

She thought about the skepticism she knew exists in small U.P. communities: outsiders tested before being trusted.

Her aunt joins her at the table, smiling. “You’ll do fine, Allison. You understand this life. You grew up in it. And you’ve got family here. That makes you one of us.” Outside, the night settled in, the stars bright against the dark U.P. sky.

Ewen‑Trout Creek School: Gymnasium, Winter Evening

Snow blanketed the parking lot, plowed into high banks along the edges. Pickup trucks and snowmobiles were parked side by side, their owners inside the gym. The air outside was sharp and cold, but inside the gym it was warm, buzzing with anticipation.

The bleachers were packed with families, alumni, and community members shoulder to shoulder. Basketball was the heartbeat of the Big Valley area, and the matchup against Lake Linden‑Hubbell has drawn a crowd. Championship banners hung proudly above the court, reminders of past glory.

Allison, with a warm scarf tucked neatly under her winter coat, sat with a few of her colleagues near the scorer’s table. She’s still new to the school, but nights like this made her feel part of the fabric of Ewen-Trout Creek. Students waved to her from the court and bleachers, proud to see their new English teacher in the stand. Allison enthusiastically waved back. Parents nodded in recognition, with a few stopping to introduce themselves. The band played fight songs with drums echoing and the brass section blaring, which filled the gym with energy.

Before long, the two teams took the court. The first half was fast paced with scrappy play. The Ewen-Trout Creek Panthers pushed hard, being cheered on by the hometown crowd. Every basket by the Panthers brought roars from the bleachers. Some of the older fans reminisced about past state championships (“Remember 1972?,” one of the older fans in attendance that night could be overheard at one point). They led by 6 points at halftime.

As the game unfolded, Allison realized basketball at Ewen-Trout Creek wasn’t just a sport. It was the community glue – just as Mrs. Rantala said on orientation day at the start of the year – binding generations together. Allison also realized her being there mattered. By showing up, she’s showing her students and their families that she’s invested not only in their academic well-being, but in their lives. Allison also noticed, as the midpoint of the school year was approaching, that the skepticism of being new was fading. People saw her cheering, laughing, clapping, and they begin to claim her as one of their own.

The final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted with excitement, and Allison joined in the applause. The Panthers won, 64-47 over Lake Linden-Hubbell! The bleachers creaked as families gathered their coats, and the band packed up their instruments. Allison lingered near the exit, her scarf tucked around her neck, smiling as she watched students high‑five each other and parents beam with pride.

One of her ninth‑grade students, also a cheerleader, Megan, spotted her and hesitated before walking over. She’s still flushed from cheering, her Panthers hoodie slightly oversized, and her black, gold, and white cheerleading skirt, in school colors, coming down to a few inches above her knees. A hint of a smile revealed her braces.

Megan said, “Ms. Besonen! I saw you here tonight. You stayed the whole game!”

Allison smiled warmly and answered, “Of course! I wanted to cheer you all on. Basketball’s a big deal here, and I wanted to be part of it.”

Megan’s eyes brightened. “It means a lot. Some teachers don’t come. But you did. It makes me feel like you really care about us, not just about school stuff.”

Allison felt her heart swell. She leaned in slightly, speaking with sincerity.

“I do care, Megan. About your classes, yes, but also about who you are outside of them. This school, this community… it’s all connected. And I want to be part of it with you.”

Megan smiled, her cheeks flushed.

Megan: “Then you’re one of us now.”

Snow crunched underfoot as Allison left the gym, black leggings tucked into a warm pair of UGG boots and wool socks, scarf pulled tight against the cold. The sound of pickup trucks and snowmobiles revved as they warmed up. She smiled, knowing she’s not just teaching at Ewen‑Trout Creek. She was becoming part of its living tradition, where basketball, snow, and community pride wove together into belonging.

The following week in the classroom, word spread quickly that Allison stayed for the entire game. Students who were previously skeptical now greeted her with smiles or casual waves. Even the more restless kids began to settle a little faster in class. They saw she’s invested in their lives beyond academics, and that earned her credibility. They also knew Allison was committed to their community. When Allison referenced basketball, snowmobiling, or deer hunting in her lessons, students perked up. They know she “gets” their world. In the hall, students stopped her to chat about the game or upcoming matchups. One girl shyly asked if Allison will come to the next home game, and when Allison nodded, her face lights up. A few of the other teachers teased her good‑naturedly: “You’re officially a Panther now.”

Even in the community, Allison noticed a difference. Parents mentioned seeing her in the stands, appreciative that she’s supporting their kids. At Twilly’s Sports Bar and Grill in Bruce Crossing, someone recognized her and said, “We’re glad you’re here. Not every new teacher sticks around, but you seem like one of us.” Her aunt beamed with pride, knowing Allison is weaving herself into the fabric of Bruce Crossing and Ewen.

Allison journaled one night: “It’s different now. The kids look at me like I belong. I’m not just the new teacher from Negaunee anymore. I’m part of their circle. Basketball opened the door, but it’s the everyday moments that are building trust.”

She realized that in a place where outsiders are tested before being embraced, she’s crossed the threshold. She’s not just teaching English, she’s teaching her students, in their community, as one of them.

Ewen‑Trout Creek School: English Classroom, Mid‑Winter

Snow piled high against the windows, muffling the outside world. Inside, the classroom was warm, students in hoodies and flannel. Allison stands at the front, dressed in a Ewen-Trout Creek sweatshirt in school colors.

Allison leaned against her desk, smiling as she began:

“I want to tell you about a place that means a lot to me. It’s my dad’s deer camp. It’s tucked between Watersmeet and Bruce Crossing, near Bond Falls. My grandpa built it back in the 1950s, and it’s been in our family ever since. Every November, when deer season opens, we gather there. The camp smells like wood smoke and venison stew, and the walls are lined with old photos. It’s seen generations of hunters and stories passed down.”

The students perked up. Deer camp was familiar territory. Heads nodded, and a few whispered about their own family camps.

Allison picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the board:

Creative Writing Prompt: “Tell the story of a place that matters to you. Describe its sights, sounds, smells, and the people who make it special.”

She gestured back to her sweatshirt, smiling:

“For me, deer camp is more than hunting. It’s about belonging, about knowing I’m part of something bigger. Your place might be a camp, a basketball court, a snowmobile trail, or even your grandma’s kitchen. Whatever it is, write about it. Make us feel like we’re there with you.”

