I am absolutely positively completely normal. I should probably go on the internet tonight and look up the definition to make that statement more believable. Actually, I’m standing in front of the computer now so I think I’ll look it up myself. Here we go:

Normal: Conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected.

Yes, I’m pretty sure I meet the brief for that one. I inspect my hands. Perfect. Five fingers on each. How about my feet? Yes again, five toes on each, appropriate size to fit my body. How about my hair? Oh well, maybe a little on the long side but it can pass. It’s blonde by the way. Sandy blonde. Mum says it feels like silk. I say that it feels like hair. I love my logic. Well, my eyes are a little on the large side, out of proportion with my head. I don’t really care though. Maybe I eat too many carrots and my eyes are paying the price. Hmph. My eyes are fine, just like everything else that doesn’t matter. Oh yeah, you heard me right. Those things don’t matter. I’d chop off my right arm to have the privilege of experiencing the one thing that every other thirteen year old kid has but me. Heck, I’d chop off both my arms if I had to.

See, there’s one thing not so positively and completely normal about me, Marcus Andrews. I am……… allergic to peanuts. There. I said it.

I’m kidding, I swear. Ok, here goes: I am………. Your average real life midget. No joke this time. I am actually a midget. Now, you’re probably thinking ‘this kid’s a midget? Sure, there are kids starving in Africa and this kid’s complaining about being short?!? GET A LIFE’. Ok… maybe you’re not thinking something that deep. Just hear me out before you drop this journal on the floor and walk away.

When I say that I’m a real life midget, I am dead serious. Most people refer to a midget as being I don’t know, a head shorter than everyone else? I refer to a midget as being physically five inches or so tall. And that’s me: five inches tall. A literal midget.

There you go. And get this: tomorrow mum’s finally decided that it would be cool to send my twin brother Cameron and I to school after eight years of home schooling. Let's just say my response to that was both excited and traumatised... I mean, a kid the size of your average doll going to highschool... with so many, well, giants? I think that anyone in my position would freak out on the spot!

Ok, let me refresh your memories, my imaginary audience:

My name is Marcus Andrews. I have a twin brother called Cameron, and we'd be best friends given that we weren't related. Both of us have been homeschooled all our lives and really don't know any different. I'm also five inches tall, give or take. Did I miss that part? Yeah, I think I might've.

Well, that's all you need to know about me. And this is my story

I lie on my back, head propped up with a little doll’s pillow I found somewhere in my bedroom. Cameron’s next to me, his eyes glued to the screen. We’re watching my personal favourite: How I Met Your Mother on the flat screen mum bought on sale at some auction thing. My family’s pretty rich; well, at least rich enough to afford stuff like a Mercedes Spenz and a huge house with… my personal favourite, a staircase.

Now, most people probably think that I’m being really weird when I talk about a staircase of all things as being my sarcastic favourite thing in the house, but let’s not forget that I’m five inches tall and my life is hard times 1000. I should probably run through how the hell I actually got so small in the first place, and that’s all the result of a cancer treatment gone wrong.

See, when I was I don’t know, 5 years old, I was diagnosed with a type of rare cancer (lucky me) that turned my blood a dark black colour and contaminated my whole system. You could link it to Leukaemia, where you don’t get enough blood, but in reality, it’s nothing like that. My blood was literally black. The treatment was administered by this woman called Sally Ryan and involved me almost dying in the process (lucky me times 2).

But she saved my life. Although, she also shrunk me. Literally. The treatment she invented herself reacted badly with my blood type: AB Positive and resulted in my entire body compacting in on itself. I’ve been what any person would call ‘tiny’ for just over eight years now and I don’t go a day without thinking about everything I’m missing out on. Sports, proper friendships, even happiness. And I’m dragging Cameron with me, because mum said it’d be easier if we were both home schooled rather than just me. That’s all about to change tomorrow, though. We’re going to start a regular year of high school together with all the other grade eighters, even though we’re turning 14 and everyone else’ll be 13. Hopefully I won’t be judged *touch wood*. Yeah. Hopefully.

“It’s going to be Legend…. Wait for it….. dary!” Barney Stinson exclaims from the tv screen. I yawn, stretching out on my little seat atop the coffee table. Cam’s on the couch beside me, as I probably said before, eating corn ships and a bit of salsa. I’ve got a corn chip too, actually, which I’m nibbling now as we watch the show.

“You know, there’s this book on FanFiction that I found the other day about Barney Stinson getting shrunk and almost getting eaten by a cockroach.” I say, without looking up from the screen.

Cameron snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, of course it’s you who knows about that.” He teases.

I frown. “I’m just saying, bro! It’s actually pretty good!”

“Sure.”

We’re silent for a good ten minutes as the program finishes. Cameron stands up, stretches and lets out a monster yawn that to my ears sounds like a freaking yeti. “When’re we getting take out?” I ask tiredly, not bothering to get up. Cameron checks his watch.

“I ordered pizza like, five minutes ago while the ad break was on. Should be here soon.” He says.

I nod, a smile creeping up on my lips. “You in the mood for scaring the delivery guy?” I ask my brother. Cameron’s face lights up and he grins evilly.

“I’m always in the mood, brother.” He smirks.

We wait in silence for a few minutes before the doorbell rings. Cameron’s grin widens and he scoops me up in the palm of his hand. I land on my butt as he stands up and grip his index finger for support. He smirks at me and I poke my tongue up at him in response. He half jogs to the front door, me looking like a ragdoll in his cupped hand.

 The moment he pulls the door open, the pizza guy at our doorstep smiles at him and mumbles a hello. It’s a classic Italian old dude with a pot belly. Perfect. I’m out of sight in Cameron’s hand behind his back as pizza guy hands him the meat lovers we ordered. The man fumbles for his glasses to scan the price so Cameron quickly tosses the pizza box to the nearby bench and readies me in his hand behind him for the ‘big moment’.

“That’ll be ten fifty, lad.” The man smiles, holding his hand out to accept the money.

“Sure.” Cameron grins back. His slender fingers come over my head so that the guy won’t realise I’m there until… I smile myself as I await the guy’s reaction. Slowly, my brother brings his hand with me hidden inside out from behind his back and drops me into the pizza guy’s waiting hand. In seconds, Cameron has replaced me with his IPhone and is waiting for the reaction. He’s not disappointed. As he videos the entire thing, I stand up and hold my hand out to the pizza guy in greeting.

“Sweet holy Jesus….!” He yelps as he adjusts his glasses to get a better look at me.

I give him a disapproving look. “Don’t use the lord’s name in vain.” I joke.

“It…. It talked!” The old man whimpers, eyes wide. Cameron stifles a laugh as something wet darkens the material around the pizza guy’s jeans. My mouth opens in the shape of an astonished ‘O’ and I howl with laughter. The guy screams and throws his hand (with me still on it) skyward. I’m still laughing my ass off as I tumble through the open air. The old man has hit the road before I’d even gotten to the funny part. What a woos.

Before I can fall to my death, Cameron’s hand is out to catch me. I wheeze out another round of laughter and he falls in tow. Soon, the two of us are rolling over on the concrete pathway in fits of giggles.

“That was priceless, bro!” Cameron is hysterical. He points wildly to the IPhone in his free hand. “I got the whole thing on video!”

As he gets up, me now perched on his shoulder, we see our mother smiling and shaking her head from the top of the stairs.

“You two are so mean!” She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t even pay for the pizza!” Cameron winks at her cheekily and grabs the pizza box.

“You should be happy, mum! Free pizza!” He laughs.

“Whatever, just don’t make pigs of yourselves.” Mum sighs. “And remember, your first day of school is tomorrow, so, yeah.”

I love our mum. She’s so cool about everything and acts like a real teenager. She’s so nice to us when we’re home schooled and we get soooo much candy for good work. Cameron grins at me as we sit down at the coffee table to watch the TV again. He drops me beside the grease covered pizza box and lifts the lid. The delicious scent of bacon pieces and cheese wafts instantly to my nostrils and I breathe it in. My brother quickly rips off part of the cheesy goodness for me before scooping wads of sticky, oily pizza into his mouth like he’s never eaten before.

“Don’t make pigs of yourself.” I mimic mum’s tone of voice with a smirk on my face.

“YOLO, brother.” Cameron winks playfully as he shovels his slice of pizza into his mouth. I face palm myself.

“Oh god…”

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain!” He informs me.

I point my shaking hand up at his face and flash a shocked expression. “It talks!” I laugh.

Yep, welcome to my life. 

Cameron and I have done so much together, but it’s all the same. We get up in the mornings. We eat. We laugh. We study. But then we repeat. There’s no change, no straying off along a more adventurous path. Maybe my first day as a grade eighter will be that path. There’s always a first time for everything, I guess.

Marcus Andrews, 25th January 2010

I close the Notes app on my IPod touch with my palm and sigh inwardly. What am I playing at, writing this stupid journal? It’s not like it’s going to make me feel any better about myself. I roll over in bed to face the ceiling of the bookshelf I sleep in. I’ve had the shelf as my bedroom my whole life. When I was little, it used to go in my parents’ room for extra protection, but about a year ago it was moved outside Cameron’s bedroom in the hallway. The idea behind the thing being there is that Cam can get me in the mornings so I don’t have to trek across the entire house and get down the stairs. Although, knowing my brother, he almost always forgets to wake me up and I take the old fashioned way down to the kitchen.

I take a few deep breaths to settle the nerves building up in the pit of my stomach before rubbing my eyes and hopping out of bed. My bookshelf is pretty cool, come to think of it; I mean- I’m not the worst decorator in the world. It’s been painted black with retro style white checkers and it’s got five stories. I sleep on the top storey, so Cam can poke me awake in the mornings. I’m probably the world’s heaviest sleeper and if you were my size, then you wouldn’t blame me. You know how I just said that getting down the stairs for me is like a mountain hike? Well, picture doing that every day. I get pretty darn tired pretty darn easily.

I’m just throwing on a blue and black checked button up shirt and denim skinny jeans when my brother’s head appears in front of me like a billboard. He’s on his hands and knees like a beggar and is checking his watch.

“Come on, bro! School starts in half an hour!” He doesn’t yell around me because my ears pop at everything louder than a normal pitched voice, but he’s come pretty close. I wince for a second and grab my pair of shiny black doll’s earmuffs from my bedside table and slip them over my ears and around my messy hair. I step back to inspect myself in the reflection of my IPod screen and nod in satisfaction. (By the way, my IPod is a bit taller than me at the moment. I’m a shortie, even for my size… *groans*)

“Ok, I’m all done.” I tell Cam, who rolls his eyes mockingly.

“About time, big bro.” He says. Big bro is my nickname because Cameron has this thing where he thinks the fact that I’m older and physically smaller is funny.

“You know I hate it when you call me that.” I grumble as I step onto his waiting hand. He stands up slowly and I get the usual feeling of being on a rollercoaster/elevator as I’m lifted to the height of a skyscraper. I swear to god that every time I look over the edge of my brother’s hand when he’s standing at full height it’s like looking over the side of a 50 storey building. Yeah, I’ve never been afraid of heights. I’d actually be screwed if I was.

“You’ve still gotta have breakie, don’t you?” Cam exhales in frustration. “You do know that one: mum’s making me take all your text books as well as my own and she’s making me catch the bus!” He moans. I laugh at his expression.

