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terms of writing? What is a writer’s voice? Could you define
that
?”
    Vera felt as if the students were already growing tired of her. She could practically read their minds; if she wasn’t going to talk about something interesting like homicide, then they wished she would just present a lecture and quit bugging them with questions. “Let’s think of it in terms of singers,” Vera went on doggedly. “If I asked you to listen to snippet of a song by, say, Mick Jagger”—
Jesus, I hope they know who Mick Jagger is,
Vera thought,
and why do I have to use words like
snippet
?
—“chances are you would be able to recognize him right away. His voice is that unique and that distinctive. It is as individual as a fingerprint. It has a . . . well, a classic rock swagger to it. One of the first swaggering rockers of that particular type, really. Each of you probably has your own singing voice, good or bad. You have your own unique
writing
voice as well.”
    Vera went on, trying to explain and illustrate the concept of narrative voice and why it is important. Most of the girls seemed to be actually listening, which emboldened her a little. Then Harmony Phelps’s hand went up again. “Mrs. . . .” She looked at the board. “Lundy?”
    “I’m a
Miss
. Yes, Harmony?”
    “Why do we have to read a narrative about a teenage boy? We’re all females here. I think it would be more valuable for us to read about a girl. We already just read about a bunch of guys, in
Macbeth
.”
    “Lady Macbeth wasn’t a guy,” one of the girls said.
    “Well, the whole thing felt very masculine. It was all about masculinity,” Harmony said, and then added virtuously, as though this explained it all, “It was
Shakespeare
.”
    “Yet as I understand it, the writing assignments you did in relation to
Macbeth
were about yourself.” Vera was pacing the room now, her arms wrapped around her rib cage as though she were cold. “You wrote journals and personal essays about subjects like rivalry and ambition and the tragic hero, and you applied these themes to your own life. It will be much the same with
Catcher
, though the themes will be different, of course. I’m going to ask you to work on your first journal entry tonight after you read the first four chapters of the book. In general, unless I specify otherwise, I will be collecting your
Catcher
journals every Friday. We’ll be taking breaks with other readings, too, so when the subject of the journals changes, I will let you know in advance.”
    The inevitable peevish riot of questions followed.
How long does each entry have to be? What is it supposed to be about? Does it have to be typed?
When Vera said that the journals could be about “anything,” some of the students seemed pleased while others looked deeply unhappy. Glancing at the clock, Vera saw there was a little extra time left in the class—maybe seven minutes. Panicking a little, she picked up her copy of
The Catcher in the Rye
and said, “Let me read the beginning bit from the first chapter aloud. If you have your books with you, you can read along silently. This first paragraph alone sets the tone and establishes the voice. It’ll give you a flavor of what’s to come.”
    And then, at last, the class was over. Before Vera had even finished reading, the room began to fill with the decisive sound of book bags being repacked and girls pushing their chairs back from the tables. Jamie Friedman smiled at Vera as she headed out—Jamie Friedman, she thought, was a wise, calculating girl, knowing how to cater to adults. Such a girl might be useful to have in the classroom. The two model-y girls lingered behind, conferring with each other about something, and Jensen, who had showed up in class last, was also last to make any signs of leaving it, slowly packing her school things into a large army knapsack that had symbols written all over it with a Sharpie. Coming over to the girl’s seat, Vera said, “Jensen, I got your