Students leaned forward, pencils scratching. One boy wrote about his uncle’s ice‑fishing shack. A girl described the smell of her mom’s pasties baking. Another sketched the sound of basketball shoes squeaking on the gym floor. The room hummed with energy, rooted in U.P. life. Allison walked between desks, encouraging her students.

As the bell rang, students gathered their papers, still talking about their places. One boy grinned at Allison:

“Ms. Besonen, your deer camp sounds just like ours. Guess you really are one of us.”

Allison smiled, heart full. Her Ewen-Trout Creek sweatshirt, her family story, and her lesson all worked together to show her students that she belongs, and that their stories matter too.

That evening, the UW-Superior Sparkle Squad had a group text chat.

Lily (Pine City): “Survived another 9th grade rabbit trail today 😂 Nose ring questions, infinity scarf questions… but hey, they’re starting to see symbols everywhere. #EnglishTeacherLife”

Maya (Minneapolis): “Urban energy is no joke. My students debate EVERYTHING. Today it was whether TikTok counts as literature. I said yes… if you analyze it right 😉”

Rachel (Green Bay): “Structure, structure, structure. My kids thrive when I anchor them with routine. Today we started with a 2‑minute free write about gratitude. The quiet was magical.”

Sophie (Madison): “Labs all day 🧪🔥 I’m the TA for a biochemistry class, and my students nearly set off the smoke alarm with a magnesium experiment. But they were so curious, that spark is worth the chaos.”

Allison (Ewen‑Trout Creek): “Basketball game last week vs Lake Linden‑Hubbell. I stayed the whole time. One of my students told me, ‘You’re one of us now.’ That meant everything. 💙🏀❄️”

And the group continued their text chat:

Lily: “YES! That’s the moment. You belong.” Maya: “Community trust is gold. You’ve earned it.” Rachel: “And you turned it into a writing lesson with deer camp stories? Perfect.” Sophie: “Sparkle Squad legacy = authenticity + belonging. We’re rippling outward, one classroom at a time.”

Back in Pine City as the second semester began, it was a little concerning to Marnie, and to Principal Savoy, that Lily was still struggling with some of the same things she struggled with in her first week. In addition, her students were still that relentless that far into the school year. The Monday of the first semester, Lily, Marnie, and Mrs. Savoy met in the teacher’s lounge after school. The day has ended, but Lily looked drained. Her scarf was tugged loose as she slumped into a chair. Marnie sat beside her, steady and supportive, while Principal Savoy joined them with her folder.

Marnie began, gently. “Lily, I’ve noticed your ninth graders are still pulling you into rabbit trails. They love your authenticity, but sometimes they’re steering the class more than you are.”

Lily sighed, worried. “I thought I was connecting with them. But it feels like I’m losing control. They keep asking about my nose ring, my scarves, my college days, and I don’t want to shut them down.”

Danielle Savoy added, “Connection is good, Lily. But connection without boundaries becomes chaos. Students will test you, and they will do it relentlessly. They want to see if you can keep them focused. Right now, they see your warmth, but they don’t yet see your authority.”

Marnie had some encouraging, practical advice. “Think of it like a balance. Share a little of yourself, then pivot firmly back to the lesson. Use their curiosity as a bridge, but don’t let it become the destination.”

Danielle Savoy was authentic and direct. “Here’s what I want you to practice. First, set clear routines. Start class the same way every day with a bell ringer, a quick prompt. Second, use proximity. Move around the room, stand near the chatterers. Your presence is powerful. Third, redirect with confidence. Acknowledge their question, then tie it back to the lesson immediately. Don’t linger. Finally, you have to hold them accountable. If they push too far, remind them of expectations. Respect grows when they see you mean it.”

Lily nodded, her scarf slipping from her shoulder, her eyes thoughtful. “So I can still be authentic, but I need to show them I’m in charge. I can’t just let them lead me down every trail.”

Marnie answered. “Exactly. You’re not shutting them down, you’re guiding them. That’s what good teachers do.”

Danielle Savoy continued, approving yet firm. “You have the heart, Lily. Now build the structure. Once they see both, they’ll respect you, and the chaos will settle.”

The pop machine in the lounge hummed quietly as Lily gathered her things. She felt lighter, not because the problem was solved, but because she now had a path forward: authenticity paired with authority, connection anchored by control.

The next day, during 5^th period…

The bell rang. Lily stood at the front, her scarf draped neatly, her nose ring faintly glinting as she moved. On the board was her new bell‑ringer prompt:

“Write for 3 minutes: What’s one symbol in your life that represents belonging?”

Students shuffled in, chatter buzzing. Lily greeted them warmly but firmly: “Phones away, pencils out. Let’s start with our bell‑ringer.”

Abby had a question. “Ms. Jorgenson, what do you think is the best way to ask my parents if I can get my nose pierced?”

The class perked up, some giggling, others whispering. Lily smiled, but quickly pivoted the conversation. “That’s a great question, Abby, and it shows you’re thinking about symbols of self‑expression. But let’s save personal advice for after class. For now, write about how a symbol like a piercing can represent belonging or individuality. That way, you can explore the idea in writing.”

Abby nodded, a little disappointed but intrigued, and picked up her pencil. She began writing about why wanting to get her nose pierced was so important to her.

Katie chimed in, grinning. “Where do you and Mrs. Thurston shop for infinity scarves? I want one like yours!”

The class laughed, Isaac in the back launching a paper airplane across the room.

Lily smiled, redirecting the class once again. “Katie, I’ll tell you about that later, but notice how you’re already connecting clothing to identity. That’s exactly what today’s lesson is about. Write about an accessory or object that tells your story. And Isaac…”

She strode toward the back, picking up the paper airplane mid‑flight. “Isaac, this belongs in the recycling bin, not the air. Let’s keep our focus here.”

Isaac shrugged but quieted down, the class chuckling softly. Soon Lily’s students settled into writing, pencils scratching. Lily circulated the room, offering encouragement: “Good detail, Abby. Think about the visual elements connected to your symbol.” The energy was still lively, but Lily’s structure and proximity kept it contained.

After three minutes, Lily called time.

“See how symbols show up in our lives? Piercings, scarves, even paper airplanes. They all tell stories. Now let’s look at how authors use symbols in literature to do the same thing.”

The class quieted down, their curiosity piqued more than it had been all school year. Lily has turned rabbit trails into bridges, and disruptions into teachable moments.

