9th grade. May.

Tamarind:

The sophomores and juniors have a field trip to the biggest college fair in South Valley next week. I asked Miss Bliss if I could join them, even though I’m neither a sophomore nor a junior.

I told Miss Bliss that I’ve already made a list of my top 50 schools, and the fair’s only a couple miles away, and it’s not like one extra person would make a difference, and not all the 10^th and 11^th graders are going anyway. Shouldn’t HP encourage everyone to learn more about college, regardless of their chronological age?

It didn’t take as long to wear Miss Bliss down as I thought it would. She said fine.

“I’d rather have our school represented by a ninth grader who wants to be there than a tenth grader who doesn’t.”

I asked if Brimley could come along, too, which he doesn’t know about yet. Miss Bliss said if our parents wrote a note excusing us from class and signed the field trip permission slip, Brimley and I could go to the fair. My mother won’t have a problem with it, and Mr. and Mrs. Montague practically have Brimley’s lab coat and gavel picked out, so we’re as good as there.

Lilo:
My daughter is growing up fast. I was prepared to deal with dating and hormones and birth control at this stage. I did not expect Tamarind to act like a convict staging a prison break. She’s got three, actually two, years before she starts her applications, but every pore of Tamarind is screaming, “College now!”

I should be thankful one of my children wants to continue their education. The other is barely passing sixth grade.

Grover:

If my school had a field trip to a college fair, I’d be the first one on the bus. Anything to get out of class.

I have to do well on my finals. If I don’t, I might have to go to summer school, which sounds awful. Dealing with grumpy teachers while my friends play at camp? No way, man. After classes end in June, I’m not touching another book till August.