The School Story: Chapters 1–10

I catch up with Sean between Eighty-second and Eighty-first Streets. His legs are longer than mine, so I'm panting. I grab his arm and he stops in front of a bodega.

He storms away, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched, stabbing the sidewalk with every step.

Sixth grade was already three weeks old, and both she and her mom had settled into the routine of commuting together.

If a character grabbed her imagination, Natalie would talk to her stuffed animals and pretend she was the Sailor Dog or the Steadfast Tin Soldier or Raggedy Ann.

Natalie handed the pages to Zoe, and she tucked them into the blue folder with the rest of the manuscript.

It was sunny, but a cold wind whipped across the Hudson River and skittered off the buildings on Riverside Drive.

Zoe would be home in twenty minutes, and all she had to do was put up her hand. When she did, a yellow cab pulled out of the traffic on Riverside Drive. It veered over and lurched to a stop at the curb.

Zoe would be home in twenty minutes, and all she had to do was put up her hand. When she did, a yellow cab pulled out of the traffic on Riverside Drive. It veered over and lurched to a stop at the curb.

Natalie had a whistle on the lanyard around her neck and a twenty-dollar bill under the liner in her left shoe.

Today’s trip was uneventful, and when Natalie got to the lobby of her mom’s building, she signed in at the desk, got in the elevator, and pushed the button for the fourteenth floor.

The sign beside the opening of her mom’s small, windowless office said HANNAH NELSON, EDITOR. The room had a door and a ceiling, but in all other respects it was a basic cubicle.

She held both of her daughter’s hands a moment and then reached up to push a wisp of brownish blond hair out of Natalie’s eyes.

“The idea—you know—Ted Geisel, Dr. Seuss?” prompted Zoe. “You can get your book published by using a different name. That way your mom won’t know it’s you! She reads, she likes, she publishes! Great idea, right? You get to pick a pseudonym, a phony name!”

Natalie sighed, but still speaking as Cassandra she said, “Yes, I am with you....But I must say that you are an extremely annoying and cantankerous person.”

When someone sends us something without asking us first if we want to see it, it goes into the slush pile. Those are called unsolicited submissions. Someone writes a story, thinks it should be published, sticks it in an envelope, finds our address in a reference book or somewhere, and sends it off to New York City.

When someone sends us something without asking us first if we want to see it, it goes into the slush pile. Those are called unsolicited submissions. Someone writes a story, thinks it should be published, sticks it in an envelope, finds our address in a reference book or somewhere, and sends it off to New York City.

Digging through the slush pile is one of the jobs you get when you’re brand-new in the editorial department. Whenever Ella and Tim have some time, they chip away at it. When it gets too huge, we get a couple of interns from NYU or Brooklyn College and have them power through the whole stack.

Zoe was a little spoiled and a little headstrong, but when she met Natalie Nelson in kindergarten, she learned very quickly that if she wanted to have a friend, she couldn’t have her own way all of the time—just most of the time.

The offices of Crouch, Pruitt, and Reisman were modest but well appointed.

There were pages and pages of ads everywhere and a whole lot of reviews of new books—fiction books, nonfiction books, travel books, mystery books, children’s books, history books, and on and on and on.

“I know,” said Zoe. “It’s just the prototype. I’ll take it to a Kwik Kopy and have fifty sheets printed up on nice paper.”

Ms. Clayton glanced up at the clock, then opened the hallway door and walked briskly toward her classroom. She didn’t feel prepared for sixth period.

Again, Ms. Clayton agreed. Writing was a vital skill.

The kids left the room heading for their exercise period, and Ms. Clayton picked up an eraser and began clearing the chalkboard. As she methodically swept the board clean she took stock. Overall it had been a pretty decent class.

The discussion had been lively but not too unruly, and the students did most of the talking.