“One of the few perks of being a real life midget.” I wink at him slyly, cracking a grin. Cameron grabs his backpack from the top of the stairs and slings it over one shoulder. Then he bends down and tilts his hand so I slide to the ground. I crane my sore neck to glare at him as he stands to his full height. Strange, must’ve slept on my neck funny. Cam brings his Converse clad foot over my head, casting a shadow over my entire body. He lets his leg hover over me for a moment before winking at me.

“One of the perks of having a brother who’s a real life midget.” He smiles. I raise an eyebrow from my position on the ground in front of his shoes.

“What, you mean that if I piss you off you’ll stomp on me and kill me?” I ask, confused.

“I wouldn’t kill you, big brother.” Cameron says slowly. “Damn. I’d threaten to leave you here and make you get downstairs yourself but we’re kinda late for the bus. Sorry.” He’s pulled off this face that gives the impression of genuine sorrow and I crack up. Moments later he’s picked me up and I’m sitting on his shoulder at what I like to call ‘anti-midget eye level’. My teeth chatter as he takes the stairs two at a time and I grip his shirt to keep myself upright.

My brother doesn’t take a detour through the kitchen for my breakfast, to my dismay. My stomach groans loudly in protest. “Hah! I actually heard that puny stomach of yours!” Cameron teases as he shuts the front door of the house behind him and begins walking down the pathway to our front gate. Sunlight blinds my vision for a second before I blink and focus my eyes.

“Why is my brother so mean?” I ask to no one in particular. Even Cam doesn’t answer. My body sways with the rhythm of his walking as he moves down the deserted streets of Kingaroy, Queensland. Ok, so they’re not that deserted. People pass occasionally, mostly old ladies, but no one actually sees me. That’s partly because most of the time I’m concealed by Cam’s messy hair.

Kingaroy is a cute little country town that I’ve lived in my whole life. Back at the start of my little confession, I think I may have said that I’m allergic to peanuts. Well, that was actually a huge lie. It’s virtually insane to move to Kingaroy if you have a nut allergy. Why? Because we farm freaking peanuts here. You don’t go a day without the good old peanuts here. There are farms everywhere. Oh look- speak of the devil, Cam just passed the entrance to one!

Kingaroy’s streets have a real old English vibe to them, probably because they’re lined with ancient oak trees, which have over time created a huge canopy of green leaves. The bus stop’s at the end of our street, and the school Mum’s enrolled us in is called St Agathas. (It’s Catholic). Cam sits himself down in the old wooden bus stop seat as we wait for the school bus. A hot wind blows in my face, almost knocking me off my brother’s shoulder. There’s no one else at this bus stop, so it’s pretty quiet around here.

After a few more minutes of waiting, a bright yellow bus that reminds me so much of the ones in cheesy American school movies pulls up at our stop, driven by an old guy with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. As Cameron steps on-board and swipes off his plastic go-card, as well as mine (just to be fair) the driver brings his hand up to stop him walking to get a seat.

“Why’ve you got two go cards?” He asks in a croaky voice. Thick cigarette smoke billows from his nostrils, making me cough.

“Simple.” Cameron states, gesturing to me sitting on his shoulder. I manage a small wave, earning a chorus of ‘WTFs’ and ‘Shits’ from the seated students. Kind of funny, actually, to see everyone’s reaction when they see me for the first time. In all fairness, it should be me hyperventilating when I’m confronted with so many big people. But no, it’s everyone else that thinks I’m the freak.

“Hi.” I introduce myself to break the silence from the bus driver. “Cameron and I are new to the school… so…” I purse my lips as my voice trails off. I don’t continue, in fear that I’ll make the poor guy faint. Cameron’s approach to being nice isn’t as subtle.

“Quit gawking!” He snaps. I’m silently patting myself on the back for remembering my earmuffs, because his loud voice would have killed my eardrums otherwise.

Cameron pushes the driver’s arm away roughly and sinks into one of the closest seats. I squeeze my eyes shut to blot out the stares but even with my earmuffs on I can hear the whispering. So much for making new friends…

“Did you just see what I just saw?”

“Is that another guy sitting on that kid’s shoulder?”

“How did he get so small?”

“Holy shit I’ve just been stung by a tracker jacker! I just saw a tiny kid…”

“Why is there a borrower in the bus?”

And the list goes on…

By the time the bus has pulled up at our new school, I’m really regretting my decision to brave it all and meet some real people. It looks like the people I thought were genuine, or even nice were just a bunch of losers.

Someone welcome me to high school… I’ve already introduced you to my life.

I try not to meet anyone’s eyes as Cam stands up to get off the bus. I hear the driver inhale sharply as he passes, probably because hey! There’s a freaking five inch tall grade eighter on his shoulder. Nope, not something the average bus driver would get to see every day.

What makes this whole situation a whole lot worse is the fact that my super sensitive ears can pick up every single word every other person on the bus is saying, whether it be a whisper or a snicker. So yeah, there’s me, the tiny kid, who gets the privilege of listening to my soon-to-be fellow classmates call me names and whisper to themselves about my condition. Sometimes, on the bad days I wish that I’d died of that stupid cancer all those stupid years ago and saved myself the embarrassment and annoyance of becoming a handy-capped midget freak. Wow, that was deep.

I feel Cameron looking at me apologetically as we enter the school grounds. I don’t return his gaze, but instead busy myself in taking in the scenery. The first thing I think (which is pretty understandable when you factor in the obvious about me) is how enormous this place is. It’s bigger than my house, maybe even the same size as my entire street. Mum showed me the brochure before the years started, so I’ve seen pictures and all, but it’s only when I actually place myself in front of it that I get the classic dosage of nerves.

The school’s pretty old, and is shrouded by colossal, and I mean colossal fig trees that tower over the brick buildings like skyscrapers. The buildings themselves are constructed from bricks, and have cute looking blue roofs. You can tell, just by first glance, that this is a country school. There aren’t any uniforms here, which saved my mother from having to buy me a custom made doll’s version, and everyone gives off a laidback, casual impression. Kids are batting handballs across bitumen courts out the front as we enter through the gates to the reception.

Funny, I’ve always dreamt of being physically able to play handball. With my size, I could probably serve as the ball, rather than an actual player. “Don’t listen to those douchebags, Marcus.” Cameron mumbles as he steps into the school’s reception.

“Don’t worry, bro. Wasn’t planning on it.” I grumble back with disinterest. Me getting bullied isn’t my favourite topic to discuss with my brother. The reception is bare, to my relief, apart from a grey haired man whose eyes are framed by thick black glasses behind a cluttered looking desk. There are a few cabinets filled with trophies and paintings are hung up on the yellowed walls but otherwise, it’s a pretty boring room. As Cameron walks up to stand in front of the man’s desk, I try to put on a brave face and look straight ahead.

“What’s wrong, kids?” The man asks without looking up from his work. As I look closer, I see that he’s writing some sort of letter.

“Um, sorry.” Cameron says, his face going red. “My brother and I are new here and we just came to pick up our timetables and find out our classes…”

The man nods and inclines his head to look at Cameron. As usual, he can’t see me at first but once he does his face changes colour from a subtle flush to stark white. I don’t even flinch as he studies me with interest. Same old… same old… He clears his throat and holds out a hand for Cameron to shake. “Well, my name is Principal Scandinovi, and obviously, this is St Agathas High school.” He pauses briefly to skim through a collection of what I make out as documents containing Cam and my personal information. “Oh yes, you are the twins moving here who have been home schooled in the past, am I right?”

Cameron stiffens so I reply for him. “That’s right.” I inform him, trying to project my voice a little. Sometimes I can’t even tell if people can hear me when I speak normally, seeing as my voice box is obviously smaller.

Mr Scandinovi nods in approval and sets the documents onto his desk. I smile faintly upon noticing that he didn’t even cringe when I’d spoken for the first time, like most people do. One thing people learn about me is the fact that I’ve never been shy. “Alright then.” The principal continues. “I am aware that you, Marcus, are subject to cure AB positive for the disease, Shrignakemia. Your mother sent in a note requesting that I see to it that you find a friend immediately, to help you with certain disadvantages you face.” He gives me what I pick up as a knowing look and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, mum mentioned that.” I tell him.

“Ok then, Cameron,” He hands my brother a laminated yellow leaflet. “This is your class and timetable. Unfortunately, this school encourages that twins are kept in separate classes, so Marcus, you’re not in your brother’s class.” Mr Scandinovi explains. The butterflies that I’d managed to keep at bay were now stirring in my stomach. Cameron wasn’t in my class??? But that meant that… Crap. It was either find a friend or walk the long hike between classes. Talk about disadvantages.

“Sir, I don’t think that it’s ideal that we aren’t in the same class.” Cameron says firmly. “For Marcus’s sake, of course.”

The principal’s dull blue eyes skim from me to Cam and then back again. “I’m sorry, Cameron, but I can’t bend the rules because of you. Marcus, you have been placed into 8A, while Cameron is in 8C.”

“But-“

“No buts, Cameron.” Mr Scandinovi interrupts, his eyes stern. “Now, you’re going to have to go to class now, while I talk to Marcus about the school.”

“I have to leave him here?”

“Yes, Mr Andrews. Your mother has asked for this.” He waves his hand, indicating for Cam to leave. He shoots Mr Scandinovi an icy look, before glancing down at me with worry tinged eyes. I smile reassuringly.

“It’s alright, bro. I’ll see you in the lunch break.” I say. Sometimes I think my brother’s a bit too overprotective, but then again I’d be nobody without him. He gently scoops me up in his hand and places me on the desk before the principal. I wave to him as he exits the reception, yellow sheet of paper in hand. I let my smile drop as I turn around to face the intimidating Mr Scandinovi, hands in the pockets of my skinny jeans. My earmuffs never come off apart from when I sleep, so I hope he’s not taking my sound blockers as such the wrong way. He laces his fingers together and takes a sip from the coffee on his desk.

“So, Marcus. Your mother wishes me to go through the blueprints of the school premises with you to quote: ‘keep you safe’. I understand if you have any questions etcetera.” He says in a formal sounding tone. The way he speaks is so old fashioned that I can barely contain a smile.

As he discusses the different aspects of St Agathas, I’m only half tuned in. My mind is elsewhere- mostly centred on the time I’d get to actually go to class and learn something. Being lectured by the principal isn’t what I’d hoped my day would contain. I was relieved when he finally summed up his speech about safety and turned to the clock mounted on the wall, which told us that it was 11:00am, morning tea.

“Well, I think it’s time I introduce you to a few students.” Mr Scandinovi declares with a smile. I’d grown tired of standing up halfway through the lecture so at that point I was propped up against a pencil tin with my legs crossed. I perked up when he mentioned the word students but then shot him a confused look.

“I was going to sit with my brother this lunch.” I tell him uncertainly. I wonder how Cam went in his first class.

Mr Scandinovi looks at me sternly. With his piercing blue eyes and glasses frames as thick as both my arms put together, he’s just a tad daunting. Just a tad. “Your mother has asked me to introduce you to another student, Marcus. You can see your brother this afternoon.”

I automatically feel a pang of guilt but sigh, knowing that even if I didn’t want to make some friends, I wasn’t in a good position to voice an opinion. It’s always like that with me: Either go with the flow or get forced into it. Not a very nice life. “Alright then.” I half grumble as he lets me climb into his hand to settle into a seated position on his palm. The first thing I notice is how wrinkled his skin is as he stands up. Not like my dad’s smooth callused hands.

