Practically perfect in every way

If Tara Albanese applies for college at University W, X, Y and Z, which of the following is true:

A. College W accepts her but not X.

B. College X accepts her but not W.

C. Colleges Y and Z wait-list her.

D. What does Tara Alabanese care about Universities W,X,Y or Z? The kid got a 2390 on her SATs. She'll probably get early admission and a scholarship to Harvard, Dartmouth, Penn and Brown. The Ivy League brochures are already stacking up on the dining table.

If Tara Albanese was a major league ballplayer, she'd be batting .996. If she was in the PBA, she would have just bowled a 299 game. But since Tara Albanese is a 17-year old senior at Barron Collier High School, she's just chilling, waiting to see how life turns out.

She's spending this summer reading at the home in North Naples she shares with her dad, where pictures of her as a baby, a toddler, a child, etc., adorn the hallway leading to her bedroom.

"It's the 'only child' parent syndrome," she says about her dad, Vincent Albanese, who hovers just out of sight and therefore can't witness the totally perfect eye-rolling maneuver she executes in the living room. On the coffe table is a copy of U.S. News and World Report's annual issue about America's best colleges.

Photo by Garrett Hubbard, Daily News

17-year old Tara Albanese sits where she loves to be: behind a good book. Today it's Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World." Tomorrow, who knows? Tara scored a 2390 out of a possible 2400 on her SATs, getting 800 in Verbal, 800 in Writing and 790 in Math. Tara says she isn't sure where she wants to go to college when she graduates next year, but that her father has some thoughts on the matter.

"That's his," she says, talking about her dad again, the man she has called Vinnie since she was 4. Tara says she hasn't opened the magazine to look at the different schools. "They all seem kind of the same," she says.

She's worried about how she'll fit in at her dad's favorite picks. (He went to Rutgers but says that isn't good enough for his daughter.) She imagines that all the students going to Harvard already know what they want to do with their lives. She doesn't. Not yet. But it's not like she's headed off to college any time soon. She's still got another year of high school.

She eschews the de facto uniform of most of her classmates, who hit Ambercrombie pretty hard, instead choosing to put together stunning, original ensembles that pair nicely with the black, super-high-top tennis shoes she's sporting today with pointy toes a la Dorothy of the "Wizard of Oz."

They're like the archetypal Chuck Taylor basketball shoes, only more girly and with more grommets. If a witch wanted cool sneaks, this is where she'd go for them. Tara spied them at a thrift shop in New York while traveling with her aunt.

She likes New York and would love to go to school there, but Vincent has different ideas. He thinks New York is too rough. She rolls her eyes again. This time not out of range of Dad, who rolls his right back at her, before laughing and heading off to another part of the house.

He used to reward her with money for every A she got. But it got too expensive. She gets her rewards in other ways, now: a new book, dinner at Indian restaurants and, she supposes, a new level of tolerance regarding her sarcasm.

"I guess he lets me talk-back," she says with a slow smile, looking a little bit embarrassed at having admitted it out loud.

When she was a little girl her dad used to take her to the toy store every week and tell her to go pick something out. "She'd come back with a book," he says, walking back into the living room, unable to keep stay away from his brilliant daughter.

After she finished the 6th grade she asked him for some grown-up books so he bought her "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and "The Great Gatsby." Later, she picked up "The Illiad" and "The Odyssey" before moving on to Shakespeare, which she also read, in all his iambic pentameter, on her own.

Photo by Garrett Hubbard, Daily News

Tara Albanese crafted everything on this Wizard doll including the clay, detailed face and the stitched cloth body. Her aunt, who sells dolls, taught her to make them five years ago and has offered to sell Tara's creations later this summer.

"Well, I had to," she explains. "They weren't teaching it in public school."

Other 8th graders might have been happy not to have to wade through the Capulets and Montague's tragedy, but Tara simply had to read it, the way others have to take in oxygen.

"She's home-schooling herself," her dad interjects. "The other day she asked me 'Do you know anything about Edward Gorey?'" he says, shrugging his shoulders and raising his palms upward.

"I said, 'I think he's a writer,' but why did you ask about Edward Gorey?" Vincents asks, turning to his daughter.

"Because I want someone to talk to about it," she says with a degree of frustration that bright students encounter when they can't find a forum for their new, exciting discoveries. Vincent, who used to be a dentist and is now a middle-school teacher, can do his part regarding conversations about science, but with literature and art, he says his 17-year-old daughter is already beyond him.

