The whole crowd seems to like me now
'Cause they think I'm cool but back when I was in school
They found it very easy to hate me
Funny how always these times are changing
Back then I was so easy to shatter
But now in the end it doesn't really matter
Tap your foot and listen in
Ignore the world, let the music cave in
Close your phone and breathe in the air
You'll soon realize that there's something that is so much more than this.

Frank’s face looked exactly like it did the day he learned he was getting a Nintendo 64 back in the day…he also had that expression when the lunchroom served pizza and chocolate milk —the little things that bring joy.
“She said yes?”
“Yep. She has this big smile and—I feel something in this, Joanna, something more than just a dance. I think it can be so much more.”
I nodded and then smiled at him. “Congratulations. So, where you going to take her?”
“Well, I was thinking, what if we did a double date kind of thing and go into Spokane?”
“Why don’t I just let you borrow my car?”
“Your dad will have a aneurysm, on top of a cardiac arrest.”
I nodded—but in a twisted way, that would have been better than me going with someone from our school.
“I could ask Paul.”
“Or you don’t,” I replied.
“I want you to go with us though.”
“What does April think about this? You haven’t asked her about that, have you?”
Frank looked down the hall—perhaps in April’s general direction—like she was Mecca or something. “I was having all of these other thoughts. I should ask her, shouldn’t I?”
I nodded.
“Slow down?”
“Just a smidgen.”
“I just want this to work out more than that time with Megan.”
Megan was a girl who had sent Frank several anonymous Valentine’s notes, each one more “romantic”—for a fifth grader—until she revealed that she was just sending lines from a movie to see how he would react. He reacted badly, as he had it in his heart and mind that whoever this girl was, then she was the one.
There had been five iterations of “The One” before ninth grade and they were usually new girls—and one who had a sudden growth spurt from a B to a D, if you follow me. Frank tried to do way too much for the first three before he learned to hold back on the poetry, the gifts and the use of the “L” word. I could have won a lot of money, if I was a betting girl, on when that four letter would come out of his mouth.

“I feel good about this. I really do. Now to play it normal. Not cool or like I got it together.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Should I ask her if she wants to hang out at lunch?”
“Did you ask her to the dance or ask to like go steady or something?” I asked as I looked down the hall and envisioned them holding hands, walking down the hallway and not caring who they clotheslined as they gazed lovingly at each other.
“Just if she wanted to go to Winterfest. But, you know, there was something in how she said she would love to that made me think there could be more. She could be the one, Jo, you know?”
I nodded as we walked down the hall to our first period class.
“Is she a junior?”
“Sophomore,” I replied.
“So, no classes with her.” Frank said and shook his head.
“You could fail English, then you could be in the class with her next year.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Don’t make me slap you, Francisco Leonardo Russo.” Frank turned back to me with a scowl—as he hated anyone saying his full name—and pointed a finger at me.
“I’ll go ask Paul.”
“Then you’re walkin’ home, dude.”

I sat in the middle row and Frank sat near the back of Mrs. Balum’s 10th grade English class. There was a time that there’d be a giggle or whisper from someone about me when I walked in but I didn’t make it an issue—why should it had been an issue to begin with? I never bothered anyone before I transitioned—I just came to school because I was required to and some people, like Anthony, had to make my life their business and that hurt. I still do not understand the downright evil that roams the halls of every high school. Demons and scary creatures haunting the hallways dressed in Levi’s and skirts and wearing ornate masks to fool the weary traveller as they invite them into their inner circle of sacrifice and then strip them clean of self-worth and their new dress.
So, I had an okay—as much as I knew—standing with my fellow classmates. Maybe a little more with the girls than the guys. A lot of them didn’t know me beforehand—and some only knew because one of the aforementioned demons decided it would be hysterical to talk about me. Then, they would send the new guy to me to ask a plethora of stupid questions. At first, those questions stabbed at me so much that I wanted to climb the ridge near my house and jump off of it—but I assumed that all I’d received were a few broken bones. There was a time that I tried to drown myself in the bathtub—hard to do that without a way to stay submerged. My final attempt was to take thirty-two pills of Acetaminophen, ten ibuprofen and one tic-tac—it was mixed in with the Tylenol for some reason. I was able to hold them all down for a few hours but by the middle of the school day all of the color had drained from my face and Frank was the only one—besides a few teachers—that felt something was off. I remember falling to the floor in immense pain and tears: as I tried to be the person I was, but others still felt that there was no place for me no matter what.
“Miss Peterson, are you with us, today?”
I looked up from my notebook at Mrs. Balum and felt that bolt of terror one feels when they think they may have drooled in their sleep.
“Yes ma’am.”
Mrs. Balum simply nodded and continue taking role. There were a few laughs from the other students. I allowed it. I hoped I had just zoned out and had not fallen asleep in class. Frank had one time and Mrs. Balum allowed him to sleep through the period…but also allowed him to fail a test.
The classroom door opened and Mr. Cain, the principal, stepped in and gave Mrs. Balum a card.
“You have a new student, or at least new to the high school.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cain. Who is our quasi-new arrival?”
I-like most of the class-turned to the door to see the “newbie”—but I immediately turned in horror. The body and face were older, but the face from four years prior was imprinted to my retinas: Anthony Riesche.

So Much More Than This By Grace VanderWaal