Perfecting My Imperfections

“Funmilola… Funmi, can you even hear me?!” Mrs. Walker’s voice sliced through the hum of the classroom. “I asked you a question!” Thirty pairs of eyes turned. The air in the room thickened. “Hmn?” Funmi blinked, her pencil frozen halfway through a doodle of a dragon’s tail curling into the margin of her notebook. “Did you hear what I said?” Mrs. Walker repeated, her English accent sharp but not unkind. Funmi swallowed. “Uh—no, ma’am.” Mrs. Walker sighed, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “You’re to see me after class.” A ripple of ooohs slid through the class before everyone pretended to focus again. Funmi wanted to melt into her seat. Perfect. Another reason for everyone to think she's weird. The next ten minutes dragged. She forced herself to copy the last lines on the board, though she knew she wouldn’t understand half of it later. All she could think about was what Mrs. Walker might say—and how much trouble she was about to be in. The bell finally rang. Chairs scraped, voices rose, and the smell of cafeteria fries drifted in from the hallway. Funmi walked up to Mrs. Walker’s desk, heart thudding. The woman looked up and smiled—tired but warm. “Relax, Funmi. I’m not angry,” she said. “You just seemed far away today. Everything okay?” Funmi hesitated. “I’m fine, ma’am.” “You sure? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately. And your grades are slipping. You’re creative, but you need to balance that with your schoolwork.” Funmi nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Walker’s gaze softened. “I’m not here to get you in trouble. Just talk to me if you need help, okay?” “Yes, ma’am,” Funmi murmured again. Her chest loosened a bit. As she left, she heard the teacher add, “You’re talented, Funmi. Don’t hide behind those drawings.” Funmi smiled faintly. If only talent could pass Chemistry. “Hey babes! What’s up?!” AJ’s voice boomed across the corridor the moment Funmi stepped out. Funmi couldn’t help laughing. “Must you always announce yourself like you’re on stage?” “Obviously.” AJ tossed her braids dramatically. “I live to make an entrance.” A boy in a white hoodie turned at the sound, grinning. AJ shot him a wink. Typical. Funmi rolled her eyes. AJ was everything she wasn’t—bold, loud, gorgeous, fearless. Chocolate skin that glowed under the harsh hallway lights, bright eyes that missed nothing. People naturally gravitated to her. And Funmi? She was the quiet one with a sketchpad and a head full of noise. “So what did Mrs. Walker want? You didn’t burn the class down again, right?” AJ teased. “Ha-ha. Very funny,” Funmi said. “She just talked about my grades.” “Oof. Same old story.” “Pretty much.” AJ adjusted her backpack. “I gotta head to math club.” Funmi groaned. “Eww. Nerd central.” “Call it what you want, but we’ll be running the world someday.” She shot Funmi a grin. “See you tomorrow?” “Yeah. Later, genius.” They hugged quickly before splitting paths—AJ toward the science wing, Funmi toward the gate. The sun outside was blinding, the kind of heat that glued your uniform to your back. Funmi took the long way home. The walk helped her think, even if she wasn’t sure what about. Her neighbourhood was the kind of polished that screamed money: smooth roads, trimmed hedges, and driveways lined with shiny cars. But it never felt warm—too neat, too quiet, too perfect. So she thought. It had always been that way. Halfway down the street stood a cream-coloured bungalow that had been empty for over a year. The last couple who lived there had fought loudly enough for the whole block to know their business. Her mother used to shake her head and call the woman “a disgrace.” If she didn’t call her that, she was calling her a "p********e", witha disgusted face like one who has gulped a spoonful of battery acid you might think! Today, a moving van sat in front of the house. Men in blue overalls unloaded furniture while an elderly woman and a middle-aged man stood watching. The old woman caught Funmi staring. Their eyes met—hers sharp, curious, unreadable. Funmi looked away fast, heart fluttering. Weird. She quickened her steps until the sound of the movers faded behind her. The house was silent when she got in. Her mother wouldn’t be back from the clinic until late, and silence was easier than the tension that usually filled the rooms when she was home as always. There seemed to always be something lingering in the air. Something that she had no words for. Something she always thought would burst at any given moment. She grabbed an apple from the fridge, went upstairs, and dropped onto her bed. The walls of her room were covered in sketches—faces she’d invented, creatures from dreams, tiny doodles of places she wished existed. Drawing was the only thing that