I tilt my head back to meet his eyes as he steps out of the reception into the hallway. “How many kids are in my grade?” I ask. He shrugs, uninterested but answers anyway.

“About 120. It’s a small school.” Those words echo in my mind. It’s a small school. 120 kids. And then a new word pops into my head, one that fits the context of what I just heard: SHIT. I’m going to get squashed for sure. What have I gotten myself into? When mum told me St Agathas was small, I thought she meant twenty kids per grade small. Nope, you just HAD to add the 100 others.

Mr Scandinovi enters what I presume to be the school cafeteria. The first thing I see from my vantage point in his cupped hand is, you guessed it, kids. And not just grade eighters like me. They range up to what looks like adulthood. They’ve all split themselves up into different grades and sexes, by the looks of it. Go figure. The principal walks to a row of tables packed with both male and female eighth graders, who are chattering restlessly in excitement. To my dismay, I can’t see Cam among the sea of students.

All the tables are packed already, except… one. Mr Scandinovi directs me there. Sitting by himself with a sketchpad in hand is a slightly chubby blonde haired boy with a good tan going on and startling ice blue eyes. He’s drawing something, by the looks of it, all the while nibbling on a half-eaten apple. He doesn’t even notice as the principal seats himself opposite him on the metal bench and places both his hands, one with me sitting on it on the table top. 

The boy jolts on the spot as he realises the principal has planted himself next to him and looks up nervously. He slowly puts his sketchbook on the table in front of him beside a checked blue pencil case. As I inspect the drawing, I realise it’s of a teenage girl with a doll’s face, huge green eyes and a wide grin. He’s good.

“Hello, Mr Ryan.” Mr Scandinovi smiles warmly at the blonde haired kid in front of me. I’m practically sighing as I’m struck with de ja vu. Same as everyone else, this kid takes a while to actually notice me, but when he does, his reaction is the norm. He exhales in shock and looks like he’s going to fall backwards out of his seat. Wish I could catch you when you fall, mate. But you’re talking to the kid with toothpicks for arms. I think dryly as he studies me.

Mr Scandinovi tilts his hand ever so slightly so I slide down onto the shiny metal desk. Thank god that it’s only the blonde haired kid and the principal who’ve noticed me so far. All I can say is this: let the harassment commence after Marcus has had a lunch break. As Mr Scandinovi waves a quick goodbye, I smile through my teeth up at the boy.

Well, better not let this be awkward. Already knowing that he’s not going to be the conversation starter here, I walk over and seat myself down calmly atop his pencil case.

“Hi.” I force myself to widen my smile and hold out my pint sized hand to shake. He holds out a finger hesitantly and I shake it for a moment before continuing. “My name’s Marcus. What’s yours?”

The blonde haired kid looks as though he’s about to faint but he manages a small grin and takes a deep breath. “Thomas.” His throat catches on the words. “Thomas Ryan.” 

It isn’t hard to notice that the blonde haired kid in front of me is both annoyed and freaked at the same time. His mouth hangs agape, like someone’s decided that it would be funny to unhinge his jaw. I’m tempted to roll me eyes at him, but that wasn’t going to be the best strategy for making friends. Man, I wish he’s stop staring, though. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you.” I pull off a cheeky grin at… Thomas? Yeah, I think that’s what he said his name was. In seconds, he’s tensed up, causing my smile to fade a little. Why can’t he just act natural? When he doesn’t make a move to reply, I sigh under my breath and pick myself up from the checked pencil case to inspect his drawing, which is a rough sketch of a teenage girl. The way he’s captured her doll shaped face and outlined the detail in her flowing hair astonishes me.

“You’re good.” I comment as I stand beside the thick sketchbook. Score! I got him to curl his lips into a weird looking smile! Well, better than trying to make conversation with a muted and angry kid. I smile to myself as I stride back across the metal table and hop back onto his pencil case. This isn’t going as well as I’d planned. “Aren’t you the chatterbox.” I mutter sourly under my breath, but once I’ve seen the dumbfounded expression on Thomas’s face, I’m giggling. Hah! He’s even going bug eyed!

“Um…” Spit it out. I snap mentally as he wavers over the word. He looks completely puzzled, like he doesn’t know what to ask me. But I see the question in his eyes. Heck, I see it in everyone’s eyes.

“Well, you can stop looking at me with that creepy expression and talk.” I say, unable to control the hurt expression settling on my own face. I doubt he can read my expression (Cam says it’s pretty hard) but still.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas says in a rush, eyes widening. I wave my hand dismissively and sigh. I’m finding it extremely hard to keep the boredom out of my tone as I recited the question he’s been DYING to ask this whole time.

“Nah, I get this all the time.” I drone. “I’m sure you wanna know how I got so small.” I’m surprised to see that he’s shaking his head in response. I frown. Don’t tell me he’s not curious about my cancer treatment!? I mean, come on, if I met a tiny guy then I’d be pretty interested in his life story. In this case, though, I’m the tiny guy and people want to listen to my life story, as boring as it can be.

Thomas shrugs, looking awkward. “No, actually.” The expression on his face is hard to read; it’s almost as if he’s looking at me like he knows me. “I’m just surprised that I’m actually talking to one of you.” He finishes.

My automatic response is to frown, which is pretty understandable because he kinda just referred to me as a different species or worse, breed. I’m not an animal, people. I fold my arms and shoot him a strange look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Thomas doesn’t even hesitate in replying this time. “I’ve seen pictures of you in my mother’s files.” Ok, that is creepy. Who the fuck does this kid’s mother think she is?!?

“Pictures of me?” I repeat as a question.

“Yeah.” Thomas said.

I swallow nervously and concentrate on keeping my voice steady. I raise an eyebrow at Thomas. “Well, your mother’s either a serious paedophile or I’m a serious celebrity.” I say.

Thomas’s jaw unhinges itself again. He should probably consider getting that thing checked. “No, no.” He says hurriedly. “She studies people like you.” Ok, if anything, that comment just made this whole affair sound worse. What, does she find all the tiny people in the world and dissect us? Aghhh. Get me off this bench!

“So, she’s a paedophile then?” I ask tentatively. Thomas smiles slightly and I catch a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“No!” His smile widens. “You’re one of the tiny people who she shrunk to save their lives.” Thomas explains.

“Nice nickname.” I mutter as an automatic response. Why is it that every freaking person has to point out the obvious with me? A tiny person. Does this kid realise how annoying that phrase gets after a while? I mentally sigh the comment off before continuing. “What do you mean by that, anyway?” I ask.

Thomas is quick to reply. “I mean, she cured you of cancer and it shrunk you.” Isn’t he abrupt? What does he even mean by that? I furrow my brow at the statement. Then, all of a sudden, it hit me.

“Wait a minute…” I hold out a hand to stop him butting in and think hard about our conversation. “What’s your last name again?” I finish.

“Ryan.” Thomas says.

My eyes widen in disbelief. This is finally making sense. “Is your mum by any chance Sally Ryan? The oncologist?” I ask in shock. Sally Ryan was the woman who cured my Shrignakemia. I didn’t remember her, because it had all happened when I was barely six years old, but mum had told me the story over and over again. In a way, Sally Ryan had both saved and ruined my life. I try to think of it was ‘saved’ though. I guess it is better to live life as a midget than die at five.

“Yep.” Thomas answers, popping the ‘p’.

Oh my god. Thomas must be her son. If this isn’t a coincidence, then I don’t know what is. “Wow.” I whisper. “Small world.” Thomas chuckles quietly, only just before I continue. “Big people.”

Thomas laughs at my comment and I stick my tongue out mockingly at him. I am here to tell you right now that this situation’s awkwardness has just diminished. “So, your mum keeps files on all the cancer survivors?” I ask, a little curious.

He shrugs lightly and takes a bite from his apple. I’m tempted to ask him for a bit, but hold it back. Yes, my stomach is screaming, but no, I am not going to die of starvation any time soon. Thomas swallows quickly and replies. “Nope, only the shrunken ones. We call them the shrunken, though, as a nickname.” He says.

“How fitting,” I roll my eyes from my position on Thomas’s pencil case. The material is soft and squishy, so it’s almost like a pencil filled beanbag.

“Sorry.” He smiles cheekily. Well, all I can say is that at least he’s not talking to me as though I’m some creepy science experiment anymore… well… in some cases I kind of am. “But mum thinks it’s appropriate.”

“I’ll give her brownie points for that.” I mutter with heavy sarcasm. “So, she’s got my file then?”

“Yeah, you’re Marcus Andrews, cured at five, living in Kingaroy, Australia on 23 Marigold Drive.” Thomas replies, sounding like he’s giving me a lecture on my own life.

“I have to admit, that’s creepy.” I say.

Thomas giggles for a moment before his expression hardens. “She only keeps a record because the shrunken’s relatives are rioting about the flaws in the cure. She keeps track of who is happy with their transformation and who isn’t.”

Ok. That makes sense. Someone like Sally Ryan has the right to do something like that, even if it gives her a double agent nickname: the paedophile. I wonder briefly what my own file looks like. I’m probably one of the few ‘shrunken’ who accepted their transformation and am getting on well with their lives…. If you count getting on well as being a real life midget.

“Well, alright then.” I say. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t nickname me a ‘shrunken’, though. A ‘Real Life Midget’ or a ‘Hide and Seek Ninja’ are my options.”

Thomas snorts, his huge eyes glinting cheekily. “Hide and Seek Ninja?” He asks.

“I hold the record for the longest time taken for someone to find me.” I explain, shooting him a smile of my own.

“Can’t I just call you Marcus?”

No one’s ever not stuck with the nicknames before. Usually it’s stuff that tie in with my name, like Mini-Marcus or Marcus the Midget, but only Cam and Mum bother to label me as plain old Marcus. “Be my guest.” I smirk up at him, taken off guard by his question.

“Ok, Marcus. What class are you in?” Thomas asks, checking his watch. Funny, the thing’s face is bigger than my own.

“The Principal said 8A, whatever the hell that means.” I smile awkwardly as he checks his laminated yellow timetable. He begins to pack away his art gear as he replies.

“That’s my class, too.” He says. His hand hovers beside the pencilcase I’m sitting on, as if he’s wondering how to ask me to get off. Usually people don’t hesitate in nudging me away. I like his ‘niceness’. I quickly scramble off the checked material to stand back on the metal bench so he can shove the pencil case in his schoolbag. I shuffle awkwardly on my feet as he stands to full height in front of me. “Want a lift?” He asks with a smile.

“Really?”

“Sure.” His hand comes out at me and I ready myself to be grabbed but the feeling never comes. When I open my eyes, which were squeezed shut beforehand, I realise his hand is rested palm up just in front of my socked feet. Bewildered, I step up onto his soft flesh and sit down on his palm as he lifts his hand up. I can automatically tell that he’s trying to be gentle with me so I rest a hand on his thumb, causing him to shiver. Wow, do I really have that chill effect on people?

“Sorry, but you don’t have to worry about hurting me. Just move at your own pace.” I say, trying to smile. Why is it that I suck at first impressions? Thomas begins to walk, my midget sized form cradled at his chest. “I could get used to this.” I grin, propping my head up against his t shirt covered chest and stretching out in his hand.

“Are you usually this lazy?” He asks as he turns down a corridor, amongst a sea of students who thankfully haven’t even seen me yet. I wonder where Cam is. I hope he’s alright. He’s usually the severely overprotective one, so I’m surprised he hasn’t found me yet.