In Room 208, Marnie’s room, after school, Lily met her mentor for a debriefing session.

“Well… Abby wanted advice on how to ask her parents for a nose piercing, Katie wanted to know where we shop for infinity scarves, and Isaac was launching paper airplanes. I tried to redirect, but it felt like juggling flaming torches.”

Marnie chuckled softly. “That’s ninth grade for you. They’ll test you every chance they get. But I watched how you handled it and you did better than you think.”

“Really? It felt messy.”

Marnie answered thoughtfully. “Messy, yes. But you didn’t let Abby pull you into giving personal advice. You reframed it into a writing exercise. That’s quick thinking. And with Katie, you acknowledged her curiosity but tied it back to symbols. That’s authentic. And Isaac, you moved toward him, took the airplane, and redirected without losing your cool. That’s classroom control.”

Marnie continued. “Now here’s where you can grow: Be quicker with the pivot. Don’t linger on their rabbit trails. Acknowledge, then redirect immediately. Also, set even firmer boundaries. Let them know there’s a time for personal questions, but class time is for learning. Finally, use routines as anchors. Your bell‑ringer was a great start. Keep building those habits so students know exactly what to expect when they walk in.”

Lily said, “So I can still be myself, but I need to tighten the reins.”

Marnie answered, “Exactly. Authenticity is your strength. Pair it with structure, and you’ll have them. They’ll respect you more when they see you can laugh with them but also keep them focused.”

Pine City Principal’s Office, Mid‑May

The school year was winding down. The halls buzzed with spring energy, students restless for summer. Lily sat across from Principal Savoy, scarf neatly draped. Marnie was beside her, supportive but letting the principal lead.

Danielle Savoy began, measured yet professional. “Lily, I’ve been watching your growth since the fall. Back then, your ninth graders were steering the class with rabbit trails. You were authentic, but you struggled to redirect. Now, I see structure. Your bell‑ringer routines anchor the start of class. You move around the room, you redirect disruptions without losing composure. That’s real progress.”

She paused, leaning forward.

Danielle continued with some constructive feedback. “That said, you’re not fully there yet. Some students still test you, whether it’s Isaac with his paper airplanes or Abby with her piercing questions. You handle them better now, but you need to tighten the pivot. Don’t let them linger. The difference between surviving and thriving is how quickly you reclaim the lesson.”

Marnie smiled and encouraged Lily. “I agree. You’ve come a long way. I’ve seen you turn rabbit trails into bridges for lessons about symbols, identity, and belonging. That’s your gift. But remember, you’re the one holding the map. Students can wander, but you guide them back. Keep practicing that balance.”

Lily pondered for a moment, then answered, “So I’m authentic enough to connect, but I need to be firm enough to command. I don’t want to lose either piece.”

Danielle Savoy agreed. “Exactly. And here’s the good news: you’re effective. You’re not perfect, but you’re effective. I see students learning, writing, and engaging. That’s what matters. Keep building structure, and you’ll not only stay, but you’ll thrive.”

Principal’s Office, Final Week of May

The air had an unmistakable end‑of‑year energy as lockers clanged and students buzzed about summer. Yearbooks had just arrived and were being passed around for autographs. Lily sat across from Principal Danielle Savoy, with Marnie beside her, steady and supportive.

Danielle Savoy, professional and warmly, started. “Lily, I want you to know that you’ve grown tremendously this year. You came in authentic, but struggled with control. Now, you’ve built routines, redirected disruptions, and earned respect. You’re effective, and you’re making a difference. I’m pleased to tell you: you’ll be retained for your second year.”

Lily exhaled, relief flooding her face. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure I’d make it. But I wanted so badly to belong here.”

Danielle replied, “You do belong. Keep pairing your authenticity with authority, and you’ll thrive.”

Afterward, in the lounge, Marnie squeezed Lily’s hand.

Marnie told Lily, “I’ve watched you turn rabbit trails into bridges and chaos into connection. You’ve found your balance. You’re not just surviving anymore. You’re truly leading. I’m proud of you.”

Later that day, Lily’s 5th period class surprised her with small words of affirmation.

Abby smiled shyly. “Ms. Jorgenson, I know I asked a lot of random questions. But you always listened, and you helped me see how symbols matter. You made me feel heard.”

Katie grinned. “And you showed us how nose rings can be more than fashion. They can be stories. That was cool.”

Isaac commented, awkward but sincere, “I know I messed around with paper airplanes. But you didn’t give up on me. You kept me in the game. Thanks for that.”

The class murmured agreement. Lily felt her throat tighten and scarf slipping as she smiled through tears.

As the final bell rang, Lily gatheredher things, heart full. She’s not just returning next year — she’s returning as a teacher who belongs, respected by her principal, supported by her mentor, and affirmed by her students. Her journey from chaos to connection has become her legacy: authenticity anchored by authority, belonging earned through resilience.

Lily took some time that evening at home to write in her journal.

“The year is almost over, and I can finally breathe. But looking back, I see it clearly now: I lost control in those crucial opening days. Especially with 5th period. I let them push my buttons, and once they realized they could, they kept doing it. Abby with her piercing questions, Katie with her infinity scarf chatter, Isaac with his paper airplanes… I smiled, I tried to connect, but I didn’t set the boundaries. And once you lose that ground, it’s almost impossible to reclaim it.”

“I know now that from day one, I have to be firmer. Even if it hurts. Even if it feels like I’m shutting down their curiosity. Because if I don’t, they’ll eat me alive. And worse, I’ll be at risk of losing the job I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid. Teaching here, in my home high school, next door to Marnie, who is my favorite teacher, my mentor, the one who showed me what belonging looks like. I can’t throw that away.”

“My hopes are still ambitious. I want to be the teacher who inspires, who makes kids see symbols in their own lives, who helps them write their stories. I want to be the teacher they remember. But my learning curve is steeper than I thought. Authenticity alone isn’t enough. Authority has to come first, then connection. That’s the lesson I’ve learned the hard way.”

“Next year, I’ll walk into 5th period with a plan. Routines, boundaries, and structure. I’ll still be me, but I’ll be in charge. Because if I want to stay here, if I want to thrive here, I have to show them from day one that I’m not just their friend. I’m their teacher. And I belong.”

