• When I walked into Westside Secondary School, my life changed. Yes, it was another new school, another new town, it would change. But this time it was different.
    As I strolled into the school hall to line up before class, I listened to people’s jumbled thoughts. Most were of who was wearing what – as far as school uniforms would allow. Some were of exam results, who’d come first in the test. Fewer still were worrying about schoolwork and who they would sit next to in class.
    One was unique. It sung above the other minds, like a sweet melody over the harsh percussion. Then the percussion got louder.
    A girl spotted me by the door. She whispered to her friend, she to hers and so on. Soon the whole school was buzzing about me. My pale pasty skin and odd blue, almost lilac, eyes. My thin bony body and messy white hair. The new girl. The weirdo.
    Unfortunately they didn’t see me that way. To them I was exotic. It was always like that. I made friends effortlessly. I was worshipped by boys. I got on with teachers and got good marks without being a swot. How I hated it.
    Smiling slightly, I joined my class line. The boy in front of me, Andrew, turned in surprise to stare at me. I frowned and he turned away, blushing. Then, while I waited for the teacher, I searched for the beautiful thoughts. It was still singing, just quietly now. I located him with my mind at the other end of the hall. After that I found him with my eyes. He was year 10, at least 2 years older than me, in their eyes. My eyes lingered on his face for a good 2 minutes before he turned. And saw me. We locked gazes for 3 seconds maximum, but I learnt so much in those 3 seconds. Number One: He had a girlfriend who he thought liked him more than he liked her. Number Two: He was attracted to a mystery girl. Number Three: He thought I was dangerous.
    And he was right.
    At that moment, Mr Kennet, my form tutor marched in. He stood in front of my line, gazing down the pupils, seeing if he had any really ‘bad’ children. He started for a moment when he saw me, but soon regained his stiff posture.
    “Right!” he called. “I’m going to read out your names and you are going to get in that order! Is that understood?!” There was a mumbling of ‘yes sirs’. Mr Kennet continued, satisfied that his class were listening.
    “Fadell Ahtarn.” I smiled. Fadell was as giving as his Indian name meant. “George Andrews, Mina Baxter, Jennifer Carter, Dennis Cripps…” his voice droned on and on. People got into alphabetical order, not paying much attention to what he was saying. “Ciarra Russell,” Mr Kennet stopped and started at my name. I slowly walked forward to my place in the line. I could feel the boy staring at me as I sashayed down in between the classes. Naturally, I wiggled a little more, my skirt swaying around my knees. This didn’t have the desired effect. Every other boy had his tongue lolling and eyes popping. He looked away, disgusted. Great.