V

AND WE’RE OFF

Apparently this superprestigious, ultraexclusive school is forty-five minutes away! and located in the middle of a SWAMP! Huh? What? They didn’t mention THAT in the bloody brochures. Who would build a school in a swamp? And why hasn’t anyone mentioned this little fact to me until now? It’s just another sign that this is all wrong. Everywhere I turn, there are little pop-up omens warning me to stop, drop, and get the hell back in my cupboard. High up on this list of bad signs is THAT IT’S BUILT ON A SWAMP. You know a school is suspect if it HAS ITS OWN ALLIGATOR-WRESTLING TEAM. Really, how top drawer can it be? Also, I’m going out on a limb here, but any school that has to issue QUICKSAND WHISTLES? NO GOOD. It’s just these little ominous signs. Like, you know there might be trouble when the school mascot is AN ESCAPED CONVICT. See, it’s a SWAMP. And when chemistry class consists of a COUPLE OF KIDS KEEPING AN EYE ON THE STILL, well, that’s no good, either. What kind of place are they sending me to, anyway? Who’s idea was this?

“I get it. The Everglades is a swamp. Are you finished yet, Carrot-top?” Flossie said. “We’re almost there.”

Oh, dear lord.

It was worse than I thought.

As we pulled up, I actually witnessed a Swamp Thing leap from the slime, snatch a student off the sidewalk, and carry her, kicking and screaming, into the bog.

Tough school.

“See,” said Flossie, “it’s perfectly fine. Go on. I’ll see you at three.”

Yes, yes. Just another country club school. Could be anywhere. Except for the mutant mosquitoes carrying off jackrabbits. And I still say: Any school that crowns a MALARIA QUEEN just feels wrong.

Sigh.

And so it begins.

One foot in front of the other.