Even though it was July, I didn’t think twice about leaving my swimsuits and tank-tops buried in the back of my closet and stuffing my suit-case with wool socks, rain gear and a fleece or two. In fact, I couldn’t help but smile as after a considerable bit of digging) I managed to excavate my hiking boots from a heap of flip-flops, muddy cross country spikes and old sneakers piled in a laundry basket. Then, I lugged my suitcase downstairs while navigating the mayhem of my family’s packing frenzy.

Rainor and I used to fight. Physically fight, like brothers sometimes do. Once he tried stealing my taquitos. I just could not let that happen. It was never anything big though; we may have been distressed because of school and if there was a catalyst, perhaps a disagreement over underhanded tactics in Halo, the next thing I’d know, there were flailing arms.

I’m obsessed with sharks. As in, I have the ISAF (International Shark Attack File) website saved in my Favorites, the day Shark Week begins marked down on my calendar, and Open Water on my list of movies to watch at sleepovers.

The summer after third grade I wrote my parents a detailed persuasive proposition begging them to home school me. In it I explained how eager I was to learn at a faster pace and pursue subjects and ideas I found exciting, but weren’t covered in class. They were hesitant but told me they would consider it. I persisted throughout fourth grade, presenting petitions, extolling the benefits of homeschooling, and pleading with them, until finally they relented. Thus began my four-year homeschooling adventure.

I never thought I’d be afraid of a two year old. But that was before the triplets, when I was young and naïve. Life was simple. I glided through my narrow reality with meals already cooked, tuition paid, and parents ever eager and ready to whisk me away to my destination.

My mother has a severe aversion to “Wet Willies”, defn: the act of licking one’s finger and inserting it into the ear of another individual.

In England we have something called the “stiff upperlip.” And after six years of residence in the United States, I’m still not sure of the exact translation, or even if one exists (maybe I should replace my Oxford English Dictionary with Merriam-Webster’s).

Compiled by Kathryn Black, ‘11, The Lens Section Editor, and Kate Taylor, ‘11, The Lens Editor. It was our first day in Jerusalem, where we would stay for five weeks, and we had been deliberating for over an hour on the specific restrictions that we, as a community of twenty-six, would set on activities during Shabbat. Some of the more traditionally religious Fellows were insistent upon adhering to halacha, or Jewish law, in every possible way, disavowing the use of electricity and prohibiting writing and the reading of non-Jewish books, attitudes distinctly unfamiliar to me because of my less observant background.

Compiled by Kathryn Black, ’11, The Lens Section Editor and Kate Taylor, ’11, The Lens Editor. When I was younger, I knew with utter certainty that I was invincible. I scraped through childhood with more bruises and band-aids than most girls, but I always bounced back to my feet. Although I was invariably the smallest kid on the basketball court, I never gave up, no matter how many knees I took to the face.

Compiled by Jayne Caron, ’10, former The Lens Section Editor, and Kathryn Black, ’11, The Lens Section Editor. I only stayed with my Greek family for two weeks of my six-week trip, but I remember every detail. Their unfamiliar customs took a while to get used to. But even though I was eventually able to feel comfortable with the Greek way of life, I never broke through the language barrier.

Compiled by Jayne Caron, ’10, former The Lens Section Editor, and Kathryn Black, ’11, The Lens Section Editor. An introduction to organometallic chemistry for a naïve, sixteen-year-old hotshot should never come from a man with a Zimbabwean accent. “Grab a stopcog!” A brown, toxic solution would spill onto my arms and hands – a day’s work ruined. “Use an errenmier flak!” A thick cloud of sulfur gas floating by. Coughing. “Chlooorroform D, Chlorrrroform D!” Shattering glass.

Compiled by Kathryn Black, ’11, The Lens Section Editor. Yet, although most girls’ visions of paradise involve dragging their begrudging fathers to spend a day shopping with them at Nordstrom, I had a different destination in mind. Staples. The mecca of all that is holy in school supplies and office equipment, otherwise known as my personal heaven.