“God no.” I reply, brushing thoughts of my brother away. “I do more exercise in a day than Usain Bolt!” When he shoots me a mocking look, I shrug innocently. “You’re talking to a real life midget here, Ryan.” I remind him. At his weird expression, I get the feeling he’s still a little confused and probably awkward around me. It’s obvious as to what the guy’s thinking.

How is he acting so calm? Does he realise how dangerous it must be for him?

Or, one of my least favourites:

Why is he acting like a normal teenager? Because I am one, dickhead.

Sometimes, I don’t understand the logic of a situation like that. I find it annoying how people have to judge me because of my size. No one wants to hang out with a real life midget, I guess. I don’t even know for sure if Thomas is OK with my presence. He’s having a conversation and all and it’s pretty coincidental that he’s Sally Ryan’s son, but I can never tell whether people actually want me as a friend. Usually, they’re scared of me, despite the obvious size gap.

Anyway, Thomas pulls up in front of what looks like a classroom and waits in a line… with about twenty other chattering students. Shit. And they’ve just noticed us. Actually, they’ve noticed Thomas, because I’m half obscured by his pudgy hand, but it won’t be long before…

“OMG THOMAS! Is that the tiny kid the teacher told us about!?!” Someone squeals. I’ll say this again, because I don’t think it’ll ever get old: thank the lord for my good old earmuffs. Although I have to say, the amplitude of that voice did hurt a little. Before I can make an effort to stand up for myself, the other kids in my so called class are looking at me, encircling Thomas so he can’t get out. I swallow back my nerves and stand up in his hand, so that they can get their sneak peak at my midget face. I hold out my hand respectively.

“Hi, I’m Marcus Andrews…” I break off in a gasp when twenty or so waiting fingers are suddenly being shoved in my face, probably wanting to shake my hand. Nervously, I grip a random girl’s finger in my whole hand and shake, before snapping my half trembling hand away. Thomas looks like he’s going to be sick. So much for making friends. I think as I shoot him an apologetic look. He’s gonna hate me after this.

“How did you get so small?” Someone asks in awe.

“He’s adorable!” You don’t have to be genius to work out that that one belongs to a girl.

“Wanna be my boyfriend?” Another girl.

“Can I hold you?” A boy.

“No.” Me.

“Awww. But Thomas gets to!” A boy.

“Maybe later.” Me.

“What’s it like to be tiny?” Someone else asks. I shrug, wincing at the constant noise.

“Spectacular.” I mutter back, half under my breath. The kid probably didn’t even hear me reply.

“What’s all this chatter about?” A voice asks, noticeably feminine and adult. I exhale in relief and rub the back of my neck with a hand.

My saviour has arrived. The teacher. Who I’m pretty sure goes by Mrs Harrington.

“Have a good lunchbreak?” She asks.

As class ends, I clamper onto Thomas’s waiting hand and he stands to his full height, successfully giving me motion sickness. He grabs his pencils and worksheets and stuffs them into his canvas schoolbag with his free hand and slips the straps over his shoulders. “That lesson went quickly.” I say, my IPod under one arm as I sit cross legged on Thomas’s palm. He giggles.

“Not really, MiniMark.” He sighs.

“I thought you said you’d stop calling me that, Atomic Boy!” I snicker.

“I thought you said you’d stop calling me that!”

Exasperated, I hold out my hand. Thomas winks as I shake his entire finger. “Ok, we’re even then.” I confirm with a nod. I focus my attention now on the growing mob of students that have gathered around us. It’s seriously like my own little midget fan club! Some of the kids even have IPhones they’re using as cameras.

“Ok, guys! Save the paparazzi for outside! Give Marcus some space!” Ms Harrington laughs from the front of the classroom. After a moment, the mob parts so Thomas can walk into the hall with me in his cupped hand acting like the real life midget I am. I open my IPod to Kik Messenger and tap on the free wifi, before texting my brother.

Hey little bro! If there’s a commotion in the hall, it’s my fault. After a few seconds, the device beeps as he replies.

You said you’d sit with me at lunch! Cameron says, with a sad face on the end.

Principal said no. I reply hastily, jamming my palms onto the keyboard, which earns a good chorus of ‘awws’ from my crowd. Gtg, bro. Geeze, these kids are ready to kiss me!

I push down on the lock button and the screen goes dark, leaving me with the dreaded fan club. A quick glance up at Thomas tells me he’s got no clue how to get away. The crowd of chattering students have come from all directions, so the two of us are practically trapped in the sea.

“Wanna sit with us at break?” Is the most common question the girls are screaming. Heck, half these fangirls are fanboys. I can’t help but giggle a little at that. Thomas has gone white as a sheet. Clearly, he hasn’t had the liberty of becoming Mr Popular before. Then again, neither have I. I refuse to go pale, though. It seriously ruins my dignity, and dignity my friend, is something I like to maintain, being a midget and all. I really should stop thanking god for my shiny black earmuffs, but I hope he’s listening because I’m saying it again. At least they’re muffling the buzzing noises coming from the students’ mouths.

At my size, everything, even whispering is amplified by twenty. I’m probably better than a dog, with my hearing. If I tried hard enough, I’d probably be able to hear my brother talking, but it’s hard when my ears are currently being busted by the shouting kids in front of me. That’s probably why I decide to rage quit.

“Can you guys either whisper or back off?!” I yell over the hysterical girls…. And guys. I pat my earmuffs to emphasize my point. “Midget with sensitive ears alert!”

Instantly, my fans shut up. It’s like someone has pressed the mute button on the TV. My ears ring from the sudden lack of noise. “Thank you.” I say with a long sigh. Thomas looks relieved too. He’s finally breathing again. Geeze, if he’d blacked out on me, I’m kinda too small to do CPR so… Why do I always have to think bad thoughts?

“I’m sorry.” Someone says.

“That’s alright.” I reply instantly. The crowd looks baffled, most likely due to the fact that I can talk, in general. Usual reaction. I’m not exactly surprised. Not in the slightest. “Um…” I say. “If you’re taking photos, I’d prefer not to go on Face Book, or YouTube…” I trail off, unsure of what to say. Should have added Instagram.

“Do you have Face Book?” Someone asks. I’d call that random, but I kind of just brought up the topic so if I should blame anyone, yeah, it’s me.

“Yes.” I say. “Does anyone have any food to spare, by the way?” I’ve only just noticed how freaking loud my stomach is growling. Well, it’s loud for a midget of a stomach like mine, at least. I haven’t eaten all day, so let’s just say I’m famished to be technical. Ok, thinking back on that, I should never have asked that question. Because moments after, an entire hamburger is shoved in my face; pattie, swiss cheese and all. The thing’s what- three or four times my size. I stare at the cheesy, meaty goodness for a moment before tearing a piece of greasy pattie off the burger and popping it into my mouth.

“You’re adorable!” A girl squeals instantly. I feel myself blushing, not by choice but as an automatic response. I swallow my mouthful of pattie and reach out for the waiting hamburger which is still held directly in front of me. Before helping myself, though, I look up to see my feeder. He’s smiling sheepishly and has a thin, angular face with jet black hair. The way his teeth glint when he grins and his green eyes twinkle gives me the impression that he’s the popular kid in the grade.

“Thanks, man.” I say, as I grab more burger. Meanwhile, Thomas- the guy who’s actually doing the honours in holding me level in his hand is back to statue mode. I tap his thumb gently and he snaps into consciousness like he’s just come out of a coma.

“Can we… go to lunch, guys?” Thomas asks tentatively, moving his hand away from the burger. I reach out dramatically for the food but sulk back into sitting as he slides me onto his shoulder. I grip his thick shirt material before facing my crowd again.

“Why do you get to hold Marcus?” Burger boy asks as he re-wraps the burger and shoves it in his bag. He folds his arms and frowns. Thomas shifts on his feet nervously.

“B-b-because…” 

“Because I trust him.” I finish for him. “Although, kid, you’re in my debt now for that burger. Did your mum make that?’

Burger kid looks bewildered, particularly because I’m speaking so calmly. What? Just because I’m a midget, doesn’t mean I’m a shy little mute! “Um… yeah, she did…” He stumbles over the words.

I lick the grease off my fingers. “Tell her she’s a good cook, then.”

“Erm, alright.” Burger kid says.

“My mum’s a good cook, too!” A girl pipes up ecstatically, making me groan. I gaze up at Thomas and shoot him an apologetic look.

“Can you get these people away?” I whisper. He nods once and moves forward awkwardly, the crowd parting to let him through.

“Wanna sit with us this break, Marcus?” A few girls ask at the same time. When I put faces to the speakers, I realise it’s Gabby and a few other randoms from maths class.   

“Sure.” I smile. “That is, if Thomas here wants to.”

Thomas stiffens up before nodding. The girls link their arms together like they’ve been friends for years (which could be possible, of course) and guide us away from my now dwindling fan club so we’re walking down the hall. Kids brush past Thomas but no one really gives me a second glance, most likely because they’re too preoccupied to pause.

“So Marcus.” One of the girls asks as we walk. She moves so she’s walking directly beside me on Thomas’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” I say.

The giantess of a chick grins, showing green and pink braces. Her brown hair is tied in a messy ponytail and her eyes are a soft brown that reminds me of pure melted chocolate. “How long have you been tiny?” She asks.

I roll my eyes. “Eight years now. I’m turning fourteen next week.” I reply, flashing her a grin of my own.

“You were kept down a year?”

“Yeah, ‘cause of home schooling.” I say. Brunette with braces nods in understanding and continues walking. The hallway is packed with students, but the girls have soon found us a somewhat quiet location out the front under a tree, which is a safe haven for my previously busted ears. There aren’t many other students around and I’m glad because I don’t like too many people gawking at me at once. It gets seriously annoying after eight years of midgetness.

The girls form a makeshift circle and Thomas sits down with them. As he pulls out his lunch, I scramble down his arm and drop into the waist high grass he’s sitting on. Each blade is like a thick piece of rubber, to me. Just as I’m about to speak to one of the girls, a particular face in the mob of students passing meets my eyes.

“Marcus!” Cameron looks remotely distressed. “Oh my GOD! Where the hell have you been?”

Talk about overprotective siblings. 

I’m used to the way everyone else moves around me- wild, powerful movements that can easily outrank my own- but the way Cameron bounds over to our little (as an understatement on my behalf) group and practically plucks me off the grass with his thumb and index finger is enough to give me severe motion sickness.

“Marcus! Are you ok? Oh GOD where have you been all morning?! I looked for you everywhere at lunch-“ My brother pauses when he notices my weary, marginally green form, cradled in the palm of his hand. My head spins uncontrollably, to a point where everything has gone blurry.

“Midgets…… too…… fast……. Owww……” I stammer out, the hamburger pieces in my stomach threatening to make an uninvited reappearance. The girls and Thomas look down at their food, avoiding eye contact with my fuming twin brother. In all truthfulness, Cameron looks scary, with the frown stretched across his usually calm face. His frown evaporates though, after he notices my bleary expression, and turns into concern.

“Marcus, bro. I’m sorry…” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, looking stressed. “Sometimes I forget you’re a midget who’s super sensitive…”

I would honestly say something at this point, but I feel ready to hurl all over my brother’s clean, soap smelling hand. I’m not gonna lie; my puke would be like a miniscule bird poo to him, but I really don’t feel like throwing my guts on the first day of high school. Being a midget and all, it’s important that I keep my dignity, and pull off a brave face. Particularly so people don’t ride me off as what I am. Which is a guy too small to fight back.

