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... it was time. So, I made it official: I was skipping to ninth grade, the start of high school. No more sixth grade, no more noisy brats.

To celebrate, we had dinner out—someplace fancy enough that Alan needed to put on an actual blazer. He kept fidgeting with the sleeves like they were attacking him.

"You know," he said between bites of overcooked salmon, "Dr. Freeman said you were intellectually ready to go straight to college if you wanted. She signed off on that in her report. ...

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