Summer vacation went quickly for both Lily and Marnie, and before they knew it, they were back at Pine City High School in September for the first day of school. The hallway was filled with the energy of a new year. Lily stepped into her classroom with calm confidence. This time, Lily’s 5^th period class was a section of sophomore English, but some things don’t change. On the board in Room 210 was her bell‑ringer prompt:

“Write for 3 minutes: What’s one expectation you have for yourself this year?”

Students shuffled in, some familiar faces, some new. The vibe felt similar to last year’s “problem children” that were restless, overly curious, and ready to test boundaries.

Lily’s Opening Move

Lily stood tall at the front, her voice firm but warm:

“Welcome to 10th grade English. Phones away, pencils out. Every day we’ll start with a bell‑ringer. That’s non‑negotiable. It’s how we begin, and it sets the tone.”

The students glanced at each other, sensing her authority.

Lexie rose her hand, smirking: “So, Ms. Jorgenson, what do you think is the best way to convince my parents to let me get a nose piercing?”

Last year, Lily would have smiled and wandered into the rabbit trail. This year, she pivoted immediately. “That’s a personal question, and not for class time. Right now, your job is to write about expectations. If you want to connect piercings to self‑expression, put it in your writing. But we’re not discussing it out loud.”

Lexie blinked, surprised at the firmness, then picked up her pencil. She didn’t have Lily for 9^th grade English – she had Mrs. Barthel who had several more years of experience than Lily and whose classroom ran like clockwork. But Lexie had heard about Lily’s reputation among her students last year as being somewhat of a pushover and was surprised when that was not the experience that greeted her.

Another student, Hallie, chimed in. “Where do you shop for your sweaters? I want one like yours!”

Lily smiled briefly, then responded firmly. “That’s not for now. Write about your expectations. If clothing is part of your identity, explore that in your writing. But we’re staying focused.”

Greyson, sitting in the back row, folded a paper airplane, grinning. Lily noticed it immediately. She walked toward him with her voice steady. “Greyson, put it away. Paper airplanes don’t belong in this classroom. If you want to fly, do it outside after school. Right now, you’re writing.”

Lily’s proximity to Greyson and tone in her voice leave no room for argument. Greyson shrugged, but the airplane went into the recycling bin.

The class quieted down. Pencils scratched. Lily circulated the room, offering encouragement: “Good start. Think about details. What does success look like for you this year?”

The students sensed her balance: approachable, but in charge.

As the bell rang, Lily called out firmly: “Tomorrow, we will follow the same routine. Bell‑ringer first, then lesson. I expect you ready when the bell rings.”

Students filed out, some whispering about her firmness, others nodding in respect. Lily exhaled, knowing she’s set the tone: authority first, connection second.

She smiled to herself: “This year will be different. I’m not just surviving. I’m leading.”

Mrs. Savoy came to observe the 5^th period class later that week. After school that day, she and Lily meet in her office. Lily sat across from Principal Savoy, her hands folded nervously. Marnie was nearby, offering quiet support.

Danielle Savoy began. “Lily, I watched your 5th period closely today. That group reminds me of last year’s 5^th period class. They were restless, overly curious, and ready to test the boundaries. But here’s the difference: you didn’t let them steer the class. You set the tone from the start with your bell‑ringer, and when the class tried to pull you into a rabbit trail, you redirected immediately. Lexie’s jewelry question? You acknowledged it, then pivoted back to the lesson. And with Greyson, you handled the paper airplane without losing composure. That’s growth.”

She leaned forward, her voice firm but encouraging.

“You’re showing authority first, connection second. That’s exactly what you needed to learn. The students are beginning to see you as their teacher, not just their friend. Keep reinforcing routines, keep pivoting quickly, and you’ll maintain control. You’re on the right track.”

Marnie smiled. “I could see the difference too. You didn’t hesitate. You guided them back before the trail got too long. That’s what classroom leadership looks like. And the best part? You still kept your warmth. They know you care, but they also know you’re in charge.”

Lily felt relieved and hopeful. “Last year I let them push me around. This time, I’m not giving them that chance. It feels firmer, but it also feels right.”

Danielle responded affirmatively. “Exactly. You’ve learned from your mistakes, and it shows. Keep this up, and you’ll not only keep your job, but you’ll thrive here.”

5th Period, Late October

The leaves outside were golden, the air crisp. Inside, Lily’s classroom struck a good balance with controlled energy. On the board is her routine bell‑ringer prompt:

“Write for 3 minutes: What’s one challenge you’ve overcome this fall?”

Students filed in, dropping phones into the basket by the door without protest. Pencils were out, notebooks open. The routine was automatic now.

Lexie glanced at Lily, tempted to ask another personal question, but instead picked up her pencil. She’s learned the boundary: Class time is for writing. Hallie whispered to her friend Bri something about ankle bracelets, but when Lily raised an eyebrow, she grinned and went back to work. Greyson fiddled with another folded paper airplane, but stopped himself, sighed, and started writing.

The class is lively, but contained. Lily moved through the rows. “Good detail, Lexie. Think about how you felt in that moment.” “Hallie, add sensory detail. What did it sound like?” “Greyson, strong start. Push it further — what did you learn from it?”

After the bell‑ringer, Lily transitioned smoothly. “Alright, let’s connect your challenges to literature. Authors use conflict to show growth. Just like you did in your writing, characters face obstacles that shape them. Let’s look at our text and see how that plays out.”

The students leaned in, engaged. No one interrupted. The respect was palpable. At the end of class, Isaac, from her 5^th period class in 9^th grade last year and back with Lily for 10^th grade English, lingered.

Isaac said, “Ms. Jorgenson, you’re tough this year. But it’s better. We know what to expect. And… I guess we respect that.”

Abby, from the same 5^th hour 9^th grade class, nodded, adding quietly: “Yeah. You don’t let us get away with stuff anymore. But you still listen. That’s why it works.”

Their classmate Katie grinned. “And you make nose rings sound like literature. That’s cool.”

Lily smiled, her heart full. The authority she fought to claim is now hers. It didn’t come through fear, but through consistency, boundaries, and care. Her 5th period class, once her greatest challenge, now sees her as both teacher and leader. She left the room knowing she’s earned their respect, and she belongs.

So what has been happening with the other members of the UW-Superior Sparkle Squad?

In Minneapolis, on that last day of school before Christmas vacation in Maya Patel’s second year of teaching sophomore English, she has written on the board:

“Symbols in Movement: How Dance Tells Stories”

She was dressed in a flowing kurta with bright embroidery, scarf draped lightly, and she was barefoot, a deliberate choice to honor tradition.

