“You didn't say you wanted any kind in particular, so we bought a bunch of different ones,” he said now.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Mom said. “Apples don't-”

“Grow in bunches.” Amanda waved a finger at her. “I knew you were going to do that.” Mom made silly jokes. Dad, on the other hand, made puns. Amanda had never decided which was worse.

“Haven't seen these funny-colored ones before,” Mom said, peering into the bag. “They must be from a newly opened alternate.”

“Orange you glad we got them?” Jeremy asked, deadpan. He took after Dad in more ways than looks. Amanda felt like taking after him, preferably with a baseball bat.

“How was school today?” Mom asked. Either she hadn't noticed what Jeremy had said or she was pretending she hadn't. Sometimes it was one, sometimes the other. Amanda could never be sure which.

“Okay,” she answered. “I got an A-minus on my lit paper.”

“In my day-” Mom shook her head. “They've tightened up since my day. Most people got A's then. An A-minus meant you weren't doing so well.”

“What's the point of having grades if everybody gets the same thing?” Amanda asked.

“I don't know. I guess that's why they tightened up. It's not the first time they've had to do it, either,” Mom said. “Getting rid of grade inflation, they call it. The other kind of inflation, the kind with money, just goes on and on. When your grandfather was little, a dollar was worth almost as much as a benjamin is now.“

Amanda thought about bygone days when people got good grades without working hard. She thought about even more distant days, when dollars were real money instead of afterthoughts in small change. The only answer she could see was that she'd been born in the wrong time.