Seventeen-year old first year college student Josie Clarke would prefer not to blush the colour crimson at every little thing, but Idiopathic Craniofacial Erythema, a chronic facial condition doesn't play fair.
In fact, it's as uncontrollable...
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"Cool t-shirt Josie."
Three simple words spark three thousand degrees worth of heat to erupt from my cheeks.
Mr. Cockburn - call me Jamie - nods towards my chest, before realising it'll spark an even worse reaction. Quickly, he clears his throat and turns his attention back to my sketchbook open on the desk.
Poor guy probably thinks he'll have to call for an ambulance again.
"Thanks," I say in mumbled reply.
It's just a t-shirt for gods sake, get a grip, I tell myself, wishing that I'd now let mum sell her old Blondie band t-shirt last summer at a local car boot instead of insisting she give it to me.
It had actually taken a ton of effort to convince her that I knew who they were but also how it wouldn't just be garnish for all the other clothes on my bedroom floor.
Of course today would have to be the day Ichoosewear it with my dark denim skirt and pair of black buckled Mary Janes - another save of mine from the car boot. How was I supposed to know that Jamie would comment on my fashion choices and trigger a tsunami of blushes?
Now, with hindsight ringing in my ears, I wish I'd chosen something much less worthy of attention or compliments. However nice I'd felt leaving the house this morning wearing a piece of musical memorabilia, it pales in comparison to the burning now in my cheeks and a top lip sweat. Which will most likely linger on for the rest of my media tutorial.
And because of this as I continue to squirm in my chair, in Jamie's small office tacked onto the side of the media learning area, I find it hard to concentrate. Especially when he talks about how he likes my ideas and research with a big goofy grin.
I really wish he'd stop with that - the grins and warm smiles. They all too easily fire up memories of Emily-Jay and Sara from my class, and all their many observations about him.
Like how he always looks like he's just come back from some exotic holiday. His skin golden, glowing. How it compliments his dark hair, swept to the side and scruffy stubble.
Sara often likes to loudly obsess over the quick flash of a bicep tattoo he once treated the class to when plugging in a new computer monitor. She says he has thick wrists, which apparently can mean only one thing.
Sara also likes to call him Mr. Cockburn. Drawing out the syllables with a flirtatious rasp when asking for his help or gossiping about his baby blue eyes. Her excuse is that she's terribly 'forgetful' but we all know she's not.
Emily-Jay defends their opportunistic perving by repeating the fact that he's not a 'real' teacher, nor is he old and greying like the ones we used to have back at Southbrook High.