Maya stepped to the center of the room and explained. “In India, folk dances aren’t just entertainment. They’re stories — of harvest, of love, of community. Every gesture, every rhythm, is a symbol. Today, I want to show you how movement can be literature. I’m part Caucasian, part African-American – but I was adopted by my parents – who came here from India – when I was six months old. They have made sure to raise me to honor all of those cultures and more. Here’s a glimpse of India today.”

She began a Garba‑style circle dance, clapping rhythmically, her feet striking the floor in patterns. The anklets she wore jingled softly, each step echoing centuries of storytelling.

The students watched, captivated. Some leaned forward, others smiled, recognizing echoes of their own cultural traditions, whether they were Hmong dances, Somali poetry chants, or Mexican folklórico steps. Maya paused, with her breath steady.

“In literature, symbols carry meaning. In dance, gestures do the same. When I circle my hands, it represents the cycle of seasons. When I stamp my feet, it’s the earth, grounding us. Just like in novels, these symbols tell us who we are, where we belong.”

She wrote on the board:

• Dance = Symbol
• Gesture = Metaphor
• Movement = Narrative

Maya continued. “Now, think about your own traditions. How do your families tell stories. Is it through dance, food, religious rituals, or music? Write about one, and connect it to a symbol in the literature we’ve read.”

A Somali student, Adnan, rose his hand: “My family sings poems at weddings. The rhythm feels like your dance.” A Hmong student , Chai, added, “Our New Year dances tell stories too. I see the connection.” A Latina student, Carmen, grinned, “Folklórico is the same — the skirts, the steps, they’re symbols.”

The room buzzed with recognition. Maya’s barefoot dance has opened a door: Literature wasn’t just words on a page. It could be movement, ritual, and belonging.

As the bell rang, students lingered, still talking about their own traditions. Maya slipped her shoes back on, her heart full. Her multicultural curriculum isn’t just being taught. It was being lived in her own Minneapolis neighborhood. She smiled and thought to herself: “This is why I teach. To show them their stories matter.”

Rachel’s Successes

To the east in Green Bay, Rachel Schneider shared some of Maya’s experiences on a smaller level. While her classes were about 80% white, Rachel has leaned into diverse texts, pairing canonical works with contemporary voices. Her students, particularly those of color, responded well to seeing literature that reflected their own identities and communities within one of Wisconsin’s largest cities.

After a tentative first year, Rachel was more confident in setting boundaries. Like Lily in Pine City, she used routines and clear expectations to keep her classes focused, while still bringing warmth and humor.

Even though Rachel was a Green Bay native and was excited to be back in her hometown, she looked for ways to strengthen her roots in the area that relate to her teaching career. Rachel has joined a local book club and occasionally attended Packers‑themed school events, which helped her bond with students and families. She’s piloted creative projects like “Frozen Tundra Narratives,” where students write personal stories tied to Wisconsin winters, football culture, or family traditions. These have been a hit.

The long, harsh Green Bay winters tested both Rachel and her students. Motivation dipped in January and February after the NFL regular season wound down, and Rachel has had to innovate with more interactive lessons to keep energy up. Some students pushed back against heavier writing assignments. Rachel was learning to scaffold better, breaking big essays into smaller steps so students don’t feel overwhelmed. Rachel’s principal at Green Bay West, Mr. Gralewski, saw her progress and valued her creativity. While challenges remained, she’s on track to be retained for year three. Her students respect her more now, and she’s found her rhythm in the Frozen Tundra, balancing authority with authenticity, just like her Sparkle Squad peers across the Midwest.

Green Bay West High School — Auditorium, March Evening

Outside, the snowbanks were diminishing, and the air carried the promise of spring. Inside, the auditorium glowed with warm light. Posters line the walls: “Frozen Tundra Narratives: Our Stories of Winter and Resilience.”

Parents, teachers, and students gathered, bundled in coats and scarves, stamping snow from their boots from a late season snowfall. Rachel stood near the stage, smiling with both pride and nerves.

Rachel gave the opening remarks. “Welcome, everyone. Tonight we celebrate how winter shapes us — not just as weather, but as story. My students have written, drawn, and performed their own Frozen Tundra Narratives, connecting their lived experiences to literature. Tonight, you’ll see resilience, humor, and identity come alive.”

The evening proceeded to Rachel’s students’ presentations. Marcus, an athlete, began. He read his essay about slipping on the ice before a basketball game, then showed a sketch of sneakers sliding across frozen pavement. His theme: patience and recovery. Aaliyah, talented at poetry, performed a spoken‑word piece about walking through a blizzard, her voice rising and falling like the wind. Her theme was strength in solitude. Next was Diego with a comedy piece. He Acted out a short skit with a friend, reenacting the night his dad’s truck got stuck in a snowbank. The audience laughed, then nodded at his theme: teamwork and family. For a finale, the group project included several students collaborating on a mural with swirling blues and whites, with words like “resilience,” “identity,” “belonging” painted across the snowstorm.

Rachel stepped back in after the performances. “What you’ve seen tonight mirrors literature. Jack London’s To Build a Fire shows the cold as antagonist. Your stories do the same. Winter tests you, and you reveal who you are. That’s the power of narrative.” The audience applauded warmly. Parents beamed, students grinned, and Rachel felt proud. The Frozen Tundra Showcase has transformed icy struggles into art, laughter, and belonging.

As the crowd dispersed into the snowy night, Marcus called out, “Ms. Schneider, winter’s brutal,but it makes good stories.”

Rachel laughed as she gathered her notes. “Exactly. And tonight, you proved it.”

UW–Madison Biology Department, Thesis Defense Room, April Afternoon

The room was bright with spring sunlight. A projector purred softly, with PowerPoint slides ready. Sophie stood in her sandals, a sweater to take the chill off the cool room, her notes neatly stacked. Around the table sit her committee: Dr. Patel, an expert on plant physiology; Dr. Nguyen, a professor of ecology; and Dr. Larson, professor of agriculture.

Sophie began her presentation, confidently and clearly. “My research focuses on plant resilience in northern climates — specifically how native species adapt to stressors like cold, drought, and soil variation. I studied three species common to the Upper Midwest: big bluestem, wild lupine, and jack pine. My findings show that resilience is not just genetic, it’s ecological. Plants thrive when community and environment align.”

She clicked through her PowerPoint deck containing graphs of growth rates under stress conditions, photos of field plots near Lake Mendota, and molecular data showing gene expression shifts under cold stress. Sophie went on to explain.

