I never expected my application to be accepted. I was in the middle of my first year teaching AP Literature, and, at least in my mind, I am the slowest reader in the world. So when College Board emailed in February inviting me to be a reader, I was in total disbelief—the excitement (and anxiety) came a bit later. Five months later, I was on a mid-morning flight to Cincinnati, repeating the same questions to myself: Would I be able to keep up with an acceptable pace? How would I know I was grading fairly? What could I learn from seeing hundreds (possibly thousands) of essays in seven days?
As I entered the main hall of the convention center on day one, I made my way through the maze of tables to find my assigned spot. Eight readers and one table leader, Deborah, who would help us navigate the week. As we introduced ourselves, I realized nearly everyone had done this before, which only exacerbated my imposter syndrome. To my surprise, though, the training never felt overwhelming. Each practice essay built confidence, and every calibration reminded me that I wasn't expected to figure it out alone. Whenever I second-guessed myself, Deborah was right there to give feedback, explanations, and encouragement. She had an uncanny ability to make every reader feel capable and confident, and she assured me, specifically, that a reader values accuracy and consistency over speed. I began telling myself, I know how to do this. By the end of the first day, nine strangers felt like teammates. We spent the day supporting each other, asking quick questions, sharing gum and candy, and quietly laughing to combat the 2 p.m. sleepies. By the end of the week, we were more than teammates— we were resources. We were friends.
I arrived in Cincinnati thinking I'd spend the week evaluating students' writing. Instead, I found myself reevaluating my own expectations as an AP Lit teacher. After reading hundreds of essays, one truth became abundantly clear: AP Readers don’t look for perfection, nor do they “ding” students for what they haven’t done—they reward students for what they have done. These essays are written in a high-stakes environment in 40 minutes or less, and seeing that reality firsthand gave me a renewed appreciation for what students accomplish under pressure. Even when an essay faltered, nearly every student understood the importance of earning the thesis point. Even if they did not have the time to write anything else, there was almost always an arguable thesis on the page, earning that first point before time expired. Because of this experience, I left the reading with a healthier perspective on timed writing and how to prepare them for the exam. I came away understanding that the standards I hold my students to in the classroom are not the same standards that a reader will use to administer points during the reading. My job is to prepare my students so thoroughly during the year that they can walk into the exam with confidence, trusting the skills they've practiced all along.
One of my most unexpected discoveries was that some of the best professional development happened over breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Every meal became an opportunity to exchange ideas, swap fun and innovative assignments, and hear stories from classrooms across the country. I’d spent sixteen years teaching First-Year Composition in higher education, but this was my first year teaching AP Literature, and I quickly realized that teaching high school students is an entirely different world, which made those conversations invaluable. I listened to veteran AP teachers describe lessons that had transformed reluctant readers into confident writers, shared my own experiences, and came away with practical ideas I couldn't wait to try in my classroom. Collectively, there were hundreds of years of teaching experience at each table, and I would have missed one of the greatest benefits of the AP Reading had I limited myself to sitting with the same people every time. More than anything, the AP Reading reminded me that teaching isn’t meant to be done in isolation. It’s a community of educators united by the same goal: helping students become stronger readers, writers, and critical thinkers than they were when they first walked into our classrooms.
Looking back on my AP Reading experience, I realize that, for me, it was not about the scoring itself; it was about what I learned about myself in the process. I arrived in Cincinnati questioning whether I belonged, but left with a deeper understanding of the scoring process, and much greater confidence in my ability to teach AP Lit content. The AP Reading offers so much: professional growth and learning, a chance to reflect on your own classroom practices, and a sense of belonging to a community dedicated to student achievement. So if you have ever wondered if you should apply to be a reader (or whether to do it in person instead of remotely), my advice is to take the leap. You just might end the week having learned more than you expected.