Could that be enough?

I am a Picasso painting. Different and a little strange. The world thinks a Picasso Painting is beautiful, but for some reason, I’m not. The mantra I’ve had since we learnt about Picasso in 6th grade art replays through my head as I shuffle in the plastic seat on the edge of the field. It’s still hard to believe I’m here.

  

When Adam brought home the sign up sheet, my parents were ecstatic. Naturally, I seized the opportunity and brought home one of my own. Got the signature, picked up a uniform and here I am. One step closer to being more like my brother.

  

The electrical scoreboard changes to say “TRACK AND FIELD RUN”. Adam taps my shoulder and I stuffed the pen I was doodling w6ith into my shorts pocket and walked with him toward the track. 

“Excited Zo?” Adam asks.

“A bit nervous,” I admit. “You?”

I take one last look at my parents standing on the bleachers, their necks craned above the other parents to get a good look at the tracks. I know they’re really here to watch Adam but once in awhile their gazes flicker to me. If this is how Adam feels every day, I’d love to be him. Through the gaps in the wide steps, I see a colourful banner rippling in the wind. The art exhibition banner is perfectly in my field of view. reminding me of the missed chance to showcase the painting I was so proud of, and for what? To be more like my perfect twin brother. 

“RUNNERS, TAKE YOUR POSITIONS!” 

I try to mirror the awkward position Adam is hunched over in. Butterflies began to grow restless in the pit of my stomach. 

“Ready...”

I study the track laid out ahead of me.

“Set…”

I look over at Adam who is muttering silent words. Planning his course or singing a Christmas song. You never know with that kid. 

“Go!”

   

I run as soon as the flags go down, but I’m already falling behind. Adam sprints past me and runs toward the first hurdle. He stretches his legs and leaps over it, while I pause and take a slow, clumsy step over it. He gracefully slides beneath the second hurdle, but I crawl on all fours. Seeing him do this race almost effortlessly makes my chest feel heavy, but I try to swallow it down and keep my eyes on the finish. The final obstacle, a skipping rope, lies in a knot at the end of the track. It’s emerald green. The colour of my favourite shirt and the base for so many of paintings, especially watercolours. Stupidly, I` think it’s the universe trying to send me a message. But all that tells me is that I’ve been watching too many episodes of Once Upon A Time. The rest of the ropes are the same colour... and the rest of the ropes are already in the air. Over, under, over, under and they’re all down again. 

Blood rushes through my cheeks as I fumble with the tangles in the rope. Cheers ripple across the crowds, telling me that at least one runner has made past the finish line. Cheer after cheer, clap after clap until I am left standing alone in the middle of the lanes. I really feel like a Picasso painting now. Hanging in a museum with thousands of pairs of eyes boring into me. My legs feel like jelly, but I jog off the track with my head down. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see sad smiles and a few chuckles aimed at me as I continue to the bleachers. My parents nor Adam are there to confront me. Instead, they’re standing in all their pride and glory at the podium, oblivious to me, their daughter dying of humiliation in the bleachers. 

     

My feet scrape against the shiny silver metal and I feel warm tears sting my eyes. I shouldn't be here and I know it. I was never expecting to win but I should have known that I couldn't do it. I tried my best to be the best person I could be, and from what I knew, that was the female version of Adam. Adam got good grades; I studied all night for each of my tests. Adam was popular in school and amongst adults; I made a special effort to look nice at every event my family and I went to. Adam was good at sports; I signed up for this stupid sports event. People even said Adam had a nice face; I looked like a lizard and we were supposed to be twins!  And now I had humiliated myself in front of so many people and they couldn’t care less. I try again to look for my parents and I feel even more regret when I see them staring at me from next to the podium. Fake smiles and laser eyes. 

After what seems like forever, Adam, his friend and a girl whose name I think is Jenna step onto the podium. My parent’s chests are puffed out with pride when they embrace him, making their way to the bleachers practically skipping. His gold medal gleams against his chest.

“Hey, Zo. How’d it go?” Adam asks, taking advantage of the rhyme.

“Just fine,” I reply, hoping the brains he uses to get straight A’s to understand my sarcastic tone. 

Using one ear, I hear the conversation my parents are having with some other mums and dad’s come to an end.

“Zoya.” My father’s deep voice sends a shiver down my spine. 

He looks more humiliated then I do, it breaks my heart. Not because I disappointed him, though, but because even changing who I am wasn’t enough for him. For anybody, really.

“How come you didn’t finish the race?”

“Sorry.” I simply mumble in reply.

I look up just to see my mother gracefully climb up toward us. Her heels clang against the metal, creating an eerie sound worthy of the moment. 

She says, “You didn’t have to win Zoya, just try.”

Read: Finish the race and win. Possibly come second to let your brother get gold. I 

look back down at my toes.

“Zoya.” My mother's repeated more sternly.

I feel my anger and humiliation rise up in me.

“I said I’m sorry,” I say through clenched teeth, but my anger doesn’t compute. “You wanted to me to try right? I did, I tried. But I failed and now you’re mad at me?”

“Zo, they aren’t mad. No one is.” Adam steps in.

I want to give him a tight slap right now. Maybe I will after I’m done with my parents.

“He’s right, Zoya. And besides, we never asked you to sign up.” My father says.

“You. You didn’t ask me to sign up? You seriously believe that.” I laugh sadly. “You just want me to be like Adam. So smart, so polite, so popular, so athletic. I tried to be like Adam, but just because we’re twins does NOT MEAN WE ARE THE SAME PERSON!”

My mother looks taken aback and my father mirrors her expression. Adam nervously fiddles with his thermos cap. 

I turn away from them and bend down to get a sip of water. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the art banner being taken off the school entrance. If my memory serves me correct, the exhibition is over and the art department must be cleaning up now... I turn around to face my parents again, and they are staring at me, fuming. Without a word of explanation, I trudge down the bleachers. 

 “Zoya! Where do you think you’re going?” My mother calls in a shrill voice.

“Leaving you to celebrate with your perfect son!”

