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Authors: Kristen Tracy
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thought Angelina was on board to wear my cute periwinkle shirt with puffy sleeves. Ten minutes ago, when she’d tried it on, we’d both agreed that she looked great in it.
“That’s too bad,” Angelina said. “Because I really like the ribbon belt.”
Upon hearing this, I ran to my closet and pulled out every belt I owned. Thin. Thick. Beaded. Braided. “Take your pick,” I said. “Belts and beyond.” It surprised me how quickly I was willing to surrender my entire wardrobe to Angelina. Probably, I was motivated by guilt. I felt bad knowing that chances were good that if Angelina dressed in her own clothes, she would wind up looking so dweeby that I would have to ditch her. Was it wrong to want to arrive at school with two dozen vegan cookies and a cousin who looked regular? Seriously. Was it wrong to want that?
Many freaky things happened that morning before Angelina and I made it to school. First, my mom made us a special egg breakfast with waffles on the side, which she never did except for random Sundays when we had guests. Second, my dad joined us. Typically, he was alreadyheaded to work and rarely ate breakfast with us, because when you supervise a groundskeeping crew on a college campus, apparently you have to sweep all the paths clear and remove all tripping hazards before classes start.
But the freakiest thing had to be that Angelina had chosen to wear her wolf T-shirt to my school on her first day. Inside out! She looked ridiculous. Was she trying to hide the fact that her T-shirt had a wolf on it? Because even inside out, you could clearly see the outline of that beast. I thought people might think she was trying to hide a stain. And then maybe these same people would think she didn’t have enough money to buy an unstained ugly shirt. I could tell that my mom and dad weren’t thrilled with her fashion choice. But they didn’t make her change. It was crazy. I think they still felt bad that she had to take a taxi to our house from the airport. Clearly, Angelina was going to be able to get away with murder the entire month she lived with me. It was like the worst thing that had ever happened to me kept getting worse. Like a scrape that gets infected because bacteria gets into it.
“Why don’t I drive you to school?” my dad said.
At first I was going to tell him no thanks. But the thought of boarding my school bus with Angelina made me feel queasy.
“Okay,” I said.
“And your health cookies are ready to go. I put them in a plastic box,” my mom said, lifting a see-through box off the counter and then setting it back down.
“They’re vegan cookies, not health cookies,” I explained.
“Did the same teacher who told you to write a poem about the couch tell you to make vegan cookies?” my dad asked.
My dad didn’t understand how my school worked at all. “No,” I said, without bothering to explain more. I glanced at my mom, because it looked as if she had more to say.
“I packed you each a lunch with ham-and-cheese sandwiches in case you don’t like what they’re serving today,” my mom said.
That didn’t make sense. Our cafeteria had a ton of choices. And today was pizza Monday. My mom knew I loved pizza Monday.
“It’s pizza Monday,” I said.
“I love ham-and-cheese sandwiches,” Angelina said. “Did my mom tell you that?”
“I just want to make sure you have a great first day,” my mom said.
“Who doesn’t like pizza?” I mumbled. But nobody responded. I probably didn’t mumble loud enough.
I watched as Angelina loaded her waffle with two different flavors of jam. Then she added honey! And sprinkled raisins on it! Where did she get raisins? We didn’t have any in our house. My dad and I
hated
raisins. She must have brought them with her from Alaska. That was weird. My mom and dad and I ate our eggs and waffles the way normal people did: salted and peppered, and syruped.
I’m sure my dad said many interesting things as he drove Angelina and me to our
“That’s too bad,” Angelina said. “Because I really like the ribbon belt.”
Upon hearing this, I ran to my closet and pulled out every belt I owned. Thin. Thick. Beaded. Braided. “Take your pick,” I said. “Belts and beyond.” It surprised me how quickly I was willing to surrender my entire wardrobe to Angelina. Probably, I was motivated by guilt. I felt bad knowing that chances were good that if Angelina dressed in her own clothes, she would wind up looking so dweeby that I would have to ditch her. Was it wrong to want to arrive at school with two dozen vegan cookies and a cousin who looked regular? Seriously. Was it wrong to want that?
Many freaky things happened that morning before Angelina and I made it to school. First, my mom made us a special egg breakfast with waffles on the side, which she never did except for random Sundays when we had guests. Second, my dad joined us. Typically, he was alreadyheaded to work and rarely ate breakfast with us, because when you supervise a groundskeeping crew on a college campus, apparently you have to sweep all the paths clear and remove all tripping hazards before classes start.
But the freakiest thing had to be that Angelina had chosen to wear her wolf T-shirt to my school on her first day. Inside out! She looked ridiculous. Was she trying to hide the fact that her T-shirt had a wolf on it? Because even inside out, you could clearly see the outline of that beast. I thought people might think she was trying to hide a stain. And then maybe these same people would think she didn’t have enough money to buy an unstained ugly shirt. I could tell that my mom and dad weren’t thrilled with her fashion choice. But they didn’t make her change. It was crazy. I think they still felt bad that she had to take a taxi to our house from the airport. Clearly, Angelina was going to be able to get away with murder the entire month she lived with me. It was like the worst thing that had ever happened to me kept getting worse. Like a scrape that gets infected because bacteria gets into it.
“Why don’t I drive you to school?” my dad said.
At first I was going to tell him no thanks. But the thought of boarding my school bus with Angelina made me feel queasy.
“Okay,” I said.
“And your health cookies are ready to go. I put them in a plastic box,” my mom said, lifting a see-through box off the counter and then setting it back down.
“They’re vegan cookies, not health cookies,” I explained.
“Did the same teacher who told you to write a poem about the couch tell you to make vegan cookies?” my dad asked.
My dad didn’t understand how my school worked at all. “No,” I said, without bothering to explain more. I glanced at my mom, because it looked as if she had more to say.
“I packed you each a lunch with ham-and-cheese sandwiches in case you don’t like what they’re serving today,” my mom said.
That didn’t make sense. Our cafeteria had a ton of choices. And today was pizza Monday. My mom knew I loved pizza Monday.
“It’s pizza Monday,” I said.
“I love ham-and-cheese sandwiches,” Angelina said. “Did my mom tell you that?”
“I just want to make sure you have a great first day,” my mom said.
“Who doesn’t like pizza?” I mumbled. But nobody responded. I probably didn’t mumble loud enough.
I watched as Angelina loaded her waffle with two different flavors of jam. Then she added honey! And sprinkled raisins on it! Where did she get raisins? We didn’t have any in our house. My dad and I
hated
raisins. She must have brought them with her from Alaska. That was weird. My mom and dad and I ate our eggs and waffles the way normal people did: salted and peppered, and syruped.
I’m sure my dad said many interesting things as he drove Angelina and me to our
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