“It’s….. ‘k” I manage to stutter up at my brother. I know Cameron’s worried about me. Heck, I’m in the process of cursing my stupid midget self as he stares down at me with genuine concern. Finally, my head stops spinning and I’m able to right myself to standing on Cameron’s palm, ignoring how high up I am at this scale. I adjust the earmuffs over my ears so they’re on properly and sigh. “Sorry, Cam. The principal told me I should make some friends.” I gesture with my arm to the makeshift group of girls with the addition of Thomas who are all staring at their food like it’s the last thing they’re going to look at. “And I guess I did.”

Cameron bites his enormous lip. I’m annoyed that he’s pulled me up, just as I was actually talking to some new people, but I try to hide it as I face off my twin. “Look, Marcus. Those kids might seem nice and all, but what if you piss them off?” I flinch at his words. “You’re my best friend, dude. I just…” Cam’s voice trails off.

“Don’t worry about me, bro.” I assure him with a smile. I pat his tree trunk sized thumb gently. “You’re my best friend too, Cam.”

Cameron smiles slightly, but he still looks wary. “You can’t defend yourself, Marcus.” He mumbles so quietly I have to tug my earmuffs off to hear. “These people…”

“I know what you’re trying to say, Cam.” I tell him slowly. “But honestly, this Thomas kid wouldn’t hurt a fly! And these girls… they’re just girls, bro! Cliché, soppy little midget adoring girls! I know that because I’m a real life midget it’s harder for me to do basic stuff and all, but I just want to feel normal.” I incline my head to stare at the others. “And they treat me that way.”

Cameron now looks pained. I instantly feel bad for him, because all he wants is to protect me, but, well… Sometimes I just feel like doing things for myself. And school is the perfect opportunity for me to feel half normal. Like I’m just another perverted teenager and not some midget freak who looks like someone you’d find in ‘The Borrowers’ or ‘Gulliver’s Travels’.

“Bro, sit down with us, if you want.” I say. “Just, please don’t embarrass me and take me away from these guys like some baby. I just wanna make some friends.”

After a minute, my brother edges down so he sits cross legged beside Thomas. He instantly looks up from his sandwich and smiles warmly at him, and then me. “You’re Cameron, right?” He questions. “MiniMark’s brother?” I shoot Thomas a dirty look from Cam’s hand, which only makes the bigger boy smirk playfully. The girls giggle in the background.

“Um… yeah, I’m Cameron. Thomas, is it?” Cameron says edgily.

“Yep.”

Now that Cameron’s sitting down, I swing myself over the edge of his cupped hand to fall nimbly into the waist high grass. Pushing my fringe out of my face, I grin cheekily up at Cam before wading over to the group of girls. Thomas and Cameron chat quietly behind me.

As I get closer, Gabby notices me and gently places her hand, palm up, a few centimetres in front of me. I clamber on automatically and smile up at the giantess teenage girls as Gabby lifts me up and onto her legging covered knee. From this angle, I can see the smiling faces of the other girls. There are four of them, including Gabby, in total. The brown haired brace face from before grins.

“Hey.” She says.

“So, what’s up?” I ask in reply. It’s Gabby who answers.

“Nothin much…”

I’m almost grateful when a red headed chick with pigtails lets out what she’s been busting to say for the whole time. At least it takes away the awkwardness. “What’s it like to be tiny, Marcus?”

I roll my eyes, a gesture too small for anyone except Ebony, a midget girl I know, to pick up but answer anyway. “It’s pretty cool, I spose.” I say with a smile.

“How long have you been small?” Redhead presses, the rest of the group listening intently.

“I think it’s about eight or so years now, actually. Don’t really remember.” I say.

“Is it scary?”

“Well, yeah… it can be.” Ok, this just got awkward. “I guess cause everything’s so big and fast…”

Redhead, as well as the other girls nod in understanding (which I highly doubt is actually true). “What’s your favourite thing to do?” Gabby asks, probably to break the ice with me and this giant tiny topic. I smile up at her, trying to make my thankful expression noticeable.

“That’s easy.” I grin. “Eat and hang out with my brother.”

“He’s hot, Marcus.” Brace face giggles like an honest to god girly-girl. “You two are like identical.”

“I know.” I reply, trying to hide my smile as the little mob eyes off Cameron.

“Does he annoy you?” Gabby asks.

My answer is instant. “Nah. We’re like best friends.” I shrug innocently. “Ok, maybe he does, especially when he grabs me when I’m still asleep and then pretends to eat me…”

“You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was…”

“Awwww!”

Suddenly, a loud ringing sound stings my covered ears. It takes me a good minute or so to realise that this is the classic school bell from all the American movies. I almost laugh out loud. Cameron glances at his watch, bites his lip and stands up, along with Thomas.

“I’ve got Drama next.” Thomas says. “You?”

“Art.” Cameron replies stiffly. He glances wearily at me, still sitting on Gabby’s knee. “What have you got, bro?”

“Drama.” I say loudly, over the growing noise as the other students head to class.

“We’ve got art, Cameron!” The girls all chime in at once. I swear I hear Cameron groan loudly as he shoulders his schoolbag and hangs his head. I know he’s still concerned about me, but I try not to notice. Gabby brings a hand behind me and pushes at my shins, forcing me to fall backwards into her cupped palm. I feel the usual nausea as I’m lifted to anti-midget height.

“I’ll take Marcus to Drama, Gabby.” Thomas says politely. I feel a pang of annoyance at his tone. I feel like a stupid baby that needs to be escorted to class. Heck. I have to be carried to class. My midgetness can be a serious pain in the ass sometimes. Gabby nods and moves her hand with me in it to Thomas, who lets her drop me into his own palm. I feel my cheeks reddening as I right myself so I’m sitting up straight.

“Ok, I’ll see you after school, brother.” Cameron smiles faintly. I wave him off as he begins walking away from our little group with the girls. Thomas and I stand alone in the courtyard.

“We should get going, MiniMark.” He announces with a grin.

“Yeah.” I agree. As Thomas begins his trek to the Drama room, I lie back in his hand and picture myself as a normal teen, going to school and doing normal things like sports; things I’m too small to do as a midget. It was a seriously stupid idea for me to lie down, because in seconds, I’m asleep. And god help me, in the palm of Thomas’s hand… on the way to drama.

 Midgets gotta sleep…

“Is he dead?”

“Oh my god you killed him, Thomas!”

“No, he’s breathing…”

“He’s so freaking tiny!”

“I’ve heard about this kid. His identical twin brother is in my class!”

“Me too! I’ve heard he’s been home schooled his whole life!”

“Apparently he was shrunk eight years ago!”

“Why do you think he’s wearing earmuffs?”

“Dunno. You think he’ll wake up?”

My eyes snap open and I barely convey a yelp in shock. I’m lying on something white and feather soft, probably a tissue, with at least five giant teenage faces meeting my eyes. I rub them absentmindedly as I stare up at my apparent classmates, who happen to be staring down. Don’t tell me I fell asleep…

“Hello!” Someone says so loudly I barely contain a wince. I shift into a sitting position, trying to make sense of where the heck I am. I can’t see over all the giant teenagers, but the tissue I’m lying on appears to be on top of a desk…

“You fell asleep.” Another kid pipes in. I adjust my earmuffs, push my blonde fringe out of my eyes and stand up groggily. Well this is embarrassing.

“Um… where am I?” I ask as loudly as I can. I try to project my voice, because my brother’s always telling me how quiet I sound to him. Why the hell did I have to fall asleep?

“You’re in the drama classroom.” A random kid replies matter-of-factly. There are a few nods of agreement. I stare at the bunched up tissues underfoot before carefully stepping onto the wood of the table… or whatever this is that I’m standing on.

“I’m guessing you guys are my classmates.” I say in attempt to either break the tension in the room or make some kind of conversation. “I’m Marcus.”

“Hi.” Someone says. I give a little wave in the direction of the speaker, but it’s hard to pinpoint them in this dizzying mob of giant students. The table I’m standing on is waist high to them, so I’m practically surrounded by giants and giantesses who are all looking down at me expectantly. It’s pretty daunting, even to me, who’s been midget for years.

“Um… where’s the teacher?” I ask the crowd. Why is it that I always manage to become the class weirdo here?

“Right here.” An irritated voice replies from somewhere behind the mob of students. I can’t see her, but I know that this is my teacher. “I’m sorry, Marcus. These kids won’t leave you alone.” She adds with mild annoyance.

As if registering the fact that the teacher exists, the mob surrounding my table parts to reveal a large classroom which is connected to what looks like a performing stage. Thomas, as well as a few other kids sit cross legged on the beige carpet floor in front of a woman perched on a wooden chair. My drama teacher beams at me from across the room. She’s a short, plump woman with enormous circular glasses and extravagantly frizzy and plaited hair. She wears a tight but flowy pink and green dress and has shiny knee length polka dot gumboots over her feet.

“Give Marcus some space, kids. Class has started!” She says in a sweet sounding voice. The mob of students around me obeys instantly by sitting down in front of the teacher. I myself can’t even get off this desk without breaking something important so I awkwardly sit down with my legs hanging over the edge, trying to ignore the countless eyes trained on me. The desk I sit on is one of many which are lined up haphazardly around the place. I have a feeling that this drama class doesn’t really use them for much.

I fiddle with the cord of my doll’s pants as my teacher begins talking. “My name is Mrs Lewis, and as you’ve probably guessed, I’ll be your grade eight drama teacher.” She says. “This term will focus mainly on the word, melodrama. Melodrama is a famous form of acting, which involves the actors exaggerating their emotions so that the end result is more of a staged feel. I’d like us to get straight into our assessment task for the semester, but before I discuss it, let’s get to know ourselves a bit better.”

Mrs Lewis instructs the rest of the class to form a circle on the carpet, which I find extremely awkward because I’m kind of stuck up on the desk. At least she notices me when the other students have resembled a makeshift circle. “Thomas? Would you like to give Marcus a hand?” She asks in a pleasant voice. I sigh in relief, despite the awkwardness of the situation. At least I get to take part in whatever activity Mrs Lewis is planning.

Thomas smiles and stands up to walk over to my desk. I let him scoop me into his cupped hand and sit back down with me now seated on his short covered knee. I can feel everyone else in the room staring at me, scratch the teacher, so I do my best to blot them out. Mrs Lewis claps her hands together, causing me to cringe, and clears her throat.

“Ok, we’re going to go around the circle and tell each other our name and five things about ourselves that no one would know. We’ll start with you.” Mrs Lewis points to none other than my old buddy Burger Boy, who has seated himself directly beside her. He purses his lips for a moment before speaking.

“Well, I’m Kevin… um… I play soccer and tennis, I can speak English and German, I was born in Germany, my parents own a ‘Grilled’ burger place in town-“ That explains the burger… “-and I just moved to Kingaroy in the break.” Burger bo- Kevin says, flashing one of his cool kid smiles. The rest of the class takes their turn in speaking, and before long, it’s Thomas’s go.

“I’m Thomas, I play soccer, my mum and I moved from America after she had a breakthrough in oncology, I have a pet cat called Gandalf, my favourite food is ice cream and I live outside of town on a farm.” He says.

