This narrative ethnography adopts an aesthetic lens to relay the various lived experiences of a non-traditional, Midwestern public high school during its final year in its original building. Extending upon previous research of high school dropouts, I examine how this one particular high school incorporated a self-paced curriculum with a focus on "family" to address the unique learning needs of students at risk of not graduating. By employing elements of grounded theory, narrative inquiry, and autoethnography, I share the stories of Walgut High School's (a pseudonym) roughly sixty students as they struggle to navigate their respective roles in a dominant cultural narrative to which they've never felt like they belonged. Through the extensive and organic voices of the primary participants-as well as my observations of my own participation in the school culture over the course of a year-this project serves to offer insights not only into the school experiences of marginalized adolescents, but also into Walgut's myriad successes and failures. In particular, this piece highlights the vitality of unconditionally caring or "hospitable" teachers (Derrida, 2000), while ultimately questioning the presumed utility of a high school diploma. The story concludes not by lauding the alternative mine created for Walgut's canaries, but by questioning the purpose and stability of all scholastic minds. As American schools continue making strides to accommodate and support the complex and oftentimes contradictory needs of their students, what it means to succeed as a teacher in (and prepare teachers for) these diversified, inclusive learning spaces is growing increasingly complicated. Indeed, given the shifting paradigm of American public education, teacher preparation programs must continue to adapt their practices and philosophies in order to equip their teacher candidates with the skills needed not only to thrive but also find purpose and meaning in schools similar to this project's Walgut. While this book doesn't claim to offer any answers to the myriad questions concerning the future of public schools, it does endeavor to offer a springboard from which all education stakeholders can continue engaging in healthy and productive discussions of how best to prepare students (and teachers) for autonomous, democratic, curious, creative, and compassionate citizenship both in and apart from their academic communities. To this end, rather than write from a detached, traditionally academic vantage, I have sought in these pages to compose from a personal (albeit limited), passionate (albeit subjective) and participatory (albeit someone marginalized) perspective. In my pursuit of social justice for the characters of Walgut High School, I begin first by exposing my own privileged role in perpetuating injustice. Only through recognizing and naming our own demons can we ever begin to exorcize the System writ large. Thus, in this book's lack, there is possibility; in its futility, hope.

All his life, Dr. Sherman Hinkley was governed by one primary aspiration: to work as an Agent for E.W. Harper's ClockWorks Time Travel Agency. A career with the Agency would ensure Sherman's status as a bona fide contemporary hero and legendary scholar. He sought not only the glamour that inevitably derived from fame, but also the pride of knowing that after a series of failed endeavors, he'd at last arrived. Yet, Sherman quickly learns that even with the world famous Agency, books should never be judged by their cover alone and that sometimes the darkness of truth is far more ominous than the brilliance of deceit. Now, Sherman must re-evaluate his life, his career, and his future, while trying desperately to repair the world's past. What does it mean to be a hero? Sherman Hinkley couldn't have been further from the truth.

This narrative ethnography adopts an aesthetic lens to relay the various lived experiences of a non-traditional, Midwestern public high school during its final year in its original building. Extending upon previous research of high school dropouts, I examine how this one particular high school incorporated a self-paced curriculum with a focus on "family" to address the unique learning needs of students at risk of not graduating. By employing elements of grounded theory, narrative inquiry, and autoethnography, I share the stories of Walgut High School's (a pseudonym) roughly sixty students as they struggle to navigate their respective roles in a dominant cultural narrative to which they've never felt like they belonged. Through the extensive and organic voices of the primary participants-as well as my observations of my own participation in the school culture over the course of a year-this project serves to offer insights not only into the school experiences of marginalized adolescents, but also into Walgut's myriad successes and failures. In particular, this piece highlights the vitality of unconditionally caring or "hospitable" teachers (Derrida, 2000), while ultimately questioning the presumed utility of a high school diploma. The story concludes not by lauding the alternative mine created for Walgut's canaries, but by questioning the purpose and stability of all scholastic minds. As American schools continue making strides to accommodate and support the complex and oftentimes contradictory needs of their students, what it means to succeed as a teacher in (and prepare teachers for) these diversified, inclusive learning spaces is growing increasingly complicated. Indeed, given the shifting paradigm of American public education, teacher preparation programs must continue to adapt their practices and philosophies in order to equip their teacher candidates with the skills needed not only to thrive but also find purpose and meaning in schools similar to this project's Walgut. While this book doesn't claim to offer any answers to the myriad questions concerning the future of public schools, it does endeavor to offer a springboard from which all education stakeholders can continue engaging in healthy and productive discussions of how best to prepare students (and teachers) for autonomous, democratic, curious, creative, and compassionate citizenship both in and apart from their academic communities. To this end, rather than write from a detached, traditionally academic vantage, I have sought in these pages to compose from a personal (albeit limited), passionate (albeit subjective) and participatory (albeit someone marginalized) perspective. In my pursuit of social justice for the characters of Walgut High School, I begin first by exposing my own privileged role in perpetuating injustice. Only through recognizing and naming our own demons can we ever begin to exorcize the System writ large. Thus, in this book's lack, there is possibility; in its futility, hope.