Too Cool for This School by Kristen Tracy

like that. Especially when I found myself obsessing over the same rotten thing over and over.
    “My pink bohemian shirt is totally ruined,” I told Rachel. “I mean, this stain is as permanent as the Grand Canyon.”
    It might have been yesterday’s news to my friends, but I could not stop staring at my grafittied top.
    “It was rude of her to put an exclamation point on it,” Rachel said. “Even if she thought it added style.”
    Who would think an exclamation mark added style? I just ignored that comment.
    “Mint is in the kitchen right now with my mom helping her make dinner,” I said. “She is so irritating.”
    As the days ticked by, I found Mint difficult to be around even when I wasn’t around her. She was powerfully annoying. Every little thing she did got under my skin: The way she wrote in her journal at night. The way she stole my parents’ attention and talked to them as if they were her good friends. The way she sat at her desk and raised her hand and answered questions as if she belonged there, when her
real school
address was in Alaska. The way she took off her socks and left them on my bedroom floor in little sock wads. It was rough.
    “Maybe you should go watch television,” Rachel said. “Take your mind off her.”
    “I think I should tell my mom what Mint did,” I said. I kept rubbing my finger across the black mark. It felt like a different texture than the rest of my shirt. It felt like a different texture than anything I’d ever touched.
    “Wouldn’t you have to tell your mom that you threw her wolf shirt in the garbage?” Rachel asked.
    She was right. Instead of looking like a person who had an inconsiderate cousin who destroyed my clothes, I ran the risk of looking like the inconsiderate person who threw my cousin’s clothes away. My situation felt so unfair.
    “Do you want to talk about something else?” Rachel asked. “When are we going to buy tickets for Ava’s concert?”
    Ava’s
Sleeping Beauty
concert was still weeks away. Because we were supportive friends, we tried to attend all of them. Sometimes I wished Ava played the guitar or ukulele instead of the cello. Symphonies could be boring. Not only did Ava usually have a small part, she was mostly hidden behind her cello. This time Ava had assured us that she would be playing her cello during most of the songs. And when she wasn’t playing, she promised us she would try to lean to the left so that we could see her better.
    “Has she showed you her callus?” Rachel asked. “It’s huge. She’s practicing like crazy.”
    “No, she hasn’t. Let’s not worry about her concert yet. Can I vent more about Mint?” I asked. Because that was the whole reason I’d called Rachel. It’s like she’d forgotten what a great listener she used to be.
    “Sure. Do you mind if I draw squids while you talk?”
    “Go ahead,” I said.
    Knock. Knock. Knock
.
    “Great,” I huffed. “I think my least favorite houseguest ever just knocked on my door.”
    “At least she knocked,” Rachel offered. “You are sharing the room.”
    When my mom poked her head in my room, I felt a little relieved.
    “Honey, Mint and I have decided to run to the store,” she asked. “Do you want to come?”
    It really bugged me that my mom was calling my cousin “Mint.” I thought that was going to be something that would only happen at school.
    “I’ll stay here,” I said. “Can you get more cereal?” I hated it when the box became overly crumb-filled at the bottom. All those little particles made the milk soupy.
    Mint barreled into my room and raced toward her duffel bag. “Let me grab my wallet.”
    I thought it was weird that Mint thought she had to buy her own food at the grocery store. Didn’t she know my parents had that covered?
    “Consider it an early birthday present,” my mom said.
    “You are such a cool aunt!” Mint cheered, wrapping her arms around my mom.
    “Why aren’t you talking to me anymore?” Rachel