So close your eyes
And create yourself a better life
Let the wind blow through your hair
Let the music take you there
And make a better life, better life,

My parents were home when I plowed my way up the driveway—they were standing on the porch, which was never a good sign. I went over the possible scenarios that this could have caused this mob mentality to occur in my parents: the school called because I threatened to throw a kid down the stairs because he said something about me? Possible, I would threaten that, but all of them, so far, would just brush me off and continue on their way. Yes, that did annoy me but if I actually did shove someone down the stairs then Frank would have been irritated that I didn’t let him do it instead.
Maybe one of the bus drivers finally called in my license plate to the office and then called the local police? No, because there would be a police cruiser present. As I looked at their faces, they were happy which made me frown as when my parents smiled it was because they were going to start some crazy project of trip of sorts.
The door opened behind an them to reveal someone who looked like my older sister, Julia. She was the popular one. She was the student council president. She had cut her hair short and she held onto a large coffee mug.
Julia went to a school in France and was, for the most part, out of touch with everyone as she embraced some French word for “being on one’s ownself” and had finally come home after she got bored with it. Contrary to her popularity at school she was indifferent to everything I ever said, done, or breathed so it was a bit of a relief to feel like an only chid with two rooms pretty much to myself while she was away. However, at that moment she put her mug on a patio table and ran down to the car as I got out and grabbed my backpack.
“Hey there, little sister.”
“Hi, Julie, how are you?”
“Is that the way to say hello? Come here,” she pulled me close to her and then looked at blouse I was wearing.
“Is that my blouse?”
“Yes.”
Julie turned around, grabbed her coffee and went into the house.
I ran past our parents and jumped very other step to the second floor where our rooms were. My door was already open. Julie stood in the middle of the room and held up a green dress that was-still, but technically she had abandoned it—hers.
“Is this mine?”
“Yes.”
“Does it fit you?
“Yes.”
“Chouette.”
We glanced at each other for a moment.
“Do you have any more of my clothes?”
“Define, more,” I replied as I stepped into my room and stepped past Julia in a wide arc.
“Did you raid my closet?”
“No, mom, gave me a few and--”
I was ready for Julie’s face to turn red and her voice to rise up five notes above G10 but she just nodded and reached for a green dress she wore for her senior prom.
“Well, let’s see how you look in it. My interest is piqued.”
“Seriously?”
“Show me your catwalk waltz,” she replied as she walked out of my room. “Call me when you’re ready.”
Julie closed the door behind her, leaving me with a dumbstruck look.
Picture the older sister who absolutely hated the fact that you were born. Imagine hearing that she once tried to sell you in the newspaper. Think back to the time that she screamed for two hours—a record in our house at the time—over the fact you borrowed one of her CD’s….a CD that was on the floor, out of its case, in the corner of her closet and even though you were ever so careful with it, she did not acknowledge you actually saved it from destruction as later on she had piled several heavy hand weights into that corner of the closet. I was a bit afraid to put the dress on but decided to. The most she could do would be to demand I take it off and give it to her.
A few minutes later, I walked out of my room wearing said green dress and a pair of flats. I didn’t do anything extensive. No make-up touch ups or lipstick. This was my sister, not Tom Holland.
“Ready!” I called out as I opened the door and stepped out. Julie walked out of her room and just looked at me, well, more like studying.
“Okay, you fit it well…a little too well. Surgery?”
“No, not yet.”
“Not ever!” Mom shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
“I don’t know, mom, she could be spilling out of this dress.”
“Julia Anne Peterson!”
“I don’t want to be spilling out, as you say. It’s difficult enough to deal with how they are now.”
“I suspected this…a bit before I left…but…why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged as Julie moved closed and adjusted my hair. “How could I?”
“Yeah…we need to all talk about that,” Julie turned to our parents, bit her lip, and turned back to me. “Can I still call you Joey?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
“Comment t'appelles-tu?”
“Joanna.”
“Are you using that cheap stuff I had for foundation?”
“I’m using what works for me.”
“You need something different. Turn around, let’s try something else.”
“I am not going to be an experiment.”
“No, you shall be oeuvre d'art.”
Julie sat me down in front of her desk, grabbed everything from out of the bathroom, and from the collection I had in my room.
“Is it better?”
“Is what better?”
“Exploring this new path. Move your head to the side, please.”
“It is some days. I get a few reminders, a few dead name calls.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I lied.
“Did you go out for cheerleading?”
“Nope,” I replied. Julie was a cheerleader, Prom queen, homecoming princess, that chick everyone knows around town because everyone within six degrees of separation had heard of her. I preferred to just be me and did not try to emulate my sister in any way.
“You should have.”
“I had enough trouble with being able to use the girls’ locker room.”
Julie nodded as she flung my neck back. “I have this great stuff that helps with pimples. You have some blackhead starters. Got a date for Winterfest?”
“No,” I sighed. “Not going.”
“Why not?”
“Haven’t found anyone yet.”
“Have you asked anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Are you still close with what’s his name?”
“Frank and I are just friends.”
“Just friends, not after he sees you like this.”
“You are not helping me. He’s got something for a new girl.”
“Do I detect some jealousy in your voice?”
“Humph.”
Julie picked up a bottle and shook it. “Your grunt tells me you don’t like her.”
“I don’t care about April.”
“But he does?” She asked as she applied whatever it was to my face.
“She has a boyfriend at her old school. So, nothing going to happen.”
“Good, then he can ask you then.”
“No, Julie, he’s not—”
There was a knock on the front door. I wondered who it was and tried to turn my head so I could hear who it was but Julie twisted my head over like I was a “Barbie Hair Care Head”
“Joanna, Frank’s here.
“I’ll be right down!” I yelled.
“Oh yeah, you don’t care at all for him.” Julie stated as I ran out of the room. I wanted to turn around and stick out my tongue or flash a middle finger but instead I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping over my shoes and the dress. I actually did stumble on the last step but recovered before Frank walked back to the stair landing.
Frank turned to look at me and held his mouth slightly open for a split second.
“I have an idea about how to pay for Winterfest.”
“Okay.”
“That, that looks good on you, Joanna.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, Frank!” Julie shouted from the top of the staircase
“Hi, Julie.”
“Doesn’t she look like divine?”
“Yeah, you look, what she said.” We both looked up to Julie who took the hint to step away from the upper landing.
“So, what’s your plan?”
“Like I said, it’s too late to get a job but I could take my PS4 to a shop in Spokane and get about one-fifty. That should cover flowers and such.” He said with a small wince.
“But not dinner and all that?”
“She’ll have to deal with it,” he replied with a shrug.
“Okay, tell you what, if you ask her and she says yes, I will buy your PlayStation for two-fifty and you can give it to me the day after Winterfest.”
“You hate PlayStation games.”
“No, I said they suck. But two-fifty’s still a good deal.”
 

A Better Life by Grace VanderWaal