“Lovely.” Mrs Lewis smiles. She nods in my direction. “Marcus?”

I swallow, knowing I should say something. What do I do that no one else knows about? I mean come on, everyone knows I’m five inches tall so I can’t just say that… Instead, I clear my throat and speak as loudly as I can muster. I’ve never been shy, so the words spill out almost easily.

“I’m Marcus and I have a twin brother called Cameron, I’ve had cancer but I’m in the clear, I like the TV show, How I Met Your Mother, I’ve never been out of Kingaroy, and I do heaps of parkour and free running.” I say evenly, the hint of a smile touching my lips. I’m well aware that the whole class is staring at me again, but I don’t really mind. Mrs Lewis smiles warmly down at me from her seat before she turns her attention to the rest of the class.

“Ok, before we discuss our assessment, let’s play a few games.” My heart sinks. If they’re playing any type of game, then I can’t participate. One of the many perks of being a midget. I’m too small to even lift a tennis ball, for one, and if I decided to play soccer or something, I’d be squashed. “The first game we’ll play is called Pistol Pete.”

I force myself to tune out as the teacher explains the rules. I have a hunch that she knows I can’t play. Mr Scandinovi told me earlier this morning that mum noted in my files that I’m excused from any sports, music or game related activities that involve ‘touching, moving around the classroom or even moving at all’. It sucks, I know, but if I want to live to see another day, then I have to stay on the sidelines.

Thomas places me gently back onto the desk with the tissues on it while the rest of the students play what Mrs Lewis calls ‘Pistol Pete’. I roll onto my stomach to watch as my classmates pretend to shoot each other, and make uncomfortably loud banging noises as they fire their literal hand guns.

I’m almost asleep again by the time the games are over. I resorted to trying to find all the green things in the classroom to pass time, and I think I got to forty before my eyelids drooped. I pry my eyelids open though, when I see Thomas walking over to collect me. “Hey, Atomic Boy.” I smile up at him as he holds out a hand for me to climb onto. “Remind me again how I met you.”

Thomas laughs quietly as he lifts the hand I’m now sitting in to chest level and moves back over to his place in the circle.

“Alrighty then!” Mrs Lewis smiles as she addresses the class. “I think I should talk to you guys a little bit more about our assessment. Tomorrow we’ll be watching a short documentary on Melodrama, but for now let’s sort out some groups.” She points with her index finger to the students, as if counting us. I can’t even tell whether she counted me. “There are thirty of you here, so that means we can have five groups of six. I’ll divvy you all up now so we can get started.” She scans quickly over the class for a moment before nodding to herself. “Ok, Annabelle, Kevin, Marcus, George, Thomas and Kellie. You’re the first group.”

I’m with the Burger Boy! I almost laugh out loud at that. Most importantly though, I’m with Thomas. I have a feeling that’s been arranged on purpose by the teacher, but I try not to think about it. Thomas stands up slowly, as if not to startle me, and meanders over to our little group. As it turns out, Annabelle and George are cousins who both have the same red hair and freckles, while Kellie is a chubby girl with glasses and a high ponytail. Kevin notices me and smiles showing his perfect teeth as Thomas sits down beside him and the others.

“Ok, what we’re going to do this term is perform our own Melodramas in these groups. You’ll each be given a premade script and will be expected to rehearse the lines for your part. These will be presented at the end of the term.” Mrs Lewis explains as she finishes dividing up the class. She produces a stack of crisp white booklets which I guess are our scripts and begins handing them out to the class members. I notice how every group receives a different script. When she reaches our group, my script is printed to fit the size of a business card, which is still like holding a full sized poster to me. Thomas and the others have regular sized sheets and as they scan their lines, I do the same.

I instantly regret it. “You’ve got to be kidding.” I let out a long sigh, causing my group mates to giggle. “This is sooooo rigged.” I mutter.

“You’re telling me!” Thomas laughs, using his index finger to nudge my stomach playfully. I kick the tree trunk sized digit away with my socked feet, to no avail. The printed words from my mini script flash before my eyes.

“Is it alright if I don’t play the role of Tom Thumb?” I ask hopefully.

It’s Kevin who answers. “Nope.” He says, popping the ‘p’.

I groan. This is going to be a long drama lesson.

“See you tomorrow, Tom Thumb!” Thomas calls out as he swings past Cameron and I on a bright red bicycle to cut off onto the road.

“Jerk.” I mutter under my breath, despite the smile playing at my lips.

“Tom Thumb? Really, Marcus?” Cameron laughs, looking at me as I sit on his shoulder. I roll my eyes and pick at a scab on my knee, cheeks heating up. My brother sighs dramatically and continues down the path on the way to the bus stop. His shoulders bob with every stride so I find myself gripping the thick collar of his polo shirt for support.

Students walk in front and behind us with bags slung over their own shoulders, but no one notices me. When they do, they ride it off as a hallucination. Because that’s what people look at me and see. A hallucination. The bus driver doesn’t look twice when Cam and I enter the bus. It’s the same guy, alright, and Cam’s still swiping two go-cards to be fair, but I have a feeling the guy is going to get off my back for a while.

The moment we’re home, I exhale in relief. I swear to god my house has never felt so inviting. Here I can be myself and even my one year old baby sister Katherine will accept me. “Can you put me in my bookshelf?” I ask Cam with a yawn, not feeling in the mood to talk. My brother rolls his huge blue eyes and nods. He takes the stairs two at a time, causing my teeth to chatter uncontrollably.

I don’t wait for him to lift me off his shoulder into my room. The moment the shelf is within midget jumping distance, I leap off his shoulder onto the painted wood, rolling to absorb the impact of the fall. I’ve done jumps like that countless times before so it’s almost like a second nature. “Geeze, bro! Stop trying to kill yourself!” Cam jeers with a smirk as he tugs open the door to his own bedroom beside my shelf. I poke my tongue out at him before swinging myself through a little man hole that’s been drilled through the top of the shelf.

My fluffy doll’s bed lulls me forward and I collapse into the soft mattress, earmuffs slipping off. I’ve got about a dozen pairs, but these ones are my favourite. Why? Because they’re custom made. There’s a little screw at the top which can be connected to a midget sized cord. And that cord can be connected to my IPod. They were last year’s Christmas present from my parents. Since my dad lives in America with an expensive job as a technician, he took the liberty of designing a pair for my let’s just say ‘small’ head.

“IPod.” I say aloud. My hand snaps out of nowhere to grab my earmuffs and slap them back on. “CAMERON!”

My brother’s head peeks outside his bedroom door. He’s changed into a simple t shirt and boxers and has one earphone in his ear. “Marco? That was an impressive yell, brother. I actually heard that one!”

“Shut up.” I snap, pulling myself back through the manhole so I’m on top of the desk. “My IPod’s gone.”

Cam yawns loudly and I get a whiff of curried egg and god knows what else he’s eaten. All that does is remind me how hungry I am. But my stomach is the least of my worries. “Relax, brother! I’ve got it in my bag.”

The look of worry slips off my face. “Christ, I thought I lost it.” I say.

“I’ll go get it. Just give me five.” Cameron shuts his bedroom door and I yawn myself and sit down with my legs hanging over the edge of the shelf. The drop below is probably over 100 feet for me, but I’m hardly scared. Heights are nothing to me. Except annoying, that is. The fear I used to feel when looking over the side of my bookshelf is long gone now. Cameron places my good old IPod fourth gen beside me, winks, and shuts his door again. I hear a muffled sigh from inside his room.

My eyes travel to the black screen of my IPod and I smile at my reflection. It’s like looking into a mirror. After a pause to collect my thoughts, I use both hands to push the thick device towards my manhole. It’s like pushing a flat screen TV, but my muscles are used to the strain. I grunt under my breath and lug the IPod down into the bookshelf before slipping in behind it.

The bookshelf I live in is divided up into little sections; five in total. I can access the different levels via little manholes in the ground. The top shelf, though, is where I sleep. Once the IPod is positioned back against the wall, I relax a little and tug the striped socks off my feet, wiggling my toes. I quickly change into my own t shirt and shorts, the shirt being custom made with the slogan: To gain height, lose all your tall friends. I got it on an online doll’s clothes website for over $100. If I want to get something custom made, I have to really want that something.

My IPod’s waiting for me when I’m done and I grab it, as well as half a lolly snake, which I keep in a lunchbox container under my doll’s bed with the rest of my candy stash. The IPod sits in my lap like a full on two metre long poster. I punch in my passcode with my whole hands and open up Instagram. The first word that comes into my head is: how?

 I have just under 100 new followers. And when I scan through the list of usernames, I realise that all these people are in fact, my classmates. Heck, even Thomas has followed me. Shrugging, I follow all my fangirls and fanboys back and open up my profile page. I didn’t have many followers before the run in with high school. Well, I follow all the other real life midgets around; Ebony (who calls herself TheBorrower35), a girl called Minime101 who I believe is Amy Leebeck (Gabby’s cousin), Russel (who calls himself SteamPunkMidget) and Harriet (who calls herself LiteralActionFigure). There are a few others who claim to be midgets, but they’re usually just faking it.

It’s hard to tell whether or not these people ARE in fact like me, but I’ve just confirmed that Amy’s a real case, and I’ve met Ebony in person. Russel’s a year older than me and lives downtown somewhere, but I know he’s a midget because he kinda takes photos of himself in someone else’s hand. I just follow Harriet because I like her name. So now, as I look at all these new and random people who call themselves my classmates, I wonder what they’ll think of me.

Everyone’s liked my pictures, which are mostly just selfies, apart from a pic of Cam and I, and one of me doing a backflip off the couch. The one of Cam and I is pretty embarrassing, actually, because I’m literally sitting on his head pretending to meditate. He won’t let me take it down, though. Besides, he’s got heaps of embarrassing shots of me on his own page. My least favourite being a shot of my head poking out of his enormous mouth from when we were ten. I couldn’t get the smell of saliva out of my clothes and skin for weeks.

I snap the IPod shut, toss the remainder of my lolly snake back inside its container and stand up out of bed to stretch. Once my head is marginally clear I clamber back on top of my bookshelf and clear my throat. “Cameron!” I yell for the second time this afternoon. The familiar sound of heavy metal music fills my covered ears. Cam always listens to music in the afternoons.

“Coming!” His voice calls from his room. The bedroom door creaks open and Cameron appears, looking drowsy. He’s worse than me, sometimes, with his sleeping. At least I have an excuse because midgetness can really drain a guy, but Cameron? No; he just eats, sleeps and then repeats. “Sorry, bro. Is the music too loud?” He asks me now.  

I shake my head instantly and pat my earmuffs. “Nah, I’m just bored. You wanna go for a walk?” I reply.

Cameron sighs. “Where to?”

“I don’t know… the park or something? You’re kind of the one who’s taking me.”

“That’s true.” He says.

“So… You up for it?”

“Ok then. But mum’s coming home in an hour.”

“Co-“ I’m cut off abruptly when my brother’s hand comes out of nowhere and wraps around my midsection gently, but firmly. He lifts me off the top of my shelf and sets me on his shoulder so quickly it makes my head spin. “Cool.” I finish tightly. Cameron giggles and pokes me in the chest with a giant finger. “You just love harassing midgets, don’t you?” I drawl, pushing his hand away.

“Nope.” Cam says with a smirk. “I just like harassing you.”

“Aren’t you a lovely sibling.”

