Sarah Asuquo - Breeze

Breezes self-diagnosed trend-indifference syndrome is a condition that she has lived with, and was somewhat grateful for, since she was a child. The term refers to the recurring social situations Breeze would often find herself in that caused her to question whether her peers were um, whats the right word? Weirdos. Yes, weirdos. Or if she was in fact the oddball who failed to see the world in the same way that everyone else did. At times, Breeze thought that it might be a Tower Hamlets thing and that everyone in her borough was just a bit, what do you call it? Loopy. She once hypothesised that perhaps the prolonged inhalation of the oil emitted into the air by the local chippys deep fat fryers, combined with the aromas of the rapidly decaying meat thoughtfully hung out on display in the local markets, infused with the remnant scents of the intermittent sewer leaks in the area had a greater effect on the local residents than they had realised. A real conundrum. Well, for Breeze it was.

Ultimately, Breeze had always been different, and she was ok with that. Take preschool, for example. Whilst most children were mesmerised by Ziggy, the magic puppet, Breeze was entertained by talking to insects. This wasnt an issue until she decided to invite the insects to Story Time, sending every child in the book corner into a screaming, crying frenzy! Every child that is except Gerry Ginger. Gerry just ate the insects, which made Breeze cry.

Primary school was no different. Breeze had an imaginary friend named AJ. Pretty normal, right? Everyone had an imaginary friend who they shared all their secrets with, played tag with and gave half of their packed lunch to no? Turns out that their friendship wasnt so common after all and soon, AJ became Breezes only friend.

Breeze now attended Aspire Academy, a federation of five secondary schools in East London, and she was a student of the school in Poplar. Although secondary school had been a better experience for Breeze, she still didnt feel like she belonged; she wasnt like most of the girls in her school. The most popular girls were the slayed girls, who firmly believed that wearing makeup in public was mandatory and had the essential, daily duty of ensuring that their besties contour was poppin. But the thought of applying anything other than cocoa butter to her skin unsettled Breezes soul. Then there were the academic girls, who would adamantly search for any reason to start a debate and whose sole aim in life was to prove that they were the most intelligent beings in the room. The rebels, who went above and beyond to highlight how different they were to the rest of the students at Aspire, which Breeze thought slightly defeated the point because they were identically unique, if that makes sense. The science girls, who spent their free time precariously experimenting, with the hope to make the next, ground-breaking scientific discovery. The performing arts girls, also known as the creatives, who made a song and dance out of everything, literally. The IT girls, who could effortlessly hack into every software system within the school, a skill they often used to cause havoc (just google Aspire Academy Host Hip-hop Festival during GCSE Examinations). The selective mutes, who didnt speak to anyone other than the members of their friendship group. The bad girls who, based on the self-proclaimed name, Breeze assumed were bad in some way. And that was just the girls. The boys had even more squads! Breeze just couldnt find a group that she could fit into and she was fine with that. Every week, there was a new song that supposedly banged or dance craze or social media challenge, and Breeze couldnt keep up! To be honest, she didnt want to. She would rather spend her spare time dancing and rapping along to MC Hammer classics with her family than listening to the ramblings of the illustrious rapper, Yung Coin, also known as YC. Yes, you read that correctly. There is no o in young. And no, his music was not acceptable.

As she sat in her maths lesson daydreaming, Breeze was blissfully unaware that her class were playing whippin, a game in which one person discreetly performs any gesture related to driving without being detected by the teacher and then passes it on someone else. Sounds fun, right? Not for Breeze. She neither enjoyed nor understood the game.

Why is this even a thing? she would furtively protest. None of us can drive! But were not even in cars, though. Were in chairs very uncomfortable chairs! were just a few of the thoughts that rang through her mind when she watched the game.

Jayden looked over his shoulder as he pretended to reverse parallel park his car (his car being his desk, obviously) whilst everyone in the class watched in admiration. Everyone except Breeze. Breeze wasnt watching and consequently, she missed Jayden wink at her (thats how you pass it on I know). After a few exaggerated winks, Breeze heard a voice in the distance cry Track Girl Track Girl except, it wasnt in the distance; it was Chanel, the most popular girl in Breezes year group. Breeze snapped out of her daydream, which she wasnt happy about because she had finally persuaded MC Hammer to teach her the Hammer Dance and she had almost mastered it.

Its your go, said Chanel as Breeze looked at her in bewilderment. Whippin, she continued, accompanied with what Breeze called the angry mum neck roll because this game was clearly the most sensible and appropriate activity that students should be doing in a maths lesson. All eyes were on Breeze. She looked to Mr Fraser to save her from the madness, but to her dismay, he wasnt looking back. Dont do it to yourself, Breeze. Its such a stupid game, dont succumb to the pressure she thought to herself, but her hands did not comply and before she knew it, Breeze was pressing an imaginary car horn (yep, I know) and if that wasnt enough, for some reason, Breeze thought it would be a good idea to add sound effects to what had always been a silent game by uncomfortably sounding through a forced smile, beep, beep. It wasnt.

Not beep! said Mr Fraser in his Jamaican-Cockney accent. I said keep, keep your exercise books and Ill collect them next lesson.

The class found this hysterical, and a storm of laughter swept through the classroom as Mr Fraser ended the lesson.

Ah, youre so funny, Track Girl, said Chanel, leaving the room, her flock sniggering behind her.

No. Im not funny, Breeze murmured. James Corden: funny, Kojo Anim: funny. Breeze knew that she wasnt funny, and that was ok. Breeze also knew that she was a Track Girl and being called one wasnt a problem. However, as much as Breeze loved being on the track and it was one of the few places where she felt like she actually belonged, she knew that Chanel didnt call her Track Girl because she admired her athletic ability, but rather because she could not remember Breezes name, and that was not ok.