The Cool Kids

We all know the cool kids – the ones who are so insanely attractive it’s not fair. Everyone generation has a different definition of cool. Nowadays, the identifying marks of an oh-so-superior cool kid are their Brandy Melville clothes, brand new cars for their sweet sixteens, and constant surrounding by their equally attractive friends in matching chokers. Everyone knows their names, you just can’t avoid it. Sure, I’m outgoing but I’m not one of the cool kids. I was a floater in elementary school and when my one super close friend wasn’t at school, I was a floater in middle school too. It didn’t suck. I had good reputation of friendly and everyone knew my name – except for the cool kids. It’s so crazy how we grow up seeking validation from everyone who doesn’t give us the time of day – as if the opinion of a total stranger is more important than your own. Towards the end of eighth grade, I realized how crazy wanted that sort of validation is. Good people said it was my personality, but I think it was something superficial that brought me close enough to the cool kids to be invited in. We hung out at peoples’ pools or walked to get food together but, never really sat at anyone’s house or talked about anything of importance. The longer I was around my cool “friends”, the faster I realized I wasn’t really one of them. Some of them smoked weed and almost all of their parents never really knew where they were. Although I’ve never smoked, the weed didn’t bother me but I wasn’t one to sneak around from my parents. Pretty sure the only benefit I got from being there was that I got to get to know a boy I had a crush in that group but I quickly learned I barely liked the cool kids as people – no way I could like one romantically. I was content with my one close friend and being acquaintances with the rest of the school. The cool kids new my name now and I didn’t feel any more special. I did learn I was pretty special before I knew them anyways.

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