I make my way through the maze of people, lunchboxes and sports bags. The other spectators are too busy watching the next event to notice. The fence isn't that far way from our spot and all it takes is a smile at the volunteer to get out of the field. The walk towards the school building is slow. I take my time to enjoy the mostly silent atmosphere and also to make sure that the building is fully empty. Like I expected, I hear no footsteps approaching from behind me. 

As I walked into the first hallway filled with artwork, the overwhelming smell of oil and acrylic paint wafted up my nose. It wasn’t the most pleasant of smells, but better than the stench of teenage body odour that normally filled the school walls. I recognise some of the art hanging in elaborate frames. Jack’s abstract collage, Anya’s peacock watercolour. I also happen to recognise the lady standing at the end of the hallway pulling frames off the wall. My art teacher Mrs Tampa. Instinctively, I shove myself against a wall, as quiet as possible. 

“Tale as old as time. True as it can be…” She sang to herself as she worked. 

Mrs Tampa was the human version of a Disney princess. Kind and happy, and always singing some classic Disney song. She had rich chocolate skin and hazel eyes that resembled a paint palette. The edge of a gold frame digs into my neck, but I try not to make a sound until she walks into one of the empty classrooms. But Mrs Tampa still has 20 paintings left to take down, some of which are right next to me. 

“Zoya?” she said, eyes widened in surprise.

“Um…yeah?” I reply awkwardly, stepping away from the wall.

“How come you weren’t at the exhibition today?” She says, cutting right to the chase.

I notice a small hint of disappointment in her voice and I try to cover my sports uniform and wipe the sweat from my hairline- but it was obvious where I’d been.

“Sorry, Mrs Tampa. I’m just here to collect my painting.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from saying something awkward. 

She puts her palm up and unhooks a painting from behind her. “The Troubled Heart”. 

Somebody put a simple wooden frame around the canvas. In the dim light of the hallway, you can barely tell the blues, greys, blacks and that one spot of red. Mrs Tampa hands the painting over to me, a small smile dancing on her lips. 

“How come you were at the sports event?” She asks, knowing me well enough to know that I don’t do sports. 

“My brother was going, so I guess I, um, kinda decided to tag along, I guess…” I reply hesitantly. 

“Well, I’m sorry you missed the exhibition. Did you win anything?” she asks.

“No. But my brother-”

“Zoya.” she interrupts. “You’re art was beautiful. So many people complimented it, it was one of the stars.”

“Thank you, but-”

“Zoya.” She interrupts again. “Adam’s piece didn’t even make it to the exhibition.”

Mrs Tampa is one of my favourite teachers. She understands my love of art and always helped me nurture it. She didn’t care what I averaged in Math or Science, she cared about what I loved to do. But she didn’t know that what I loved to do wasn’t enough. What she didn’t know was that art was just art.

“You are a very talented young lady. Your brother is talented too. You’re just, different.” 

I look up at Mrs Tampa, frowning. Talented, I think. Humph. 

“Think about that.” She says before knotting up her burgundy scarf. “Also. Reflection is due on Tuesday!” She adds as she walks into a classroom filled with art. 

The wood of the frame grows cold in my hands as I turn around and exit the hallway. I can hear cheers and shouts in the field, fists rising above the green wire fence. 

I don’t want to walk back, so I try again to walk as slowly as possible. Mrs Tampa was right when she said Adam wasn’t selected, but it didn’t matter when you saw how many things he was picked for. I was regretting going in now to collect my art, dreading the look on my parent's face. I hold the canvas out in front of me. Studying the grey background, blue waves and red lily floating on the sea. The volunteer who let me out earlier is now standing at the gate as a few families dribble out of the stadium. They laugh and smile, most of them cradling medals in their palms. Among them are my parents. I pause in my tracks, which is hard considering the almost unbearable smell of sweat floating around me. My mother’s perfectly manicured nails are wrapped around the strap of my duffel. She turns head to the left and the right, probably looking for me, but she misses me by an inch. 

“Hey Zo.” 

I spin around to see a grinning Adam looking straight at me. My gaze flickers once more to the gleaming gold circle bouncing on his chest.

“We’ve been looking for you. Where you been?”

The canvas and frame in my hand, tagged with the exhibition logo answer his question for me.

“You’re art got into the exhibition!” he exclaims, sounding like a proud father. 

“Course’ my art got in, doofus.” I replied snarkily, but what I really want to say is “I know right! I can't believe people actually thought it was good!”

He frowns at me for a second, then opens his mouth to call for my parents. ”Mom! I found Zoya!” 

I quickly slap my hand over his mouth, my eyes widened in fear. He says something, but it's too muffled to make out. 

“Adam, wait. I’m sorry.” I say shyly as I remove my hand from his face.

“For what?”

“For humiliating you. And myself. And Mom and Dad. I just wanted to be more like you.” The words pour out of my lips like water. 

“What? Why would you want to be more like me?”

I make a face at him that says ‘seriously dude’, but before I can say more my mom rushes towards the two of us with my dad in tow. 

“Zoya! Where have you been?” they both say, exasperated.

I don’t reply. My mother's gaze flicks towards the back of the wooden frame and her eyebrows rise a few centimetres.

“I went to get my art.”

“Art?” my father asks.

“ Zoya’s art got hand picked for the art exhibition at school!” Adam jumps in.

Out of the corner of my eyes I flash him a glare. But still, I look towards my parents, hoping they congratulate me or make some kind of compliment. No matter how small. That would make my day, possibly even my year. Of course, they say nothing.

“Let’s just go home.” I murmur.

The parking lot is crammed with people. As I wait for a couple of cars to pass, I tilt the canvas back and study my painting. If you squint hard enough, you can see the layers of charcoal and paint. I worked for months on the same painting, aiming to achieve perfection. But this time it wasn't for Adam, my parents or my confidence. It was because I loved to do it.

“It really is a good painting Zo. I wish I could do that.” Adam says.

I smile over my shoulder at him. I shouldn't hate him. I know I shouldn’t. He is not the one who’s been making me compare myself to him for all these years, but he’s the reason for it. 

“I spent days doing this Adam. But they only see the medals you win.”