“This matters because resilience in plants mirrors resilience in communities. Just as ecosystems adapt through diversity and cooperation, so do people. My hope is that this research contributes to conservation strategies and reminds us that resilience is both science and story.”

The room was quiet for a moment, then Dr. Patel leaned forward. “Sophie, your work is rigorous and beautifully presented. You’ve shown mastery of both lab and field methods. And you’ve connected science to meaning, which is rare.”

Dr. Nguyen smiled and added, “Your ecological framing is strong. You didn’t just crunch numbers — you told us why they matter. That’s the mark of a scientist ready for the next step.”

Dr. Larson agreed. “I see practical applications here for agriculture in northern climates. Your work has impact. Well done.”

The committee conferred briefly, and then Dr. Patel formally announced their decision. “On behalf of the committee, we affirm that you have successfully defended your thesis. Congratulations, Sophie.”

Applause filled the room. Sophie exhaled as she smiled through tears. As she left the room, the spring air felt lighter. Sophie knew she’s not just completing a degree, she’s stepping into her identity as a scientist. Her Sparkle Squad roots, her Madison journey, and her resilience have carried her here. Her committee’s affirmation echoes in her mind: “You’re ready for the next step.”

Sophie gathered with a couple of UW-Madison friends to celebrate. The bistro was cozy, with warm lights strung across the ceiling and the cacophony of conversation filling the air. Sophie at at a corner table with Melissa from Eau Claire and Thu from Champaign, Illinois, their plates full of pasta and artisan bread, glasses of wine and sparkling water clinking in celebration.

Melissa, with a beaming smile, said, “Sophie, you crushed that defense. I’ve never seen someone tie molecular data to storytelling like that. You made resilience feel alive.”

Thu rose her glass for a toast. “Here’s to Sophie, the scientist, storyteller, and survivor of grad school winters!”

They laughed, clinking glasses. Sophie smiled, her heart full. At that moment, Sophie’s phone buzzed. She glanced down: It’s a message from Lily Jorgenson back in Pine City.

Text from Lily: “Hey Sophie! Thinking of you today. How did the defense go??”

Sophie’s eyes brightened. She quickly typed back:

Sophie’s reply: “I passed! Committee affirmed me. I’m officially done with my master’s!

Sophie looked up at Melissa and Thu, smiling. “That was Lily — from the Sparkle Squad. She’s teaching in Pine City, Minnesota now. I just told her the news. It feels good to share it with them too. They were part of the beginning of this journey.”

Melissa said, “It’s like roots and branches. You’ve grown here, but your roots are still with them.”

Thu added with a grin, “And now you’ve got branches in Madison too. We’re part of your forest.” The three laughed , clinking glasses again. Sophie felt the circle of belonging expand, with the Sparkle Squad across the Midwest and newer friends in Madison, all connected by resilience and story. She thought to herself, “This isn’t just an ending. It’s a beginning.”

Ewen‑Trout Creek School Principal’s Office, Late May

The evening sun lingered in the U.P. sky, casting long golden rays through the office windows. There will still be a little daylight until close to 11:00 p.m. Allison sat across from Principal Marlene Koski, who had been leading the school for two decades. Koski’s Finnish heritage and Ontonagon roots give her a deep sense of regional pride, and her steady presence radiated both authority and warmth.

Principal Koski said, “Allison, I’ve seen many young teachers come through these doors. Some struggle to find their footing. But you’ve shown resilience and creativity. You’ve connected literature to the rhythms of this community, whether it’s basketball pride, forestry, or family traditions. That all matters here.”

She flipped through her notes, then looked Allison directly in the eye. “You’ve grown in classroom management, and you’ve earned the trust of your students. I’m pleased to tell you: you’ll be retained for year three.” Allison exhaled, relief flooding her face.

“Thank you. This year stretched me more than I expected, but I’ve learned so much about boundaries, about belonging, about how stories connect us. I’m grateful to be here.”

“You belong here, Allison. And next year, you’ll thrive even more. Keep building on what you’ve started. This community needs teachers who understand both literature and legacy.”

Outside, the late‑May sky glowed pink and orange, the sun reluctant to set. Allison left the office with her heart full. She knew she’s not just surviving, but she’s earned her place in the Big Valley community under Principal Koski’s steady leadership. And Allison thrived even more in year three, now in her own home on Hall Road just off M-28 between Ewen and Bruce Crossing.

Pine City Principal’s Office, Late May

The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting warm stripes across the office. Lily sat across from Principal Danielle Savoy, in a scene that’s been repeated a number of times over the past two school years. Today though, Lily looked calm and confident, a far cry from the nervous young teacher of a year ago.

Mrs. Savoy began their conversation. “Lily, I want to take a moment to reflect. Last year, you struggled, especially with your 5th period class. You let students steer the class, and you doubted yourself. But this year? You’ve shown tremendous growth. You set boundaries, you established routines, and you held your ground. That’s the mark of a teacher finding her voice.” Affirming, Mrs. Savoy continued. “I’ve watched you redirect students quickly, keep lessons focused, and still maintain warmth. You’ve proven you can balance authority with care. That’s not easy, but you’ve done it. And because of that, I’m confident you’ll thrive in year three.”

Lily exhaled, a smile spreading across her face.

Lily said, “Thank you. I promised myself this year would be different. I feel stronger, more assured. I know now that I belong here.”

Mrs. Savoy smiled and answered, “You do. And next year, you’ll not only belong, you’ll lead. Keep building on this foundation, and you’ll inspire your students in ways you can’t yet imagine.”

That night at home, Lily wrote in her journal.

Lily’s Journal: Late May, End of Year Two

The sunlight lingers longer each evening, and I feel like I’ve finally found my rhythm. This year was so different from my first. I walked into 5th period with confidence, set boundaries, and held them. I didn’t let rabbit trails steal the lesson. I redirected quickly, and the students respected me for it. I feel reassured — I belong here, and I’m growing into the teacher I hoped I’d be.

Strengths I’m proud of:

1. Established routines that anchor the class.
2. Balanced authority with warmth — students know I care, but they also know I’m in charge.
3. Connected literature to students’ lives in ways that made them lean in.
4. Built stronger relationships with colleagues and earned Mrs. Savoy’s affirmation.

