It took some imagination

Come and read slices at Two Writing Teachers

"Bring your journals and lets share the slices," I invite my students to gather on a carpet. 

Even though it has been in our Wednesday routine for many months, some students still look genuinely surprised that they were supposed to write. Instructions were written on their Homework sheet, I reminded them the day before. 

Sheepishly they come, knowing exactly what I would say, but instead I frown and shake my head in disbelief and disappointment. When will they take charge of their work? 

Other students excitedly wait, legs crisscrossed, journals open on their lap. T. (8) is hugging her pink journal tight. This time it's my turn to share first.

"Is it about Mimm?" V. guesses.

"Not this time?" I reply.

"Then it's about reading," V is convinced, and immediately offers an explanation  "Because you usually share about your daughter or reading."

He is right. I share my slice about Literature Circle discussion.

Now it's T's turn.

She opens her journal but still holds it close. I can see that she has two words written with a blue marker on top of the page and the rest seems empty. A suspicion rises in me. Should I ask her to show the journal or let her go on. If you don't know what to do, don't do anything. I hold my tongue.

T. starts slowly, sharing how much she cares about her hamster, what she would do if something happened to her. She looks closer at  a page, as if not able to read her handwriting, and continues with a relaxed and confident voice. I know the page is empty, except for the two blue words. I don't interrupt her. Her words are engaging, and secretly I admire that she is able to come up with them on spot.
When she finishes, I turn to her, "You chose your words well. You can write this a blog post later."

When others have shared their slices, I give students some time to browse their journals and choose what to write on the blog. T. starts typing fast.

Only later I go over to her and ask quietly, "Tell me honestly, did you have your slice written at home?"
T. shyly looks at the floor and shakes her head.
"You should know that I knew it before you started telling your slice, but I didn't want to interrupt you. You pretended well, and now you have the slice on your blog, but please, please, don't lie again, and please, please, get your homework done on time, " I whisper to her.
She nods.
I smile and nod back.