9th grade. August.

Tamarind:

How am I supposed to become a concert cellist, a nationally ranked athlete, and a Nobel Prize winner by my senior year of high school? According to the book we got at Hennessey Park High School new student orientation yesterday, How to Get into College (by Really Trying), I need to be all of those things at the same time, while getting all As in the hard classes, and getting a near-perfect score on my SATs. Yes, SATs plural. I thought there was only one, but no, there is one for any high school subject I could think of, and I have to take at least three and do well on them to get into a good college.

This afternoon, after I took the placement tests, which no one told me was happening, not even Cabot, even though we've been friends forever, I went to see Miss Bliss, our school’s college counselor, about How to Get into College. When I sat down in her office, the first thing she said to me was, “You read the whole book, Tamarind?”

Um, yeah. You’re the one who gave all of us 150 ninth graders and 50 new transfer students the book yesterday, and we didn't have any homework, so why wouldn't I have read it?

She said that students usually don’t come see her until junior or senior year, and most often it’s because their parents told them to, or they come along.

Then why would you give us the book now?

Miss Bliss said that the principal told her that the parents of last year’s senior class said that they wished they’d had more information about the college process earlier. So the principal declared that every student at HP would a copy of How to Get into College, which should solve that problem.

When Miss Bliss stopped talking, I handed her a copy of my current class schedule and another piece of paper with the classes I actually wanted to take over the next four years, including APs. I’d start with AP Microeconomics this year, then in 10^th grade I’d take AP Chemistry, AP Computer Science, AP U.S. History, AP Macroeconomics and AP Statistics. In 11^th grade—

Then she stopped me and said there were no AP classes for ninth graders at HP. Exceptions were rarely granted.

What? But the book—did she not read what the book said?

Miss Bliss said I should have fun during ninth grade, explore new things, find out what I like to do.

I like school and getting good grades. Good, not great. At Hennessey Park Middle School, my name was synonymous with B+. A for effort, but B+ for final grade.

Miss Bliss said my schedule might change anyway, depending on the results of the placement exams I had taken in math, English, and Spanish, the foreign language that I decide to keep learning instead of switching to Chinese or Japanese. She asked me to come back to her office in two weeks, once I had started my classes, and we’d “map out a logical progression for your high school career.” I told her that would make me feel better. She even typed it into her calendar on her computer, so I typed the meeting into the calendar on my phone. Very official.

I told Brimley he should meet with Miss Bliss, too, since she’s really nice. Brimley didn't understand why he should talk to a college counselor when he’s just started high school. When we met up with Zinnia at the Monkey Bar to get smoothies, she agreed with me, although she didn’t know who her college counselor was. It’s weird that she’s going to Moreno for high school, only because Zinnia, Brimley, and I have been in the same class almost every year, and we've been best friends since kindergarten. But it does make sense for Zinnia to go to a school for the arts since she is the most amazing dancer I have ever known. Zinnia’s mother says she could pirouette before she could walk. I wonder how many AP classes the Moreno kids are allowed to take…

Lilo:

Thank goodness I had the day off yesterday. Not that I got anything done that I wanted to do. The move exhausted me. I had planned to spend yesterday organizing our new townhouse, which I’m still surprised was cheaper than our old house. A slight downgrade in a Southern California neighborhood makes a world of difference, surprisingly for the better, in this case. Same school district, since Hennessey Park is so small, but new address, new people to meet, new parking regulations to learn. The townhouse came with a tandem parking space in the underground garage, but we’re a one-car family now. That is, until Tamarind gets her license and possibly inherits a grandparent’s pre-owned sedan.

I barely got both kids out of the house. You’d think if the schools were requiring them to attend orientations that they would provide school buses, but no. Luckily I had arranged for Tamarind and Grover to carpool with the Montagues, which unfortunately did not stop Tamarind from grouching at me at the crack of dawn because I was still in my pajamas while she was fully dressed and ready to go. Conversely, Grover looked at me like I had two heads when I told him to shut off his video game and eat something before he had to leave.

I love my children, and I’m glad they are living with me during the week, but sometimes they drive me up a wall. You can call me a bad mother if you like, free speech and all, but I don’t think I’ll miss them this weekend when they are with Jencks. Let their father deal with their pubescent mood swings for two days. Maybe then I’ll have the time to figure out which box I packed my clean underwear in.

Grover:

I don’t see why I had to go to school yesterday. Real school doesn't start till next week. I don’t understand why Mom was busting my chops. I put on my clothes before Mr. Montague showed up and ate my breakfast in the car. No problem.

All we did at orientation was get our books, P.E. uniforms, and meet new people. I could've met them next week. I could've taken a tour of the school next week. I didn't even need a tour. I've been there before. I was there two months ago for Tamarind’s graduation. It still looks like the same Hennessey Park Middle School to me. Do our teachers think all sixth graders are too dumb to recognize the school that their older sisters went to for three years?

It wasn't all bad. We got pizza for lunch. And during the assembly, the vice-principal farted. If school was only pizza and farts, I’d be set for life.