“Kids say ‘wicked’ here but it doesn’t mean anything bad. It’s more like ‘cool.’” I nodded solemnly in the back seat of my mom’s blue Buick, as my stepsister went on, describing the merits and demerits of the cafeteria food at our new elementary school, where she had been enrolled since January: milk came in plastic bags from Crowley Foods, and needed to be poked just so with a straw (“remember to put your thumb over the top, otherwise it will squirt out everywhere”), but the pizza was better than our previous school district in Texas.
“Kids say ‘wicked’ here but it doesn’t mean anything bad. It’s more like ‘cool.’” — and now I know you moved to New England! 😉