Trimbley gave me an F. Scott Fitzgerald.

I’ve talked about Trembley in the past. She’s a bit nutty. Take today, for example. I just want to double-check with her that the car accident with Owl Eyes at the party was in Chapter Three. I’ve read the book a kajillion times, but that just means that some things get jumbled. I just wanted to make sure that we covered Owl Eyes during the appropriate class discussion. Who knew that popping my head into her classroom we would result in such craziness?

“Hey Trembles! Is the Owl Eyes car accident in the third chapter or not?”

A copy of One Flew Over the Cukoos’s Nest flies from her hands as she convulses with stress.

“What are you talking about? To focus on the accident wasn’t Fitzgerald’s intention at all! It’s Owl Eyes words, his words! In the library! He calls Gatsby, ‘Belasco!’ Don’t you get it?! Don’t you get it?! Hello?! Realistic sets!”

All this time, Trembley has shot up from her desk and is taking haltering steps towards me with each addition to her rant. By the end, she’s in my face. Her hot Earl Grey tea breath is melting my face. Tripping over my feet, I have no other choice, but to get out of there by any means possible.

So I blurted out,“I heard that Sage is telling his kids that Wallace Stevens tried to downplay the importance of imagination in his poems.”

With that, she was stomping towards Sage’s classroom, mumbling a recitation of “Anecdote of a Jar.”

Don’t look at me like that. Sage is a Luddite. He can handle it.