By Bella English

Bella English writes from Milton. To reach her, call 617-929-8770 or e-mail at english(at sign)globe.com

When I was a senior in high school, I applied to two colleges: the one I knew I wanted to go to, and the one my best friend attended. We didn't have Kaplan review courses for the S.A.T., nor could we take calculators into the exam. The guidance counselor? She was a total stranger to me.

As for the essay itself, I remember penning -- yes, this was ``BC'' (before computers) -- a couple of autobiographical essays, which didn't take long. I put the applications in the mail, then promptly forgot about them. I proceeded to have a wonderful (read: stress-free) senior year in high school. In April, I got my acceptance letters.

That hassle-free process has gone the way of all-male schools. Today, the college application process is a marathon of blood, sweat and tears, featuring phalanxes of guidance counselors, college counselors, campus visits and re-visits, test review courses, tutoring -- and even ``correct'' summer jobs.

Recently, my niece sent me her sample essays for a college to which she is applying. The autobiographical questions have become more complicated: ``Describe how the place you live in has formed the person you have become; give one example of how an experience has changed your life.'' The general essays are ones that have stumped sociologists and scientists for ages: ``What one or two suggestions would you have to improve race relations in this country or around the world?'' And, ``Discuss something -- anything you wish you understood better.''

How about the college application process?

Right now is crunch time for those applying for early admission, the latest in college admissions torture. In many households throughout the country, dining room tables have been hijacked to serve as College Command Central. Stacks of catalogs and applications and essays take up every available inch. Parents are writing checks like the IRS in May.

``We spent over $1,000 in application fees alone for Christopher,'' says Diane Agostino of Milton, whose son is now a sophomore at The College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Va. ``In the old days, you'd pick three schools. Now, kids are applying to 10 or 15.''

The process has acquired a lingo all its own. A ``reach'' is a school you really, really want to go to, but chances are you won't get in. A ``sure'' is a school you should reasonably expect to get into. A ``safety'' is a school you will definitely get into, but you don't necessarily want to go there.

With many schools now accepting much of their freshman classes via early admission, more and more students are pressured to take this route. If you're accepted in December, you can relax and enjoy the rest of your senior year. If you are ``deferred,'' you'll bite your fingernails -- and apply to your ``sures'' and ``safeties.''

While my high school counselor was a slacker, parents at the more prestigious schools -- public and private -- can expect to start hearing from guidance counselors in fall of the child's junior year. Then they have to start lining up their campus tours, which means they will be spending February vacation in places like Hanover, N.H., or Geneva, N.Y., or Madison, Wis. Let's face it, most places -- with the exception of Southern California or South Florida -- aren't at their best in mid-February.

Yes, applying for college has taken on the competitive edge of the Olympics, with best friends pitted against each other for a coveted spot. My niece, who has a 3.94 at an exam school, is upset because she ``needs'' a 4.0 to get into her first-choice. She is now taking four advanced placement courses, which carry extra weight, in an effort to achieve this. Needless to say, all of this has been stressful for her and her parents.

Diane Agostino knows the feeling. Just as her first son is starting his sophomore year in college, her second son is applying. ``Next to childbirth,'' says Agostino, ``this is the most stressful thing you will go through as a parent.''

For the top schools, it's apparently not enough to have perfect grades and killer test scores, and be head of the debate club, the soccer team, the yearboook, and the National Honor Society. Nowadays, you even have to have ``the right'' summer job. No more flipping hamburgers or lifeguarding at the pool during high school.

True story: A woman whose son is 14 years old ran into an older friend whose son just started college. ``What's Max going to do next summer?'' asked the older woman.

``He wants to work at a camp,'' replied my friend.

``Well, I guess that's OK for the ninth grade,'' said the other woman. ``But after that, he's going to have to get a job related to college and career interests.''

Forget fun and earning a little spending money. Your summer job has to be interesting, significant, socially responsible. One kid got a big boost by starting up a coffee shop for low-income people. He got into the Ivy of his choice. Another boy I know volunteered at a nursing home, where he became best friends with a little old lady. He got in, too.

My favorite college admissions story involves Yale University, where the following was overheard at a dean's reception for incoming freshmen.

Kid to dean: ``Do you remember me? I was the one who wrote my application in iambic pentameter.''

The dean (dryly): ``Oh, there were a number of you this year.''

Besides the psychic cost of all of this, you might be thinking, what about the financial cost? Well, there are the application fees, which could feed an entire town of flood victims. The $700 or so you'll shell out for the S.A.T. review courses (it's standard; if your kid doesn't take it, he'll be behind everyone else who does). There are the flights, car trips, and hotel bills for the campus visits.

But all of this is just chump change compared with the actual cost of college. When your kid gets that college acceptance letter, your shrieks of delight will soon turn into shrieks of dismay. Reality, as they say, bites, and this one will take a huge hunk out of your wallet. If I had to do it over again, I'd start saving for my kids' college education -- while I was still in college myself.