Your imaginary cool stat, visible only to everyone except you. People award or deduct ‘aura points’ for anything: a clutch save, an awkward fumble, a confident silence, a tragic dab. The points are fake, the judgment is instant.
What it isn't: Not literal energy reading. Not the medical ‘aura.’ Not measurable unless your school installed a humiliation scanner.
Example: “Stuck the backflip: +1000 aura. Ate pavement: -1000 aura.”
Like the pull a sailor on leave has walking into the dance hall. It’s the unspoken score everybody keeps on your nerve and standing, up for a clean shot or a cool head, down for a fumble. Whitey and the fellas at the alley on Delaney keep it without a word.
“Scratched the felt, and nobody let me break again for two hours. Now that’s class.”
Looking like it cost you nothing is the score everyone keeps in their heads. A fella in a leather jacket leaning on a hot rod like James Dean earns points just standing there, and a poodle skirt swish adds more.
“Backed the Merc into that space in one clean turn and the whole malt shop saw it.”
Your cool factor, the number everybody can read but you: a hot rod with four on the floor earns it for the shift alone, go-go boots for the swing, and a stall in the parking lot wipes it out.
“Ate the mat off the horse in front of the whole period, then turned and gave the thumbs-up. “Ayyy.””
Street cred, an invisible number everybody has and only you can’t see. Like wearing a chain wallet, you can’t prove it matters, but everyone at the mall knows who wears one. A real band T-shirt adds more, and a fake one takes it away.
“Neil’s initials topped the Galaga board at Aladdin’s Castle, and by Monday kids who had never spoken to him were saying hey in the hall.”
Ollie clean off the curb in front of everyone and your score ticks up like a Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater combo. Ugg boots or a RAZR add points, but tripping in the hallway gets you the L on the forehead.
“Whole skate park stopped to watch before he even landed, camcorder out and everything.”
An e-girl doesn’t announce her cool, and nobody does the math, yet everyone knows the score. You get clout points and social pull, and a clean sneaker resale flip will raise it while one tragic dab will make it crater.
“Landed the floss in the cafeteria in front of half the junior section, whole table lost it. Faceplanted doing the encore by the trophy case. No refunds.”
Your imaginary cool stat, visible only to everyone except you. People award or deduct ‘aura points’ for anything: a clutch save, an awkward fumble, a confident silence, a tragic dab. The points are fake, the judgment is instant.
There are 180+ more where that came from. See the book →