Being Bree

Mr Watts' English class was like a little sanctuary for me. A mini oasis out of my day where I felt comfortable enough to be myself. My true self. Not the hippie Breeze I had to be at home. Not the crazy, weirdo Breeze I was in the school corridors. I was allowed to be Bree in his class. The real me.

He was the only teacher that called me Bree, he even called my name as Bree when taking the class register. I was still objected to the taunts and teasing of the boys that sat around me. The insecure ones, you know the type, they make fun of you because they don't understand you, because you're different to them and the people they know. That was fine. I knew why they teased me.

My parents were different to their parents, they were free loving hippies. I looked like a hippie too I guess. Not by choice. The lack of my own money and being in school prevented me from appearing the way I'd of liked; normal. My long blonde hair parted in the middle. I wore either homemade clothes or ones my mum would buy for me from the Op Shop. It didn't make me a weirdo. I could somehow put up with it in this class though, under this teacher.

Mr Watts had taught us all many important life lessons in his class. He was a wise man. Looking back as an adult, he's the one who inspired me to achieve great things in life and whether he knew it or not, I loved him for that. I was still learning to deal with the mean boys in my own way though. I had decided to just simply ignore them when they teased me. I may of been raised in a communal hippie compound but I was raised well. I could never be like them and retort back with insults of my own. I had peace in my heart deep down and so chose, for the meantime, to pretend they didn't even exist. I must admit I did get great delight from the fact that this simple gesture would actually irritate them more and I'd smile inside knowing that I was strong and wise.

"Hey leso, you know where we can get some weed?", said Tony who sat directly beside me.

His voice wafted over to my ear on the warm air in a half whisper. I didn't look up. He had recently begun to call me a lesbian as I only spoke to the girls in the class. He wasn't intelligent enough to understand why yet.

He was a dark haired, dark eyed Italian boy who had learnt from his father that arrogance and dominance made you a man. He was the ringleader and as he leant over to me with his question, I could hear at least 5 of his minions behind me laugh. I knew what he was referring to of course. After my last parent/teacher meeting it was no secret that my parents often indulged in the use of marijuana. Mr Watts knew it too to my utter embarrassment.

"Hey! I'm talking to you", Tony said again, more aggressively and flicked my arm with his pen.

It stung like hell but I still didn't look up. I continued writing while almost being hit in the face by the flying ponytail of Jess sitting in front of me. I looked up and caught her eye before she turned to Tony and mouthed "Quit it" then swept her ponytail to the front again. She wasn't sticking up for me, she was top of the class and wanted to concentrate on the last few seconds of the lecture.

I looked up at the clock above the blackboard and watched the hands strike 3:15pm in perfect unison with the school bell. There was the usual rustle and bustle and mad home-time rush that swept most of my classmates out of the door without even a goodbye to anyone. Not even Tony or his minions gave me another glance. They were homeward bound for the weekend until it was just myself and Mr Watts left. He smiled briefly at me from his desk at the front of the room and as I walked towards him with my backpack already on one shoulder, he stood up and moved his hand in a gesture to invite me to sit down in a first row seat.

I took Liam Connor's seat and watched Mr Watts lean against his desk in front of me. Arms folded over his white shirt and one brown shoed foot crossed and resting on the other.

"Bree, I've noticed something in this class, something I don't really like. Do you think you can tell me what it is I'm talking about?", he said through a ginger moustache that matched his hair. His kind hazel eyes looking down at me knowingly. I racked my brain trying to think of something to say other than what I knew he was talking about. I didn't want him to know I was bullied, or at the very least I didn't want him to think that it bothered me.