They only see gold if it’s a hung on a piece of fabric. Once more, I tilt the canvas away from my body. I really am proud of his painting and it almost takes away all the anger and humiliation I feel. 

“You’re art was beautiful. So many people complimented it, it was one of the stars.” was what Mrs Tampa has said to me and suddenly, I know why the athletes that stand on the podium are always wearing big smiles. 

The feeling of joy and realisation must have shown on my lips as Adam smiles and lifts his medal off his head. My head spins towards him as he reaches out and hangs the green and blue ribbon with the gold disc on the corner of the frame.

“It really is a good painting Zo. Also, I call shotgun!” he calls as he crosses the parking lot and jumping into the front seat. 

I am a Picasso painting. Different and a little strange. The world thinks a Picasso Painting is beautiful. But I’m beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I could be too. 

by: Raniyah Basheer

Dancing to the Wrong Tune

     She sat cross legged watching people enter with their mothers. A year ago she would have broken down to tears but she had changed. She had grown to live with the fact that her mother was gone. The mentioning of the incident or her mother struck her for a few moments but the recovery was fairly quick. Losing your mother at the age of 6 was a traumatising experience you could not get over. Or so everyone said. For better or worse she barely remembered her mother.
     The music was slow but as the songs changed, the beat slowly increased. She was at school, where she had no friends and had nothing to do for the next how many ever hours. Oh and also, it was a mother and child dance. She was like a fish in a vast unfamiliar sea of loneliness.
     She got up to get another glass of watermelon juice. It was weird that they were serving it at such an event. She loved it. Refreshing and sweet. This was her third glass. She had no idea that this was supposed to be a mother and child dance. She wished she were at home, watching Modern Family with her dad, rather than stuck at a place where she knew no one and felt extremely uncomfortable. Her father was busy at a conference and she could not take a cab home, alone. Looked like she was stuck there.
     She sat back down and glanced at the footwear of the other girls. Formal shoes. She rolled her eyes. No way. The only thing she was comfortable in and wore were sneakers. She didn’t get the whole heel and fancy shoes thing. They were so uncomfortable, why would people wear them? Looks first, then comfort? She did not understand that concept.
     She was sitting alone on the benches they had put up on the sides. She felt like she was a chicken amongst a flock of geese. She did not belong. She could not fly.
     Everyone would glance at her and give her a curious look every now and then. She wished she was back in Australia, around her friends, who she was familiar with and used to dancing around with. Alas, she was not, so she would have to deal with what she had got.
     Beverly was there with her mother, both of them wearing really pretty and, she guessed expensive, looking dresses. Beverly was rubbing her hand on her other arm, insecurely, while looking around. She guessed it was because none of Beverly’s friends were there yet. She got up and walked around the hall counting the number of people that had come while simultaneously looking for Oliver, a guy in her science class. He seemed like a funny, careless kind of guy and she sort of had a crush on him… She was disappointed when she wasn’t able to find him. However, she did see Katreena, someone she knew fairly well, but Katreena was surrounded by some of her friends. She started to make her way towards them, but changed her mind as she thought to herself, probably shouldn’t.
     Everyone had come with their mothers. She started thinking about her own and painfully pushed the thought at the back of her mind. What was the point of making herself feel even worse? She went to refill her glass when the felt a tap on her shoulder.
     She turned around hoping it was Oliver, and started, “Ol…”
     Disappointment and she was pretty sure it showed on her face. The person was not Oliver, but Beverly.
     “Hoping it was someone else?” asked Beverly with a curious grin.
     She wanted to roll her eyes but resisted it. She realised that she had subconsciously started clenching her fists.
     “Doesn’t matter,” said she in a plain tone.
     “How are you liking the party? My family sponsors it, you know.” bragged Beverly.
     “Oh, really? It's nice,” she said looking away, clearly uninterested.
     Like you contributed a damn, she thought to herself.
     With a slightly astonished look on her face, Beverly said, “Just nice? Whatever. Where’s your mother?”
     She was taken aback it, took her a moment to reply, “What does it matter to you?”
     “You’re right,” said Beverly, wondering why she was talking to her and ran off to catch up with one of her friends.
     She stood there awkwardly for some time before making her next move. She went to one of the event posters to find out when this dreaded thing would end. 8:30? No way. That’s 2 hours more… She headed back to benches, where she removed her vintage phone to see if she had any missed calls or text messages. Of course not. Who would be texting her? It costs a lot to send a text from Australia to France, so none of her friends would be messaging her. She did not have 3G, so her WhatsApp would not be working. She knew that, but it was a weak yet safe move when you did not know what to do.
     Then, she noticed one of the teachers walking up to her. She quickly put a smile on her face.
     “Is everything okay?” he asked
     “Yup I’m good,” she lied.
     “Where’s your mother?” he continued to inquire.
     She hesitated but quickly replied saying, “She’s in the toilet.”
     “Okay, enjoy,” he said walking away.
     She sighed. She went to one of the corners and leaned against one of the walls. She thought about her 13th birthday celebration. Soothing. Surrounded by familiar faces, people she loved to be around, people she could be herself with. Not just girls, though. She had outgrown that stage of thinking girls was the only people to befriend. In fact, some of her best friends were guys. But that was Australia. This was France. She realised that she needed to stop comparing the two. It was like Chinese food and Italian food. Both equally good but very different.
     She let her eyes pass over the faces of the people around her. All of them were happy. Am I the only one who isn't enjoying this? she thought to herself… or so she felt.
     “Nope, you’re not the only one,” said a familiar voice.
     She hadn't seen him walk over to her. It was Oliver. “Oliver,” she said, astonished and rather loudly.
     She had had been talking out loud. She felt a drop a water fall on her hand. She hadn’t realised, but she had been crying.
     “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his face showing his concern.
     “Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine. Or rather, I’m a mess,” she stuttered rather fast.
     She closed her eyes, drew a breath and calmed herself. She could not make a mess of in front of him. He rubbed his hand on her shoulder.
     “It’s okay you can tell me,” he said with a reassuring smile.  
     They walked toward the juice stall. He poured a glass of watermelon juice and offered it to her. Quite the gentleman, she thought to herself.
     “I’ve had enough of that for the night,” she said with a smirk. She was sure that many other people were watching and whispering to each other, coming up with ridiculous theories. She did not dare look. Right now she really didn't give a damn about them or their opinions.
     “So… You’re the new girl, from science class? What’s up?” he asked.
     She looked at him and said, “I have recently moved from Australia, left my life, my friends and everything behind. I want to go back desperately but I can’t because of my dad’s new job. I am not fitting in and do not have any friends here.”
     “Oh… and what about your mother? Is she here?” he asked.
     She looked at him with tears in her eyes and said slowly, “A drunk driver did not bother to stop for a red light, and collided with my mother's car. He died on the spot and she died a few days later, blunt force trauma.”
     He was taken aback, as he looked at her with a pitiful yet apologetic look.
     “I am so sorry,” he said emphasising the word ‘so’.
     “Ah, I feel like a jerk,” he said looking away, not bearing to look at her directly.
     “It’s okay Oliver, you didn't know,” she said with a half smile. Slowly he raised his head and got his eyes to meet hers.
     “And what about you? You should get back to your mother, she will be missing you,” she said.
     “My parents got a divorce. My mom left when I was born. Never seen her since,” he said, but surprisingly not he did not seem very sad.
     “I just came cause I had nothing better to do and my dad is at some conference,” he continued.
     “Ha. My dad is also at a conference. I wonder if they are at the same one,” she said surprised.
     They looked at each for a few seconds without a word before Oliver broke it off by saying,
     “Hey, do you want to go outside? Grab some fresh air?”
     It took her a moment to register. She then blurted out, “Sure.”
     He seemed happy by her response.
     “But there’s one problem…,” she said, “There are teachers ‘guarding’ the exits. How will we get past them?”
     He just gave her a smile and said, “Leave that up to me.”