made her feel… seen. She opened her pad and started shading a pair of eyes—dark, watchful, almost alive. Maybe they looked a little like that old woman’s eyes. Then the front door slammed. Her sister’s voice floated up the stairs, loud and careless. “Yeah, I told her I’d be there! Chill, now!” Funmi exhaled. Ayomide’s home. Where Funmi was quiet, Ayo was sunshine—tall, light-skinned, hazel-eyed, perfect. Their mother’s pride and mirror image. People always said, “You two don’t even look related," more times that Funmi could even keep track of. Funmi hated that they were right. She tried to draw, but Ayo’s laughter through the wall broke her focus. The pencil trembled in her hand. She dropped it and pressed her palms over her ears, but the memories still came. Her mom yelling when she was little, slapping her for spilling juice. Ayo hitting her with a doll while their mother looked on, amused. Her tenth birthday forgotten—no cake, no guests—while Ayo’s next one had balloons and fireworks. It wasn’t new, but remembering still burned. She curled up on the bed, eyes stinging. The apple sat half-eaten on the table. Maybe if I draw better. Maybe if I’m perfect for once… But she knew better. Perfection never worked. Not with her mom. Not with anyone. A soft breeze drifted through the window. From across the street came the faint sound of voices—the movers were still there, maybe finishing up. She thought she heard someone laugh, low and strange. Funmi stood and looked out. The van was gone. The street was empty except for the bungalow, its front door slightly open. For a second she thought she saw movement inside—a shadow gliding past the window. She blinked. Nothing. A shiver ran down her spine. “Must be the wind,” she whispered. She turned off the light and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Outside, the night settled heavy and quiet over Lea Valley Estate. Down the street, the door of the cream-coloured bungalow creaked shut. Oh how she tossed and turned. That night, sleep refused to come. Funmi turned on her side. Then her back. Then the other side again. The ceiling stared back blankly, its faint shadow moving with the passing headlights outside. Her room felt too quiet, too still — the kind of silence that made her thoughts louder. She sighed and flipped her pillow over for the fifth time. Nothing. Her mind wandered to Mrs. Walker’s disappointed face, then to AY’s laughter echoing in the hallway, and then to that old woman who had stared at her by the bungalow. Her chest tightened — she didn’t even know why. “Ugh, I hate this,” she muttered, tossing her blanket off completely. The cold floor bit her feet as she stood up. She turned on her desk lamp. A warm yellow glow spread across the room, landing on her sketchpad. It was still open to her last drawing — a rough sketch of a girl sitting under a tree. Her pencil strokes were soft, unsure. The girl’s face, half-done, looked sad. Lonely. “Kinda like me,” Funmi whispered, sitting down. She reached for her pencil, tracing the lines again, trying to fix the shadows. But her hand wouldn’t steady. The longer she looked, the blurrier the lines felt — like the drawing was staring back at her. She sighed and dropped the pencil. The clock on her nightstand blinked 11:47 PM in red digital numbers. Her mom should’ve been home by now. A few minutes later, she heard the front door creak open downstairs, followed by faint murmurs. Her mother’s voice. Ayomide’s soft laughter as though she tried to hold it in. Funmi froze, listening closely. Their voices drifted faintly through the house — the low, tired tone of their mom mixing with her sister’s playful teasing. She could almost see the scene in her head: her mother probably sitting on the couch, shoes off, her white coat still smelling like antiseptic and late-night coffee. Ayomide curled beside her, smiling, telling her about her day — and her mom actually listening. It stung. Not because she wanted to interrupt them. But because she knew she wouldn’t be called downstairs. Not even for a “goodnight.” She waited anyway. One minute. Five. Ten. Nothing. The voices faded into silence again. Funmi turned off her lamp and crawled back into bed, hugging her pillow close. She tried counting her breaths. Counting the seconds. But her mind kept replaying memories she wished she could erase. She thought of her drawings — the only things that ever seemed to listen to her. Maybe she’d draw again tomorrow. Something lighter. Something that didn’t make her feel so… hollow. Outside, the wind brushed against her window. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then stopped. Funmi closed her eyes. And just before sleep finally came, she could’ve sworn she heard a faint tap on her window — soft, almost like a whisper, or did she?