Areas I want to improve in year three:

1. Classroom pacing: Sometimes I rush through material to stay “on schedule.” I want to slow down and let discussions breathe.
2. Assessment variety: I rely heavily on essays and journals. Next year, I’ll experiment with creative projects, presentations, and multimedia.
3. Confidence in discipline: I’ve grown, but I still second‑guess myself when consequences are needed. I want to trust my judgment more.
4. Self‑care balance: Teaching takes energy. I need to protect my evenings and weekends so I don’t burn out.

Pine City 5th Period, Mid‑October, 9^th Grade English

Next fall in Pine City, Lily was back to mostly 9^th grade class sections. The year went even more smoothly for her than the one before. Lily stood at the front of Room 210, her scarf draped neatly, her nose ring glinting faintly as she moved with calm authority.

On the board:

“Literature & Identity: How rituals shape belonging.”

Lily said, “Today we’re connecting our own traditions to the novel. Think about how rituals, whether they are family dinners, sports games, church services, even jewelry choices, anchor identity. Write for five minutes, then we’ll share.”

Students immediately began writing. Phones were tucked away, chatter was minimal. Lily circulated the room, with her presence enough to keep students on task. Olivia whispered to a friend. Lily simply moved closer, and the whisper died out. It was a complete change from the same class period with 9^th graders two years earlier, which would have devolved into discussions on nose piercing, Lily’s other fashion choices, and paper airplanes. Instead, this class remained engaged, respectful, and productive.

After five minutes, Lily called for volunteers. One student shared about Sunday dinners with her grandparents. Another talked about basketball games as a ritual of belonging. A third mentioned a keepsake necklace passed down from her grandmother.

Lily tied the students’ observations together. “See how your rituals mirror the characters’ traditions? Literature isn’t distant — it’s a reflection of us. That’s why stories matter.”

She wrote on the board:

• Ritual = Identity
• Tradition = Belonging
• Symbol = Story

As the bell rang, students filed out with their journals. One paused at the door and said, “Ms. Jorgenson, I like how you make literature feel like our lives.”

Pine City Parent‑Teacher Conference Night, November

The hallways were lined with student artwork and the faint smell of coffee from the hospitality table set up at the top of the center staircase in the academic wing between Room 212, Mrs. Barthel’s room, and Room 214, the room for the school yearbook staff to meet. Lily sat at a small round table in Room 210, her scarf draped neatly, as she reviewed notes. Mr. and Mrs. Pederson entered, coats dusted with snow, smiles polite but knowing.

Mrs. Pederson began, warm but candid. “Well, Miss Jorgenson, you’ve had both of our girls now. Abby two years ago, and Olivia this year. We know they can be…well, spirited, at times.”

Mr. Pederson chuckled and added, “That’s a nice way of saying they push boundaries at home too. We’ve heard through the grapevine you’ve handled them well.”

Lily smiled, steady and confident. “Yes, both Abby and Olivia have strong personalities. Abby wanted to test limits with questions, and Olivia does the same in her own way. But what I’ve seen is that when boundaries are clear, they rise to meet expectations. They’re both bright, curious, and capable of leadership.”

Mrs. Pederson nodded. “Abby was always asking us about things like nose piercings. We worried she’d distract herself in class.”

Lily smiled again. “She did bring those questions into the classroom, but I redirected her quickly. She learned that there’s a time and place for everything. By the end of the year, she was focused and respectful.”

Mr. Pederson said, “And Olivia… she’s got that same streak.”

Lily answered confidently. “She does. But she’s also showing growth. She’s learning to channel her energy into writing and discussion. When she pushes, I guide her back. She’s beginning to see that boundaries aren’t barriers, but rather they’re frameworks for success.”

Mrs. Pederson replied, “It’s reassuring to hear that. We know our girls can be a handful. But it sounds like you’ve earned their respect.”

“And ours too,” Mr. Pederson said. “Thank you for sticking with them. We can see the difference.”

The conference closed with handshakes and smiles. As the Pedersons left, Lily felt affirmed: Her authority was recognized not just by students, but by parents who knew how challenging their daughters can be. She thought to herself: “Year three isn’t just about classroom control. It’s about trust — from students, parents, and the community.”

As the hallway outside Room 210 was busy with parents moving between conferences, coats draped over arms, down the hall Mrs. Savoy paused near the hospitality table, greeting families. Mrs. Johnson, the parent of a sophomore, smiled and said, “Mrs. Savoy, I just wanted to say Miss Jorgenson has been wonderful for our son. Last year, he struggled to stay engaged in English. This year, he comes home talking about the stories they read, even connecting them to our family traditions. That’s new for him.”

Mrs. Savoy smiled and said, “I’m glad to hear that. Miss Jorgenson has worked hard to grow in her role.”

Mr. Johnson joined the discussion. “We’ve heard from other parents too. She’s firm, but fair. The kids respect her. It’s clear she’s found her stride.”

Mrs. Savoy smiled and jotted a quick note on her clipboard. She glances down the hall toward Lily’s classroom, where the light from Room 210 spilled warmly into the corridor.

Mrs. Savoy quietly, to herself, thought, “She’s come a long way. Year three suits her.”

Pine City Principal’s Office, Late May

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting warm light across the office. Lily sat across from Principal Danielle Savoy, scarf draped neatly as she folded her hands. Beside her was Marnie Thurston, her mentor teacher and friend, who has guided her since year one.

Mrs. Savoy began. “Lily, I want to pause and recognize how far you’ve come. In your first year, you struggled with classroom control. In your second, you found your footing. And this year? You’ve shown poise, authority, and effectiveness. Your students respect you, and your lessons resonate. That’s tremendous growth.”

She glanced at Marnie, then back to Lily. “You’re not just surviving anymore. You’re thriving. And I want you to know you belong here, and you’re making a difference. Congratulations on earning your tenure with the Pine City Public Schools.”

Marnie smiled proudly. “I’ve watched Lily grow from tentative to confident. She’s learned to redirect quickly, to balance authority with care, and to connect literature to students’ lives. She’s become the kind of teacher students remember and the kind colleagues rely on.”

Lily exhaled, her eyes bright. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without guidance from both of you. I feel reassured, but I also know there’s more to learn. I want to keep improving, keep finding ways to inspire my students.”

That’s exactly the mindset that will carry you forward,” said Mrs. Savoy. “Year four will be even stronger.”

The same day, in Ewen, Michigan, Green Bay, and Minneapolis, Allison Besonen, Rachel Schneider, and Maya Patel receive similar good news about their teaching careers from their principals. All have earned tenure in their respective districts, their livelihoods now with considerable security.