     They sneaked past the crowd walking close together. Her heart was racing. He was really cute and she loved that he was sort of sensitive but also had a wild side. It was definite. She had a crush on him… They were heading close to the exits. Oh no… It was Ms.Audrey. Ms.Audrey was one of the very few teachers that she did not like. The strict teacher raised a suspicious eyebrow as they approached.
     Oliver quickly said in an alarming voice, “ Ms.Audrey, Jace has had a bit too much of the watermelon juice and looks like he is gonna throw up on someone.”
     Ms.Audrey’s face lit up in tension. She shouted, “Oh no he won’t.” before running toward the hall. She was on the planning committee for the event and was somewhat of a perfectionist. I guess that’s what most art teachers are like though. He snickered and she laughed.
     “I can’t believe she fell for that,” she said cracking up.
“We better hurry before she comes back,” he said holding the door open for her.

     They scrambled out the door and out into the chilly night air. As she stepped out, she felt her sneakers come in contact with the ground. It was not hard and her foot went through. She looked down and realised it was not the ground she had come in contact with, but snow. The first snow of winter. Her first contact with the snow. She picked up some with her hands and then closed her palms around it.
     “I know a good place,” he said.
     She ran behind him smiling. He was taking her through a whole new area in her school. There were too many stairs to climb, and she had to clamber up the last few flights. As they pushed the door open, a brisk breeze brushed past them, blowing her hair in weird positions. She laughed. He turned around to see what was going on and then cracked up. He walked up to her and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked down to hide her goofy smile. She was pretty sure her face was as red as it could be. She looked up at him. He was already pulling up two chairs from a stack by the door. She didn't know why the chairs were up there and didn't want to ask. They sat down and started, off into the distance. You could see most of the campus from up there. She hadn't realised how nice it was.
     “I love coming up here when I am frustrated or angry, it’s calming, not that I’m frustrated right now or anything,” he said breaking the silence.
     “I figured,” she said with a smile. The sun had nearly finished dipping in the end of the tree line. The branches lowering with the weight of the snow piled on it. There were clouds all over the sky, the rainy kind. The colours from the edges of the sun bounced off the clouds, radiating colours. She had never really appreciated the sunset here in France.
     “So, tell me more about yourself, but first let me tell you something, so you know you have leverage over me in case you think I can’t keep it secret.” he said.
     “Okay, go ahead,” she said, curious about what he was going to say. This was the part where the guy tells his friend that he is a serial killer in the movies. But this wasn’t a movie and she was glad it was actually happening.
     “I don’t know whether or not you have heard but last year ‘someone’ put slime in Beverly’s locker. That someone was me. I probably shouldn’t have, as she didn’t shut up for days about it.” he said his face momentarily in deep thought.
     She laughed. “I’m glad you did. I loathe her. Fake, desperate and unnecessarily mean,” she said wrinkling her nose.
     “I…” he started, “ I kinda HAD a crush on her…”
     Her mouth dropped open. Dropped in a way that a person would if they saw their friend covered in muck.
     “No way.” she said smiling, but her eyes still showing that she couldn’t believe it.
     “I know, I know. It was back in 5th grade. But then I realised she is everything you said she is,” he said. “But come on don’t tell me you’ve never had a crush on anyone and, later on, think that you must have been crazy,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
     She looked at him guiltily and said, “ Okay fine. I have. But she is definitely horrid.”
     They both laughed. She had finally found a friend. Someone, she could tell anything. Almost anything…
     “Did you have a boyfriend back in Australia?” he asked, and she felt for the first time, that he seemed sort of serious. She made a gagging sort of noise.
     “What,” she was taken aback by his question.“No I did not,” she said, “What about you? Ever dated someone?”
     “Me? Nope. No girl’s gonna go out with me,” he snickered.
     “Oh shut up. I don’t believe that for a second,” she said, unconvinced.
     “Seriously I’m not lying,” he laughed.
     “Okay but I’m sure plenty of girls have a crush on you,” she said.
     “You’ve met the girls in our grade right. 90% are so immature, I’m surprised they function,” he said.
     “That is true,” she admitted.
     They looked at each other, eye to eye, neither of them looking away. There was a soft chirping of a bird in the distance.
     “That’s a Montagu’s Harrier,” she said.
     “What?” he asked, puzzled.
     “You hear that chirping? That bird is a Montagu’s Harrier,” she said.

