JULY 21, 9:49 P.M.

Mom and Dad are arguing about my grades again. You’d think they would get tired of it. I know I am.

“He’s showing lots of improvement.”

“He failed a class. Sarah never failed anything in her entire life.”

“We’re not talking about Sarah; we’re talking about Stanford.”

“What is it with that boy? Is he just lazy? I swear he’s just doing this to upset me. You’d think that with someone like Millicent Min tutoring him, he’d do better.”

“Stanford’s not trying to upset you. If anything, he wants to impress you.”

“Well, he sure has a funny way of showing it. When Sarah was his age she skipped a grade.”

“You’re expecting too much from him.”

“I’m expecting him to try. If we have low expectations of Stanford, then he’ll never amount to anything.”

So far I’ve done a lot of knitting. My whatever-I-am-making is about six inches wide and eight feet long. It looks like an ogre’s scarf or a blanket for a snake. I’ve chosen some really nice yarn colors — red and yellow. I also found this one yarn that’s lots of colors mixed together. How’d they figure out how to do that? Maybe I’ll be in charge of yarn colors when I grow up. Do you have to go to college to do that?

Dad says, “If you don’t get good grades, you’ll never get into a good college.” Okay, so, and then what? My life will be ruined? He’s never come right out and said that, but I know that’s what he means. He really wants me to go to Stanford University, where he went. He had it all figured out, even before I was born. That’s why he gave me this dumb name.

“It could be worse,” Mom used to joke. You could have been called Dartmouth or Hofstra.”

She doesn’t joke about college anymore. “There’s more to life than school,” I’ve heard her tell my father. “He’s still a kid; there’s plenty of time to stress over colleges later.”

There are tons of things I can do besides go to college. Gus thinks that I have it in me to play pro ball. Yesterday Stretch and I slaughtered Digger and Tico. Yin-Yin says that I can do anything I want to do. Maybe I don’t want to go to college. Maybe I want to sail around the world, like Sarah. Only I’d skip the study part.

When I handed in my book report on Mrs. Franks and Beans, Mr. Glick actually smiled at me. He says I am improving, “thanks to Millicent Min.” She’s getting the credit for my improvement. I’ll bet he believes I am so stupid that I can’t do anything on my own.

I know that’s what my dad thinks. He’s always saying, “That boy’s like a loose cannon.” I was pleased until Millicent explained, “A loose cannon rolls around the ship in an unpredictable manner and never hits its mark.”

“Rick,” I hear my mother say now, “if you’re so concerned about his grades, maybe you could go over some of his homework with him sometime.”

“The boy doesn’t need me to go over his homework. What he needs is discipline. He needs good study habits and someone to make sure he does what he is supposed to.”

“Oh, and I suppose I’m the one who’s supposed to carry out your orders?” Mom’s voice sounds icy.

“Well, I can’t do everything around here. You know how swamped I am at the office.”

“Excuse me.” My mother takes aim. “I guess my job’s not important. We can’t forget that the law firm of Calvin Benjamin Jacobs would fold if Rick Wong took even two minutes off to be with his son.”

“I am up for a promotion,” my father shoots back. “Do you know how many people would kill to get this job?”

“I know one person,” my mother says.

I shut my door and push a chair up against it, then duck for cover under my blanket. Still, it feels like every shot they take at each other passes through me first.