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...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Following the single slab concrete path away from the media block, I lower my head as if dodging sniper fire, which is often how it feels to be here at Southbrook college. Especially after a long weekend. Everyone's way too chummy or keen to hear the latest gossip and catch up.
And for those fortunate enough to indulge in the April heatwave that continues to rage on, it's also the perfect opportunity to show off their newly acquired golden tans.
I, on the other hand am still as pink as the day I was born and since the last time I blushed. And I'm not at all keen to catch up or be caught up in any small talk. I'd much rather make my escape for the day after suffering through a stuffy afternoons media lesson.
But the dance and drama students are out in force on the green lawns, practicing and perfecting their choreography for Southbrook's annual end of summer term charity talent show. Some have staked claim to the sheltered entrances by the classrooms but most bask in the intense sunlight. And I give them short thrift too.
For all I know Maddie could be lurking behind human pyramids and flying high kicks or amongst the small group recreating a Run-D.M.C style break dance battle with wild abandon.
I hot foot it quickly along the concrete slabs, towards the main entrance and the freedom I've been yearning for since Sunday night. I'm cautious to still keep my head down too, along with the hem of a pastel patterned sundress chucked on in a hurry this morning when at loss for what to wear for the twelfth day of unrelenting heat. Everything else I own's now either at the bottom of the bigger than normal wash pile or stained with sweat and left to decorate my bedroom floor.
Just like the back of my neck is now and my top lip as the scenes of Southbrook's creatively talented students play out before me. It's overwhelming and kind of exhausting to try and pretend not to notice them or music students who are out on the lawns too, harmonising and chasing melodies. My stomach sinks in the memory of how it once felt to sing out loud and to do so with confidence like no one's watching and not to care, even if they were.
And I wonder - though it's never been helpful - what 'alternate reality' Josie might be doing right now instead of fleeing for home, to wallow with an ice lolly and last night's TV movie. If maybe she'd be right there with them, singing out at the top of her lungs with cheeks hot only from the sun, and not from some pathetically and ironically named condition, like ICE.
Maybe she'd be happy. And have friends.
And she wouldn't feel so alone.
But then, I remember the other reason why my tummy perhaps feels twisted in knots - anticipation. The can't-think-about-much-else consuming kind.