     “Ah. How do you know that?” he asked.
     “I love birds. Their sizes, their colours and most of all their wings. One of my favourite things about France is, that there are hundreds of species that transit here while migrating.”
     “That's pretty interesting,” he admitted.
     It was then he noticed her shoes.
     “You’re wearing sneakers?” he asked.
     “Yup. They are so comfy and they look pretty good. Well, probably not as good as the ones the girls down there are wearing, but definitely more comfy.”
     He looked at her and smiled.
     “You are very very interesting.” he said laughing.
     “Interesting? That’s a safe comment to use. It could mean you think I’m a freak or that I am super cool.” she said, smirking.
     “Um… probably the latter,” he said resting his chin on his hand.
     Then they heard the music from the hall becoming softer.
     “We better get back soon,” he said getting up.
     “Okay, it is getting colder,” she admitted and followed him.
     They tried all of the entrances. Finally, on the last one, they had an open window. Mr. Butch probably went to the toilet.
     They sneaked right back in time to hear one of the teachers announce, “ We are going to have a bit of a twist now. Mothers, please follow Ms. Audrey. She will take you to the exam room for a rest and refreshments,” she paused, and then said, “Now for you teenagers.”
     She gave her audience a naughty smile and then shrieked, “You guys are going to be dancing with each other. Guys with girls and vice-versa. You have 15 minutes find a partner. GO.”
     It took everyone some time to process what was going on. Then suddenly someone said, “Will you dance with me?” and there was a reply of, “Yes.”
     That got everybody moving. There was utter chaos. Guys going around asking girls, and girls standing close to they guys they want to dance with, hoping that they would ask them.
     She and Oliver looked at each other and smiled.
     Oliver raised an eyebrow, biting his lower lip out of tension, and she said with emphasis, “Well duh. But… you have to teach me how to do that.” She raised both her eyebrows, failing to raise only one. He laughed but then looked down sadly.
     “What happened?” she inquired, her voice full of concern.
     He looked up at her, embarrassed, “I… I can’t dance.”
     He covered his face with one hand, an embarrassed smile on his lips.
     “It’s okay, you’ll be fine. All you really need to do is bounce and sway,” she said as though it was the simplest thing to do.
     “Right…” he murmured hesitantly.
     They headed closer to the stage where all the pairs had gathered. She looked around. ‘Ha,’ she thought to herself as she noticed more pairs than she had imagined there would have been. Unfortunately, her eyes landed on Beverly. She was slowly approaching her, stealing glances to Oliver. ‘Oh my god. She wants Oliver to ask her out.’ When it was announced that there were 5 minutes left, almost everyone was in pairs. Beverly wasn’t. Eventually, she approached Oliver and looked at him awkwardly for a moment, probably expecting him to ask her. When he didn't she did.
     “Hey Oliver,” said Beverly. “Will you be my partner?”.
     “Oh… Hey…” said Oliver slowly, “I am with Sophia. Sorry…”    
     That was the first time he had used her name. She was surprised he knew it, as did not recall telling him before...
     Beverly looked stunned.
     “She can find someone…” said Beverly briskly, quickly glancing at her in disgust.
     “Else? Yeah, she can. But I want to dance with her. Not, you. You should find someone else.” replied Oliver strongly.
     Beverly looked like he had slapped her. She opened her mouth to say something but then stormed out the room. Sophia was awestruck. She was sure he would have left her for Beverly. She was also sure there was the goofiest possible smile on her face right now but she didn't care.
     “Right… She’s one horrible, brain-dead moron,” said Oliver rolling his eyes. “Don’t listen to her okay?”
     “Thank you for that,” she whispered, suddenly conscious about the fact that everyone was looking at them.
     “You don’t have to thank me,” he said
     “Let’s get this started,” said an over enthusiastic voice over the microphone.
     The lights suddenly changed colour. Neon green, blue and red. The DJ changed the track and an unexpected, upbeat rhythm started playing. Oliver held out a hand and bent down a bit. She blushed. She held her chin up, bent with both legs and took his hand. What followed was a blur of great music, a handsome face, a bouncing crowd and utter fun. The utter fun she hadn’t had in a long time. The utter fun she needed.
     Eventually, she got a text from her dad that read,
     Hey sweetie, just finished. Are you having fun? Will be there to pick you up soon.
     “What happened?” screamed Oliver over the music.
     “Nothing, just my dad. He's gonna pick me up soon,” she said.
     “Oh… okay,” said Oliver realising what the time was.
     “This is the last song for tonight,” announced the DJ.
     The crowd responded with a loud ‘Boo.’
     The DJ played the song.
     “Oh my God. I know this song. The name starts with a ’s’. Ugh,” she said, frustrated. Oliver listened for a few seconds.
     “It’s Timber by Pitbull and it starts with a ’t’,” he said shaking his head, but smiling.
     “Right… I don’t really listen to music,” she said and shrugged.
     “You what? We are not finished with this conversation,” he said loudly, with utter shock showing all over his face.
     The beat kicked in. The crowd went wild. ‘I guess I could right now, no one is really looking.’ she thought to herself. Then she let loose. She was like a tornado trapped in for too long. Shaking her head, rising and falling. Enjoying herself. The song slowed and eventually stopped. A few minutes later the mothers re-entered the hall. Everyone started saying their goodbyes and were leaving. A few minutes later she felt her phone buzz. Her dad had reached.
     “Hey Oliver, my dad has come to pick me up. I have to leave,” she said.
     “Oh okay. I’ll walk you there, I have to take a cab anyway,” said Oliver
     As they were walking Oliver said, “Hey listen, give me your number. I’ll message you some time,”
     “You do that,” she said entering her number in his smartphone.
     As they reached the gate they stopped as they had to now go different ways.
     “I had a great time this evening. Well the second half of it,” she said.
     “Me too,” said Oliver smiling.
     Then one of them went for a hug and the other a handshake. They laughed and then hugged.
     “See you around,” said Oliver turning around to leave.
     She smiled and headed to the Mini Cooper parked at the end of the road.
     “Hey sweetie, how was it?” asked her father. She thought for a moment. “It was pretty good, I made my first friend.”