He winks and continues down the stairs and out the door of the house. The sunlight stings my eyes for a second before my vision clears. “So, we’re going to the park?” Cameron asks.

“Depends on what you want.” I sigh.

“Well, big brother. Lucky for you, I’m in the mood for a ride on the slippery slide.”

I groan. The slippery slide is a translation for my brother watching me slide on my ass down the giant sized play slide, which is like a rollercoaster to me. He calls it funny, but I call it a form of midget torture. “I was hoping you’d settle for sitting on the grass or something…” I say.

“More like sitting in the grass for you, Marco.” Cameron giggles as he walks down our street.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” I say sarcastically.

“I need to talk to you, though.” Cameron says, more seriously.

“Alrighty then.”

Cameron rounds a corner and I’m greeted with the familiar secluded park scene I’ve grown to love. If I was normal, then the park would be my second home. It’s hilly, with clover patches and green, green grass. There are trees everywhere, where people of all ages do homework or chat under. The playground itself is usually teeming with toddlers, but today, it’s occupied by a classic group of punks. My brother is careful to steer us away from them. As much as he loves harassing me, no one wants midget soup for dinner, and those punks look like the squishing-because-it-looks-cool type. Not my kind of party.

Instead we sit at the very edge of the park under the shade of a tallish oak tree. Cameron rests his back against the trunk. After a minute’s silence, I inspect the distance between my brother’s slumped shoulder and the ground, deem it survivable and leap off the edge to roll onto the grass. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Cameron asks tiredly as I stand up in the waist high grass.

“Not really.” I answer, lying on my back on the rubbery grass. Cameron looks down at me, his skyscraper tall body blocking out the sky above.

“You’ve really gotta teach me some of that parkour stuff one day.” He says. I smile from my position amongst the grass. Luckily it’s not wet with dew like it is in the mornings, otherwise I’d be soaked through in seconds.

“It’d be harder for you.” I yawn. “My body’s lighter so it doesn’t react to gravity as much…”

“How did you find that out?”

“Wikipedia.” I laugh. Cameron rolls his huge blue eyes.

“Listen, Marco. I wanted to talk to you about school.” He says, turning serious again. I swear to god there’s a switch in his brain that turns him into an overprotective sibling sometimes.

“What about it?” I ask. “Besides the fact that it’s drained me?”

  Cameron’s smile fades. “We need to be in the same classes, bro. I’m only in one of your classes and that’s PE, which you can’t even do. You do Drama, Japanese and Computer Studies as your electives and then you’ve got your cores. I’ve got Soccer, Art and DTS. I know your choices for a subject are limited because you can’t play sports or hold a hammer for DTS, but you’ve gotta do art at least. I’m worried about you, Marco.” He says slowly.

I sigh, a blade of grass tickling my nose. “I like drama, though. I can’t do art unless I swap out of it! It’s only my first day and I’m already Tom Thumb…”

Cam purses his lips. “Maybe I could switch to drama…”

“No!” I stand up amongst the long grass defiantly. “Art’s your best subject! You can’t do that for me, bro! I’ll be fine.” The expression I’m rewarded with is almost hurt. I instantly pity my brother. All he wants to do is to protect me… I wade quickly through the grass to climb onto Cameron’s black converse. “I love you, bro. You’re my best friend, remember? Just don’t worry about me.” I say, smiling softly.

“But-“

“No buts, little bro.” I place a hand on his ankle. “I’m happy with my subjects, and I know how much you’ve wanted to do art and dts and get a soccer scholarship. There’s no use in me switching to art, anyway. I can barely hold a paintbrush, let alone a pencil…”

Cameron scoops me up into his hand and brings me eye to eye with him. It’s a weird experience to sit in someone’s hand- always has been- but I know he won’t hurt me. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Marcus.” He sighs.

“You can’t control what happens to me, bro, and I can’t either. Just don’t ruin this for me, ok? When I’m with these kids, I feel half normal.” It’s true in a way, particularly with my new drama group. I may be Tom Thumb and a real life midget, but I have real friends. And they don’t even notice my size anymore.

“I know, I know. I just don’t want anything to happen… You can’t defend yourself, bro. You can yell and scream and feel pain, but you can’t fight back. If someone wanted to…”

He can’t finish. I really hate it when he speaks the truth. I usually try to forget my disadvantages and move on with life. Being a midget has its perks, I know, one being that everything yummy is ten times bigger than normal. But it means I’m too small to defend myself. In all fairness, I could easily take on someone if I was regular sized, with my agile body that’s been built up to tackle life as a midget, but it doesn’t matter that I’m strong. The fact is that I’m trapped in this midget body. And there’s no cure. There was a cure to my cancer, yes. But this? This is like my own little version of Kemo. Instead of making me feel sick and lose all my hair, it shrunk me. But unlike hair, I don’t grow back.

I’m stuck this way forever.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Cameron and I are greeted with the delicious scent of pumpkin soup as we step back inside our house. I sigh loudly as steam wafts into my nostrils. Cameron sets me carefully onto the kitchen bench as he gives mum a hug. She’s still dressed in her work clothes; a white button up blouse and a tight black skirt. Her feet are bare, but she usually wears high heels to work.

“Hey boys.” She smiles warmly at Cameron first, and then me. “How was your first day of school?”

When Cameron answers, I quickly scamper over to the cutting board on the other side of the bench to grab a scrap of crusty bread from the corner. The loaf itself rests on the cutting board with a knife beside it, but I can’t exactly fit that bus sized thing in my mouth, so I settle for the crumb. Noticing me eating, mum shoots Cameron a mock disapproving look. “Didn’t I tell you to share your lunch with your brother?” She asks.

I wipe my flour coated mouth with the back of my hand before replying. “Sorry mum. The principal didn’t let me sit with him so I went hungry.” I say. “A guy gave me some of his burger, though. He’s called Kevin, I think.”

Mum laughs. “Learn from ‘Kevin’, Cam. He’ll give you lessons on sharing.”

Cam folds his arms in a pout. “You try finding Marcus in a school of over 200 kids! It’s hard enough as it is!” He complains, careful not to speak too loud with me in the room. Mum and Cam never raise their voices around the house, because my sensitive ears pick up everything, even with my earmuffs on.

“I hope that’s a compliment.” I call out over their sarcastic argument, causing both of them to giggle. I’m glad our mum’s so laid back. She’s not into the whole tugging at ears when naughty or screaming movement, like you get with most mums. I guess I’m the cause of most of that gentleness, being midget and all, but I don’t complain.

Mum turns away from Cameron and I so she can begin serving the thick soup into two white bowls; one for herself and the other for Cam. I pick myself up from my cutting board chair and walk across the bench to grab one of my little doll’s china bowls and spoon from a doll’s cupboard which rests atop the bench directly below the regular sized cupboards. Our house is rigged with stuff built to my scale, particularly in the kitchen, to make it easier for me to get around. For instance, there’s a miniature ladder beside the bench so I can access the floor and… (which is suuuppppeeeerrrr embarrassing) a ladder that allows me to reach the toilet.

 I hug the doll’s bowl to my chest as I trek to the stove, where mum’s serving up the soup. My bare feet are cold against the marble bench, which feels like ice to my skin, which isn’t as warm as a regular sized person’s. My body temperature is five degrees, actually. It’s simple to work out. Just divide 37, the normal body temperature by approximately seven. Ok, ok. Let’s forget about all this maths.

I pass my miniature bowl up to mum, who takes it between her thumb and forefinger. I watch as she uses a syringe to squirt the smallest portion of hot soup into the bowl before wiping it clean and adding a dollop of cream on top. Mum’s an expert with cooking, particularly when it’s to my scale. According to Cam, my doll’s bowls are like tissue paper to a normal person and are easy to break. Not that I think so, of course.

As mum returns the bowl to me, now lukewarm from the soup inside, I sigh. Cameron gently lifts me to the dining room table with mum behind him, carrying the soup. This is what I look forward to every day. Dinner. Any person would, with mum’s cooking. Sometimes she even brings my little sister downstairs from her crib. It’s late now, though, and she’s probably asleep.

“So, what did you guys get up to today?” Mum asks as the three of us begin eating. I lick the thick soup from my spoon.

“You know how there are around 90 grade eighters at the school?” I say.

“Yeah.” Mum confirms.

“I was checking Instagram this afternoon and practically all of them are now following me!” I laugh. Cameron shoots me a funny look.

“That’s kinda creepy, Marcus.”

I shrug. “I think they like me.”

“They only like you because you’re tiny.” He mumbles. I wince at that word. Sure, I can handle being called midget. Even small, if it’s worded nicely. But tiny? That makes me feel sick. The pumpkin soup in front of me is suddenly unappealing.

“You know I hate that word…” I say slowly.

“You can’t sugar coat it, Marcus!” Cameron suddenly yells. I cringe at the amplitude of his voice. When I stare up at his face, he looks pained. “You can call yourself midget, sure! But Marcus, it doesn’t deny the fact that you’re handicapped! These kids could kill you! They have no morals! You think that they’re nice but I’ll bet they’re just paedophiles who think you’ve got no bite… which you don’t! As much as you hate to admit it, Marcus, you’re puny! You can’t fight back, not even against Katherine!”

 I stare into my soup bowl, ready to throw up. Cameron has never said something like that to me. Sure, he teases me, pokes at me and spits on me because it’s like being hit with a bucket of water to me, but he’s never actually said…

“Cameron!” Mum scolds, her playful attitude evaporating. I’ve never seen her so angry. “Don’t say things like that about your brother! It’s hardly fair to blame him for what that stupid oncologist woman did to him!”

“Stop.” I say over her booming voice. I look away from my dinner and up at mum, whose eyes are up in flames. “Cameron’s right.” I feel like crying right now. “I am puny…”

Cameron wears a mask of anger. He takes a deep breath, so deep that I can feel the air sucking into his lungs and stands up, causing the cutlery on the table… and me… to shift on the spot. My ears ring from the screeching of his chair against the wooden floorboards. Cam’s eyes blaze when he sees me sprawled on the table, my doll’s soup bowl upturned and spoon snapped in half. “Marcus, you’re too small to do anything! I can’t think straight knowing you’re on your own at school!” He snaps. I’m about to croak out a reply but he’s already stormed upstairs. I hear his bedroom door slam and wince.

 Mum purses her lips, before carefully grabbing my broken cutlery and placing it on a napkin. The remains of my soup are splattered around me. I sit up slowly and sigh. “He’s right, isn’t he?” I mutter. “It’s why you’ve home schooled me up till now. I’m too small to do anything.” I stand up and kick the side of a vase of flowers to emphasize my point, my toes snapping dully on impact. The vase doesn’t even budge.

“You know that’s not true, honey.” Mum says gently. I can see it in her eyes, though. She knows Cameron’s right. She knows I’m right. “Cameron’s just overtired.” She adds.

“I’m going to go talk to him.” I say softly, eyes downcast. My dinner has gone to waste but I’m no longer hungry.

“Do you want a lift upstairs?” Mum asks automatically. Usually, I’d say yes… but tonight…

“No thanks.” I mumble. Mum opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something but closes it abruptly and nods. She stacks Cameron’s and her bowls together, wraps my broken cutlery up in the napkin and stands up.

“Ok then.” She smiles a little. “I’m going to wash up. Just don’t listen to what your brother said. He’s upset. That’s all.”

