9th grade. January.

Tamarind:
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

That was the question I asked Zinnia and Brimley on New Year’s Eve. The three of us, and Grover, were spending the holiday together, just like we had since forever. Last year we were at Brimley’s house. It was the first time we didn’t have to be watched by a baby-sitter, as long as we took care of Grover, too.

This time, all four of us piled into Dad’s living room with our sleeping bags and snack bowls and watched balls drop on a bunch of different networks. Grover fell asleep early, as usual. He has never made it to midnight.

As fireworks exploded in Sydney, Hong Kong, Dubai, and Moscow for the fifth time on the screen, Zinnia told us what we already knew: she wanted to be a professional dancer.  “With a contemporary jazz company or in a stage show for an international DJ.”

Brimley responded with, “I want to be a doctor, maybe? But if I have to do more biology, I don’t know.” Brimley’s father is a doctor and his mother is a lawyer. Specifically, a cardiologist and a corporate attorney for mergers and acquisitions. Big words. They have plans for their son.

Then my friends expected me to provide my own answer. “I haven’t decided. I could be an architect. I liked making those Lego buildings. At least you have a hook, Zinnia: dancer. And Brimley, you have ‘doctor, maybe.’ I have, ‘kinda good at some things,’ which is unacceptable.”

“Why are you freaking?” Zinnia stuffed her face with kettle corn.

“I don’t stand out! I have to pick something.” 

“Because of the book?” Brimley asked.

Zinnia turned to him. “What book?”

I plucked my copy of How to Get into College from the bedroom and handed it to Zinnia, who was still poring through it when I fell asleep.

I woke up that morning to find Zinnia hovering over my face. Apparently, she had spent the rest of the night reading every page, because once my eyes had opened, she started flapping the paperback in the air, shouting, “How is anyone supposed to do this?”

Lilo:
Disappointing.

I wanted to enjoy the New Year’s Eve singles’ party. I really did. My friends looked like they were having a good time at the event. But it felt like everyone else was either trying too hard or not trying at all.

I should have maintained my low expectations for the night. For some reason, I had high hopes for a night-time affair with a group of drunken strangers on an overhyped holiday. I need to reevaluate my goals.

Here’s my new New Year’s resolution: stop pressuring myself to find someone new. From now on, I’m only going to attend singles’ events involving activities I’m actually interested in. No more random parties with hundreds of people I have nothing in common with, except our mutual lack of life-partners.

The next gathering for the unattached of Hennessey Park and its surrounding areas will be a cooking class. I like food and cooking it. Sign me up.

Grover:

I wanted to stay up till midnight. I really did. But I was so bored. Not by the TV celebrations. Those were fun. I like watching the people crammed like sardines in Times Square.

The boredom came from Tamarind and Brimley and Zinnia and their future talk. It put me to sleep. I usually like hanging out with my sister and her friends because they’re cool people. They don’t treat me like a little kid, like Zinnia and Brimley’s older sisters and brothers do.

I thought this would be the one night when Tamarind’s obsession with college would be contained. Instead, the infection has spread to Zinnia. Brimley will probably be next.

Why is Tamarind so worried about getting into a school that she’ll be going to three years from now? Like they won’t let her in? She’s great at everything. I’m the one who’ll be going to Clown College, if they’ll accept me. I can bring my own red nose.