- Raoul Shah

Robin Without A Hood

Robin stepped up onto the steep, slippery steps of the bus. She shivered and sighed. It’s ok, she thought to herself, if you managed to survive the day, it’s ok. The thunder grumbled as if it were tired of Robin kidding herself. It started to drizzle. She looked around the bus, her eyes darted from face to face, desperately looking for an empty seat, a kind soul willing to give up their space. She saw her chemistry partner, Neil, and made eye contact for three whole seconds before she broke their stare and looked down at her feet. She hadn’t even noticed the empty seat next to him until he waved her over. The rain started to pour down onto the tiny bus, which made little tapping noises against the metallic hull of the bus.

Neil took one glance at the new girl and knew that she was lost and that she was pretty. He also knew that if he let her sit next to him, he’d be crushed by Brandon, Jordan and Sasha, the cool kids who sat at the back of the bus, and if he just left her there, she’d be the one getting crushed. You know what choice to make! shouted the voice inside his head. Neil looked at her once more, sighed quietly and signaled to her to quickly take the seat next to him before the ‘cool’ kids saw her. What are you getting yourself into? his voice hissed as he squished against the seat to let her pass through.

Robin looked at Neil for the hundredth time in 5 minutes. Gosh, what has gotten into you lately? her conscience said. I don’t know she admitted. Instead of looking back up at him she looked at the window and sighed, watching as her breath fogged up the glass.

Meanwhile, Neil had been busy pulling out his science book. If I could just maybe convince her that I’m smart, maybe she might like me? That would definitely boost my street cred if only Brandon and Jordan could see her the way I do he thought to himself.

Just talk to him already! Robin was getting annoyed at herself for trying to fight against her shyness, and apparently, she was winning. Look, all you have to do is talk to him. Can you manage that? Or are you too scared? What have you got to lose? Does this mean you can’t take a dare anymore? Robin was breathing faster and faster and her heart leapt in her chest, once, twice and adrenaline was pulsing through her veins. Then she stopped and thought to herself, this is what I need every day she thought to herself. Confidence and bravery. She smiled. Robin lived in the moment for a second or two, forgetting about her worries before being torn away from that small moment by a violent bump which made her knock the side of her head against the window. Thud. Did I attract his attention by doing that? He probably thinks I’m a total klutz. The pleasant thought seemed to melt away while Neil’s friends teased him.

Neil tried to block out the horrible sound of people laughing at him. He scrunched his eyes shut and when he heard Jordan shouting. “Since when does Neil do homework on the bus?” He dug his nails so hard into his palms that four tiny crescents formed and would probably stay there for a good half an hour.
     “Yeah. Isn’t he supposed to be a bad boy or something? I heard that the teachers were getting sick of his attitude towards his classes.” chuckled Brandon.
     “THAT WASN’T ME! I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING WRONG TO YOU SO YOU CAN JUST SHUT UP AND CONCENTRATE ON YOUR OWN PROBLEMS!” shouted Neil. Only, it was in his mind and that whole shouting scene had just given him a headache.
     “Wait, who’s that girl sitting next to him? Since when did Neil give up his ‘personal area’ seat?” squinted Sasha as she leaned forward and snickered at Robin. He closed his eyes, hoping that they would just be quiet but of course, they just continued.

Robin was suddenly awake. Her ‘super senses’ as she called them, had been breached and started to listen in to the conversations around her. “... stupid... weirdo... no friends…” Robin didn’t care who they were or whether they were talking to her or not, but she would give them a piece of her mind. As soon as she stood up, she was sat down again by one swift movement made by, Neil.

Neil didn’t know what went through his mind when he saw Robin standing up. Go girl! What do you think you’re doing? Such courage! Someone you should look up to! Whatever Neil was thinking, support or not, he just reached towards her shirt tail that wasn’t tucked in and pulled her down. She looked a little surprised, as if she didn’t expect someone like him to come and swoop in, just in time. She probably didn’t because Neil was in his own fantastical world, and nothing would stop him from being in it.

Dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Those were the things going through Robin’s head right now. She glanced again at Neil but he seemed to zone out to really be responsive like a normal human being, kind of like the zombies in her brother’s video game. Of course, they weren’t exactly ‘normal’ human beings, they were teenagers, but they definitely weren’t unique kind either. Maybe she should be the ‘unique’ one for a change. Robin was sick and tired of other people surprising her and just doing what was expected of them, that she decided that she would take a big risk for her, and a small change in the community around her. Actually, maybe a tiny change, or maybe just a small risk for her and that’s it. But she was going to do it. “Hi there” the girl whispers, her voice almost not being heard.

Suddenly Neil drops his book on the floor with a loud thud. All his worksheets fall out and his face turns to a bright shade of pink. Like a ripe strawberry. Everyone starts laughing again. Brandon is doubled up, Jordan is wheezing and Sasha is giggling like a maniac. Maybe he should have just had faith in her. What would have happened then?

Robin immediately bent down to help Neil. Not because she was just a genuinely nice person but because she was pink like a ripe strawberry. She had to hide her embarrassment someway. After All, she had caused his friends to laugh, him to drop his book and papers. So the least she could do was help him, right?

All of a sudden the bus took a sharp turn to the right. Robin toppled straight into Neil’s lap as he picked up his worksheets from the ground. For once, everything on the bus was completely silent. All you could hear were hearts beating.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Neil said and laughed and immediately stopped, embarrassed by what he said.
     “My pleasure,” Robin replied, smiling while squinting because of the sun. There was a pause.
     “Soooo...aren’t you my science partner?”
     “Haha, you just noticed?”
     “Yeah sorry, science isn’t really one of my favorite subjects,” Neil sighs and looks away.
     “Same,” Robin said. “You have a very warm lap,” she said, frowning slightly. Duh, it was because he was sitting in a hot bus.
     “Sorry,” Neil replied. Another pause.
     “Gosh, I’m making this so awkward, sorry,” Robin said, sitting upright and stroking the creases out of her shirt.
     “No it’s ok,” Neil said and immediately shut his mouth.
     “So, do you, at least, know my name?” asks Robin.
     “Uh…”Neil paused, thought for a while and then continued “Robin, right?”
     “Yup,” Robin said, “and you are Neil?”