She's the kind of student English professors dream about. When she gets to a footnote, she reads it. If it sends her somewhere else, she goes there. A footnote in Anne Rice led her to Goethe's "Faust" so she read that, too. Yes, you read that right. "Faust."

She's reading her way through the Borders bookstore, where Tara says she spends most of her time and money. If she's not reading there or at the library or at Starbucks getting a Vanilla Frappucino (the drink she had just before taking the SAT, incidentally) there's a good chance she's home working on art projects.

Photo by Garrett Hubbard, Daily News

Though she does well in math and science classes, Tara Albanese also exercises her creativity doing thinds like using clothing for canvasses. Going for a "Pirates of the Caribbean" flair on this particular pair, she painted a ship on one leg and a skull on the back pocket.

Her aunt in Pennsylvania recently taught her how to make dolls, so Tara's current art projects include making dolls she plans to give to her aunt to sell. Tara fashions their faces, feet and hands out of clay, and stitches their cloth bodies. Among her creations are a troll, a wizard and even a Hobbit, with big, hairy feet.

Judging from the poster of Legolas just above her bed and the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy in her bookcase, she's a J.R. Tolkein fan. On the opposite wall from the handsome Legolas is a medieval weapon with metal chains attached to a wood handle. If it seems sinister, it's offset by the poster of Pokemon also above her bed, and the Winnie the Pooh cartoons that dance over her closet doors.

"Just so you know," she says, "I never take anything down," she explains. She cannot be bothered with redecorating a room that's taken her from childhood to almost-adult. Instead, the artifacts of nearly her entire life remain in place, like a future historic site waiting for archaeologists one day to discover and explore, trying to make sense of the person who lived here.

"I'm well-rounded," she explains. This is a girl, who, after all, loves both Edgar Allen Poe and Mary Poppins.

In fact, when one of her friends at school found out Tara had made a 2390 on her SAT, her friend had been incredulous. "Perfect!"

"No, not perfect," Tara had corrected her. "2400 is perfect."

"Well, practically perfect," her friend had countered, and the next day the friend brought a tape measure to school that had the following words written right up to the 5 foot 4 inch mark: "Tara Albanese: Practically perfect in every way." Just like Mary Poppins' magical tape measure.

Now if only Tara could figure out what she wants to be. Her dad wants her to be a lawyer or a judge or Supreme Court Justice, or maybe president of the United States.

"He overestimates me," Tara says.

"She underestimates herself," Vincent says.

"I know that I can do a lot of stuff well," Tara puts it plainly, "but I want to do something I love."

And that does not include taking the SAT again. Practically perfect is good enough for her.

•••

Her mom's journal

Tara's mom, Mary Popiolek, says her daughter used to ask her to read the children's dictionary to her, over and over. Popiolek, who has been divorced from Tara's dad for nine years and is the non-custodial parent, kept a journal of the witty things her daughter said in the early years:

June 4, 1990 (1-1/2 years old) You made me laugh and let me know when I asked a dumb question. I had a plate of finger foods for you and asked you, "Where do you want this?" (meaning where to place the dish) and you said, "Mouth."

Another time you were chewing something and I hadn't given you any food. Afraid that you had picked up something inedible I asked, "What's in your mouth?" and you replied "teeth!"

Nov. 7, 1990 (almost 2 years old) This morning our yard was swarmed with crows plucking at the ground. I asked, "What do you think they're eating?" and you replied, "Macaroni."

Dec. 7, 1990 (2 years old) It's amazing that within two months you went from speaking words to sentences. You seem to understand so much. You love books, drawing, dancing, and movies. (You're a sensitive soul -certain movies and songs make you cry.)

July 31, 1991 (2-1/2 years old) Dad said he was "going to run to the bank" and you said, "No, don't run; take the car."

December 15, 1991 (3 years old) Grandma told me that when she watched you the other night she started to read to you the book "Madeline," and when she read the first word of each page, you would recite everything else that followed, exactly as written. She couldn't believe it.

Sept. 3, 1992 (almost 4 years old) I tripped and you asked, "What happened?" I said, "I lost my balance." You replied, "Here, take mine."

June 26, 1995 (6 years old) You asked, "Who am I? I know I'm not me but I don't know who I am. I feel like a cloud with rocks in it." I thought that was profound for a six year old.