Ewen, Michigan

In Principal Marlene Koski’s office at Ewen-Trout Creek School, Allison Besonen sat with her hands folded and heart pounding. Mrs. Koski smiled, her Finnish steadiness radiating reassurance.

Mrs. Koski said, “Allison, you’ve proven yourself. Three years in, and you’ve earned tenure. You belong here in Ewen‑Trout Creek. This community trusts you.”

Allison exhaled with relief and joy mingling. She knew her livelihood is secure, and her place in the Big Valley area was affirmed. She’s come to love rural life, she’s still close to family, and the way of life of longer drives for everything – whether to Ironwood, Houghton, Marquette, or even Duluth-Superior, where she can drive by her alma mater just off Belknap Street and Catlin Avenue – comes with the territory and a trade-off she’s gladly willing to accept.

Green Bay, Wisconsin

Rachel Schneider walked down the main hallway of Green Bay West High School and entered her principal’s office. The walls were lined with Packers memorabilia, a reminder of the city’s identity. And leaving no doubt as to the loyalty of the principal when it came to his favorite football team. Principal Dennis Gralewski was born in Green Bay and now lived with his wife in the Green Bay suburb of De Pere.

Mr. Gralewski smiled as he delivered the good news to his young English teacher. “Rachel, you’ve grown tremendously. Your Frozen Tundra Narratives, your classroom control, your creativity — they’ve made a difference. You’ve earned tenure here in Green Bay.”

Rachel beamed, remembering her nervous first year. Now, she felt rooted, her career secure in the city she too was born in and has come to love.

Minneapolis, Minnesota

In a bustling urban school, Maya sat across from her principal, the hum of traffic audible outside.

The principal, Jim Olson, unlike Maya, had not always called Minneapolis home. Originally from Duluth, with a brother now living in Wakefield, Michigan, Mr. Olson had moved to the Twin Cities not long after graduating from college. While he’d decided to make Minneapolis his home and his career, he frequently headed north to visit family and to take in the sights, sounds, and pleasantries of the Lake Superior region. While he came from an area that was still largely of people similar in background, Mr. Olson valued the diversity of the Minneapolis neighborhood in which his school served and one of his school’s biggest champions for all of the voices in the school, none other than Maya Patel.

“Maya, your work with diverse students, your ability to connect literature to identity — it’s remarkable,” Mr. Olson explained. “You’ve earned tenure. The Minneapolis Public Schools is lucky to have you.”

Maya smiled, thinking of her Sparkle Squad roots and how far she’s come. Tenure meant stability, but also recognition of her impact in a vibrant, diverse community.

Group Chat: Sparkle Squad Forever

Lily (Pine City): “Big news, everyone! Mrs. Savoy affirmed me today. I’ve earned tenure! Year three felt so different. I’m finally settled, and it’s official.”

Allison (Ewen): “Lily!! That’s amazing. And guess what! Principal Koski told me the same thing today. Tenure secured in Ewen‑Trout Creek. I feel like I belong here now.”

Rachel (Green Bay): “No way. SAME here. My principal said I’ve earned tenure. Frozen Tundra Narratives and all, it looks like I’m here to stay.”

Maya (Minneapolis): “You’re not going to believe this… but I got the news too. Tenure in Minneapolis! My principal said my work with diverse voices is making a real impact.”

Sophie (Madison): “This is incredible. I defended my thesis last month, and now all of you are securing tenure. The Sparkle Squad is thriving everywhere. We’re rooted and branching out.”

Lily: “From UW‑Superior to tenure and beyond… we’re proof that resilience and belonging ripple outward. Sparkle Squad forever.”

Pine City A & W, Early Summer Evening

The sun lingered late in the sky, casting golden light across the parking lot. Inside, the retro booths glowed under neon signs, the smell of root beer and burgers filling the air. Lily, Marnie, and Ethan slid into a booth, laughter already bubbling.

Marnie, smiling and proud, said, “Lily, tenure is no small thing. You’ve earned it. Tonight, we celebrate.”

Ethan added, “And what better place than the A & W? Root beer floats for everyone.”

The server brought trays piled high with burgers, fries, and frosty mugs of root beer.

Lily was moved. “Thank you both. You’ve been mentors, cheerleaders, and friends. I wouldn’t be here without you.” As they ate, Ethan excused himself and walks over to the jukebox. He slipped in a coin, pressed a button, and soon the soft, dreamy harmonies of “I Only Have Eyes For You” by The Flamingos filled the dining room.

Marnie looked up, surprised, then smiled knowingly. “Ethan Thurston… you played this at prom, the night you proposed to me. You never forgot.” Ethan chuckled and slid back into the booth. “Some songs are forever. I thought it was fitting for tonight. We’re here celebrating milestones, remembering where we’ve come from.”

The song drifted through the dining room, its timeless refrain wrapping the moment in nostalgia. Lily listened, touched by the history between her mentors. She felt part of something larger, a legacy of love, resilience, and community. “This is perfect. Tenure, root beer floats, and a song that carries history. I feel like I belong to this story too.”

Marnie reached across the table, squeezing Lily’s hand. “You do. And now you’re part of the legacy we’ve built here in Pine City.”

The three laughed, clinked frosty mugs, and savored the evening. The jukebox hummed, the song lingered, and Lily’s tenure celebration became not just a milestone but a memory woven into the fabric of Pine City. A future together with her former teacher, now mentor, and perhaps closest friend of all, Marnie Thurston, awaited.

The seasons had turned, as they always do. From porch swings and lakeside summers to snowy classrooms and bistro celebrations, the women of the Sparkle Squad carried their stories like lanterns through the years. What began as a circle of courage in Marnie’s classroom had rippled outward into dorm rooms, harvest festivals, thesis defenses, and tenure affirmations across the Midwest. Fashion statements remained their quiet language: a nose piercing glinting in defiance, an infinity scarf draped in solidarity, even an anklet shining in quiet confidence. Each piece was more than ornament; it was testimony to resilience, to belonging, and to the courage of saying, “I am here, and I matter.”

The story did not end here. It lived on in classrooms, in communities, in the quiet courage of those who chose to belong. The jewelry would glimmer, the rituals would continue, and the ripple effect would carry forward into generations yet to come.

Because once a spark is lit, it does not fade. It travels, transforms, and endures.

The Sparkle Squad forever.