     “The one and only,” Neil smiled a tight smile and stopped there. He didn’t mind talking to Robin but he was revealing more than he could have bargained for in the first place. She really did get people talking.
     “Look at them, they’re already best of friends!” cries Brandon, hysterically laughing.
     “Aren’t they so sweet, just look at them, falling into each others laps so to speak,” says Jordan, laughing at his own joke.

Neil was scrunching up his eyes again but Robin didn’t look at him. She was looking at Sasha and saw a strange emotion across her face. Sort of like a scowl but she was trying to hide it with an obviously huge fake smile. Like an unwanted friend. Robin shook her head and looked away, already she was processing the events that happened a few minutes ago but she wanted to let that load into her brain without reliving them. Instead of looking out of the window she looked at Neil. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?” Robin asked, quizzically.
     “As if you wouldn’t know,” said Neil, annoyed at the flat tone in his voice but unable to change it.
     “Well, maybe you just have your own story to back up onto.”
     “I suppose you would be right but it really isn’t a lot to lean onto.”
     “I’m listening.”
     “Well, they’re just plain old-”
     “bullies,” finished Robin.
     “Exactly.”
     “So why do they bother you?”
     “I don’t know, sometimes they don’t and sometimes they do, the only thing is they pick the bad days to pick on me and the good days to be nice so it doesn’t really make sense,” explained Neil.

     “You get it?”

     “Sort of...anyways, you want to know my trick?”
     “Sure...although I’m not sure it will help.”
     “Just ignore them, it’ll drive them crazy,” Robin smiled.

Neil thought about this for a while and smiled back at Robin and they were silent for a couple of seconds until Robin asked, “Do you know what stop I have to get off at to get to Willow Lane?”
     “Are you kidding me? That’s the same street I live in! What number?” Neil couldn’t help keeping the excitement out of his voice. He was jumping up and down.
     “Um, I think 47, you?” Robin asked, completely unaware of Neil’s antics but was also buzzing with excitement.
     “48! We’re neighbours!” Neil said triumphantly.
     “Aren’t the odd numbers on the other side of the evens?” Robin was happy that they were close, but her entire body just crippled.
     “Not at all,” Neil couldn’t stop himself grinning.
     “Why?” Robin always liked a little mystery.
     “Because there’s a forest on the other side.”
Robin squealed in delight. She could have hugged Neil. She loved the outdoors and as the bus slowed to a halt, they were already chatting about what they would do and out the door before Neil realised he had forgotten his science book on the bus.

- Margaud Nguyen

Body Image: What Are Your Beauty Standards?

The middle school student frowns every time she looks in the mirror. She hangs her head as she trudges through the halls, down the street, into her own home, ashamed by her own body. Why? Because she has, several times, been body shamed.

“We should support women and girls, encourage them into this crucial dialogue about beauty ideals, and keep them from shrinking away from life," Dr. Nancy Etcoff, a Harvard University professor says on the topic of women’s self-esteem. 

Undeniably so, teenage girls, especially in the 14-18 range, are presented with beauty and body standards that are so unrealistic that they are near impossible. It is proven that the results of these paragons are what generate self-hate for one’s body and makes one want to change themselves.

Young girls are constantly subjected to body standards that can lower their self-esteem and make them feel as if they aren’t good enough, which can be shown through an ad campaign gone terribly wrong. Victoria’s Secret released an ad for their new ‘Body’ lingerie line mid-October 2014. It featured the slogan ‘The Perfect “Body”’. The campaign immediately received backlash for the controversial tagline. Tweets, messages and posts were shared online regarding the ad. Some even went  as far as to write articles about it that were shared globally, an example being, “There is a line between aspiration and thinspiration, and this campaign clearly oversteps the mark,” columnist Sarah Vine writes in The Daily Mail. “As for their use of the word ‘perfect’, it’s not only offensive to the 99.9% of the female population who don’t share the models’ ‘perfect’ proportions, it’s also deeply irresponsible.”

But what is the cause for these body standards? How did they form? A group of students, both boys and girls, aged 13-14 were surveyed about today’s beauty standards and how they felt about it. One of the questions asked was; what do you think causes these beauty standards to form? The majority of the students responded with answers generally pointing to influence from social media, society and, shockingly, their peers.
62.5% of the children said that they had been told that their body needed to be a certain way and/or that they have experience being uncomfortable with their bodies. Even worryingly so, nearly 40% of the students admitted that they were not satisfied with the way they looked. It is definite that beauty standards exist and are caused by multiple sources but you may be surprised at what sort of impact they have on young girls’ lives. 

According to an article by Daily Mail UK, 2,000 teen girls of various ages were interviewed for research purposes in England and over a quarter of 14-year-olds revealed that they had once considered plastic surgery or taking diet/weight loss pills in order to slim down. Almost a fifth said they were going through an eating disorder, including very dangerous ones such as anorexia and bulimia. The effects of these sorts of eating disorders can cause rifts in young girls’ relationships and sometimes go to such an extent that they can prove to be fatal.

However, experts have been delving into how to avoid a corrupt body image and what prevents it from happening. One of the biggest influences on a girl’s body image is her mother, as said by Dr. Leslie Sim, clinical director of Mayo Clinic’s eating disorders program. "Moms are probably the most important influence on a daughter's body image. Even if a mom says to the daughter, 'You look so beautiful, but I'm so fat,' it can be detrimental." Typically, mothers are told to avoid talking about weight or anything related to their children, and  exposing them to a healthy lifestyle and realistic body image at a young age can prove to decrease their chances of wanting to go on diets, have eating disorders, and dislike their bodies. Dr. Nancy Etcoff’s take on this notion isn’t much different, "We know that women are longing for affirmation of their unique, individual beauty, both for themselves and for younger generations. The mother-daughter bond has great potential for empowering girls and making a real difference for future generations."

Still, with a number of negative influences and unrealistic standards, it is unsurprising that such a large amount of young adults are affected by them. The middle school survey mentioned before also tried to collate a handful of tips that could potentially help people out of a phase of self-hate. They include shielding yourself from what others say about you and forgetting about it. Though these things may not seem easy, they can be done with the help of a community that supports you and your body. Massilia, one of the students surveyed, was quick to agree. “We need to stop validating our beauty based on people's unrealistic and frankly, unimportant, criticisms about our bodies.” she says. “We need to be taught to say to those people, my body is mine and I don't need your approval or your consent to find myself beautiful.” 

"Women around the world have sent us a clear message about their wishes. We now need to help them find a way to talk about it.” said Dr. Etcoff on the topic of how young women should view themselves.

Ultimately, our goal should be to make every woman, every man, everyone feel comfortable with how they look. Popular belief shows that the message that should be spread by modelling companies, society and families is: you don’t need to change yourself to become beautiful unless it is for health purposes and hasn’t been posed on you by anyone other than yourself. With the help of your community, friends and family, you can shape a better body image for yourself, and for generations to come.

"Negative Feelings About Their Looks Cause Majority of Girls to Disengage From Life." Negative Feelings About Their Looks Cause Majority of Girls to Disengage From... N.p., n.d. Web. 02 Dec. 2015
Peterson, Hayley. "Victoria’s Secret Sparks Outrage With ‘Perfect Body’ Campaign." Business Insider. Business Insider, 31 Oct. 2014. Web. 1 Dec. 2015.
"90% of Teens Unhappy with Body Shape." Mail Online. Associated Newspapers, n.d. Web. 02 Dec. 2015.

- Noshin Saiyaara

Strive to Belong, Not Fit In

It’s a feeling that has plagued each one of us at some point in our lives - not fitting in.

Picture this, it’s lunchtime. The part of the day that most kids look forward to. The cafeteria is buzzing with activity - boisterous kids falling over each other just to sit with their friends, laughter rising from all corners, everyone talking over each other. But despite all the people, Sally, a grade 8 student looks around awkwardly, unsure of who to sit with. She can’t sit with the “geeks” because she has nothing in common with them. She can’t sit with the “jocks” because she hates sports. And she can’t sit with the “populars” because they are very exclusive and there is no way they would even let her come within five metres of their “elite” group. She does not really fit in anywhere. Sound familiar?

Feeling left out and not being able to fit in is a problem that all kids have faced at least once in their lifetime.  In our society, teenagers especially, feel pressured to fit into one exclusive group, a clique. This is a constant struggle for many teenagers.  Let’s face it - how many of us really fit into one specific “category”? A recent survey showed that 40% of teenagers felt pressured into trying to fit in with other kids at school. These days fitting in has become a top priority for many teenagers.  Significant amounts of energy are put into trying to meet the expectations of someone other than themselves.

What does “fitting in” even mean?  Does it mean the same thing as belonging? Brene Brown, author of The Gifts of Imperfection and research professor at the University of Houston says, “Fitting in is the greatest barrier to belonging. Fitting in, I've discovered during the past decade of research, is assessing situations and groups of people, then twisting yourself into a human pretzel in order to get them to let you hang out with them. Belonging is something else entirely—it's showing up and letting yourself be seen and known as you really are.” And so it becomes even more clear that to ask someone to fit in is to actually tell them to change something about themselves whether it is the way they look or act in order to be accepted by others.  That is the negative message that is being sent out to teens.  Instead we should be focusing on encouraging teens to be themselves, stay true to their values and aim to belong rather than “fit in”.  In a society that is constantly telling us what is “cool” it is hard to accept ourselves for who we truly are and show off each of our individual and unique quirks instead of trying to be a person that does not reflect our personal values but rather fits into one of society’s categories.

Friendship plays an important role in a child’s development. Children learn many social skills from a young age and are able to build many connections. Without friends, children may feel like they lack a lot of support.  But healthy friendships don’t usually form from cliques. The social dynamic in a clique is very different from a group of friends. A clique is very exclusive, people are either “in” or “out”. People in a clique may feel a lot of pressure to act a certain way because they might get kicked out if they act differently. Rather than trying to fit into a clique we should be encouraging friendship groups. In a friendship group, members don’t have to be alike or share the same hobbies. They don’t have to constantly worry about being kicked out of the group for the way they act. In a friendship group kids can “belong”.

It’s worrisome how big a struggle this is for teenagers who feel like they don’t fit in. Teens who have social problems and do not fit in are affected emotionally, making it more likely for them to suffer from depression and even stopping them from going to college. Studies have shown that at least 57% of girls, 68% of boys are less likely than peers of the same race, social class and academic background to attend college if they have feelings of not fitting in.

There is no instant solution to making good friends, but it’s important to know that you have to be patient. Work on bettering yourself, find a passion that you can focus on. Join a club or a sports team where you can form healthy friendships while staying true to yourself. It may be a long journey and there is going to be challenges along the way but when you find a friend that’s accepts you for who you are and what you believe in, that friendship is going to last, you will be happier, and you will feel like you belong.
In a society that is so quick to label teens based on what they wear and who they hang out with, it is no wonder that young people are constantly stressed about where and with whom they fit in. Now is the time for parents and other role models to play a bigger role in guiding teens towards building a sense of belonging instead and to encourage strong friendship groups. It is important for young people to not lose their sense of self and personal values and be strong enough to not let society define their identity.

Brown, Brené. "Brené Brown's Top 4 Life Lessons." Oprah.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 26 Jan. 2016.
Biali, Susan. "Stop Trying to Fit In, Aim to Belong Instead." Psychology Today. N.p., 17 Oct. 2013. Web. 26 Jan. 2016.
"Coping With Cliques." KidsHealth. Ed. Arcy Lyness. The Nemours Foundation, 01 Aug. 2013. Web. 26 Jan. 2016.
Lopez, Christopher. "What Do You Think about the Term "fitting In"" A Conversation on TED.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 26 Jan. 2016.

- Caitlin Moor