I watch my mother with weary eyes as she disappears through the hallway to the kitchen and then stare down at my feet. My motivation from earlier this afternoon is gone. After a few minutes though, I begin traipsing across the table top to the midget sized ladder installed on the edge. It takes me a good half hour to scale the staircase and by the time I’ve hauled myself up onto the second level of the house, my arms are like lead. I haven’t actually tackled the stairs by myself in a few months, and the exercise isn’t welcomed by my already tired body.

Feeling deflated, I continue down the upstairs hallway, past my bookshelf and towards Cameron’s bedroom door. It’s closed, as expected, but I squeeze under the gap in the bottom anyway so I’m inside my brother’s room. His room is so different to my own, because, well… it’s normal. Heck, I live in a bookshelf. His bed is on the other side of the room on top of a shaggy red rug which he bought specifically to slow me down during one of my pranks on him. I’m not here to play pranks though.

Cameron sits with his head down on his bed now, the only light coming from his bedside lamp. I walk slowly across the room towards it, moving around discarded t shirts and sweat smelling socks that I could sleep in if I wanted to. My brother is so preoccupied in sulking that he doesn’t notice my grand entrance. He does notice me though, when I manage to climb up the power cord to his bedside lamp, get onto his table and then onto the bed itself. The whole journey has taken my just over 45 minutes.

“You took the stairs, didn’t you?” He asks dully, without looking up.

“Yes.” I reply, panting. I can barely stand up because the bed’s mattress is so soft.

“I’m sorry.” Cameron sighs, finally acknowledging me. He swivels around so he’s facing me as I scramble onto his pillow. “I didn’t mean it, Marco.”

“No.” I say, keeping my voice stern. “You’re right. I am puny.”

“Wait-“

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t go to school and make friends. If you don’t like that, then sure, go ahead and stick me in a jar so I can’t leave the house. Just don’t take away the only quality I have that makes me normal. My ability to have fun.” I say.

Cameron doesn’t say anything for a long time. Too long for my liking. I’m actually getting scared that he’s taken my suggestions about jarring me on board and is planning to do it… But then, after a few minutes, he brings his hand out to scoop me up and I let myself fall backwards into his palm. “I love you, bro.” He says softly, lifting me up so I’m at his chest level. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“That’s alright, Cam.” I smile back. “I love you too.”

When Cameron opens his bedroom door at six thirty in the morning the next day, he looks mildly surprised to see me, already dressed and showered, sitting on top of my bookshelf waiting. I don’t know why I got up so early (because I never do), but I’m feeling strangely hyped, which is a rarity for a midget like me. Cam and I sat up reading last night, after we’d both sorted things out between us. We have this thing where the two of us pick a book we both like and I sit on my brother’s shoulder so he can turn the pages while I read along with him. The book we happened to be reading last night was my personal favourite, Gone by Michael Grant.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” I smirk up at him as he shuts the door behind him to face me.

“Well, this is a shock…” He giggles, eyes scanning me over. Today I’m wearing baggy jeans and one of my favourite slogan t shirts, this one reading Yo In big comical letters. My feet are covered with the usual socks for extra grip and I’ve got a pair of bright yellow ear muffs slipped over my head to match my shirt. “You never get up early!” Cameron says in mock astonishment.

I shrug, ignoring his shock. “I don’t wanna miss breakfast this morning. Couldn’t concentrate in class yesterday my stomach was groaning so loud.”

“Please, Marcus!” Cam snickers, reaching out to poke my belly with a finger. “No one can hear that mini stomach of yours!” Grumbling under my breath. I dodge his first attack but completely miss his second hand as it grabs me by the ankles and lifts me upside down into the air. I fold my arms, blood rushing to my head. It’s a miracle my poor earmuffs stay on.

“I really wish you could see how being suspended upside down hundreds of stories high feels, Cam.” I say, already feeling lightheaded from being upside down for so long. My ankles are clamped together by my brother’s thumb and index finger so tightly they’ve begun to ache. “Can you hurry up and put me on your shoulder? I think I’m about to pass out.”

Instantly, Cameron drops me headfirst into his other hand and places me on his right shoulder. My face, which was red before from all the blood is now turning a sickly green. “Sorry, big brother.” Cameron teases. I slap my temple with my palm to clear my head.

“I’m hungry.” I say.

“Ooookkkkkaaaayyy.” My brother drawls. I smile in satisfaction as he takes me downstairs to the kitchen. My breakfast is, as like most days, a bowl of cereal with a dash of milk. Since a single cornflake is the size of a football to me, I crush the cereal up to resemble midget sized flakes. It doesn’t help, though, with milk the consistency of glue. While I’m munching on my breakfast, which is in one of my many dolls’ bowls, Cameron pours himself a mug of coffee. Our mother’s at work already, as always, and Katherine’s in childcare.

“We’ve got PE together today.” Cameron announces with a small smile, even to my standards.

“I spose I’ll be watching you play, then?” I sigh. Cam frowns at my unenthusiastic attitude and nods.

“You can be like our midget support crew!” He laughs.

“Well, I did want to participate in some things…” I say.

Cameron snorts, looking at me in disbelief. “Like what?”

“Gymnastics is fine… as in the tumbling part.” I smile.

“Gymnastics is for girls!”

“That’s a pretty sexist thing to say!”

“Still… you can’t exactly do any of the obstacle courses…”

“No, I mean the floor work stuff.” I say. “I’d get an A+ for that.”

“True.” Cameron says, knowing I’m inhumanely good at tumbling and anything parkour related.

“I want to participate in the school’s cross country, too.” I say slowly.

“Wait… what? Marcus, that’s over 100 midget kilometres! It’s only three for everyone else but…”

I nod. I’ve worked that out in my head already. But I’ve wanted to participate in the event for years. I’ve seen runners on TV and everything, but to be in an actual race… “Yeah, I did the maths.” I tell him.

“Bro, no one can run a full 100 kilometres without dehydrating…” Cameron’s voice trails off as he creases his forehead.

“Forrest Gump did.” I say. “And being a midget, my metabolism’s wwwaaayyy higher than yours.”

“You can’t run that race, Marcus.” Cam’s friendliness has vanished. I set my empty cereal bowl down on the kitchen bench I’m sitting on.

“You watch me.” I challenge.

My brother looks pained. “Why are we arguing about something so pointless?” He retorts. “We both know you’re too sm-“

“Please. Don’t say that.” I snap. Quite frankly, I’m fed up with being called anything ‘small’ or ‘tiny’ related. Particularly when it comes out of my overprotective brother’s fat mouth. “Mum says it’s ok for me to run.” I add in a softer tone.

“I can’t let you do this…”

“Just. Let. It. Go.” I sigh. “If you were in my position, you’d understand. And you aren’t, so just stop.” I stand up, adjusting my yellow earmuffs and then folding my arms. “Let’s just get to school.”

“Marcus…” Cameron’s eyes are pleading to a point where I almost give in.

“Cameron.” I say sternly. “I’m sick of you telling me what I can and can’t do, especially when I already know the answers. Please just let it go.”

My brother stands in front of me for a moment with his eyes downcast, but eventually he sighs and holds out a hand for me to climb onto. I scramble up his arm to sit at anti-midget level on his shoulder. Sitting on someone’s shoulder used to really freak me out, with there being no back support if I slipped off, but nowadays, it’s my favourite way to travel. I like seeing the world eye to eye with all the normal sized people, even though it’s all just a matter of perception.

*****************

Cameron doesn’t speak as we get off the school bus to enter the grounds. Teenagers wander around, but no one really catches my eye… except Kevin and Thomas, who are standing out front of the school together. Kevin’s face lights up when he sees me and he waves us over. “Mind if I hang out with these guys before class, bro?” My question must have really gotten to him, because Cam suddenly looks like he’s going to be sick. He nods, though, to my relief and meanders over.

“Yo, Tom Thumb.” Kevin teases when we get closer. I roll my eyes as Cameron places me onto Thomas’s waiting palm, along with a familiar device. I clutch the IPod touch in both hands and wave half-heartedly to my brother as he walks into the main building with his head down. Instantly, I’m overwhelmed with sadness for Cam. I know he’s just trying to protect me.

“Hey, Kevin, Thomas.” I say, trying not to think about Cameron. I’ll talk to him later after school. “I noticed you’ve both followed me on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and I think I’ll stop there.”

Kevin laughs, his eyes trailing to the flat screen sized IPod in my arms. “Do you do all your schoolwork on that thing?” He asks, the curiosity in his voice barely hidden.

“Well, so far, yes.” I say. “The teachers have hooked up this airdrop app so I can download all the work.”

“That’s awesome.” Kevin smiles.

Thomas uses his free hand to check his watch. “We’ve got PE together first up.” He announces. Like most people, he’s already memorised his timetable.

“Damn.” I mutter.

“Why?” Kevin queries, raising an eyebrow.

I’m pretty surprised that he hasn’t caught on with the obvious already. “I can’t do sports.” I explain with a sad smile.

“Ohh.”

I wave off his pity. “Nah, it’s cool. I’ll just stuff around on my IPod while you guys play.” To be honest, I can’t even keep the pity out of my own voice. My IPod’s fun, yes, but sports? I dream about playing soccer like my brother does. The best I can do is play Fifa on our Wii. I’m not even going to describe how I control a Wii remote, which is taller than I am. Let’s just say it’s a complicated process.

“Well, we should probably head up to the gym, then.” Kevin says, dismissing the topic and pulling out a laminated map of the school. “It’s around the corner.”

“Good idea.” Thomas nods. I grip his finger for support as the two of them begin walking in the direction of the gym. It’s a huge building, air conditioned, with a timber floored basketball court inside, as well as a teacher’s office and a bubbler system. As Thomas and Kevin enter the building, I’m almost blasted off his hand by the chilling aircon.

Most of our class is already inside, Cameron amongst them. The moment he sees me, he jogs over, his sneakers squeaking on the polished timber floor. “Long time no see.” He says, his smile wavering.

I smile up at his gentle face and nod. I sense the pity behind his trashcan sized blue eyes. Ever since mum’s decided upon sending the two of us to school, he just… hasn’t been the same. Not like he used to, at the very least.

“Hey, Cameron.” Thomas says, as if he’s sensing the tension between us. I’m thankful that the other classmates haven’t found me yet; it gives us a bit of time to talk. I guess they’ll spot me eventually. Everyone does. I may be the Hide And Seek Ninja, but I’m also the class’s ‘freakshow’. There’s always one in movies. A kid who stands out in a crowd because he’s got a messed up face or something- occasionally they have cancer. They’re the rejects. That’s where I fit in.

“Hi.” Cameron mumbles back. Kevin shifts on his feet awkwardly beside Thomas. I grin up at him, earning myself a smile in return.

Just then, my ears explode, and I mean explode. It’s like white noise at first but once the shock passes, all I can feel is pain. Automatically, my hands snap up to clutch my already covered ears, which throb with the beating of my heart. Cameron’s quick to notice my pain, which he doesn’t even register himself.

It’s then that I find out that the ear ripping noise originated from a whistle. A short woman with mousey brown hair stands across from our little group, a metal whistle in one hand, positioned just in front of her mouth.

“Are you ok, bro? Oh, god… why are you even doing sport?” Cameron’s being a worry wart again. I grit my teeth and gingerly remove my hands from my ears.

“I’m fine.” I manage to say.

“What happened?” Kevin and Thomas are both confused. Well, more so Kevin, because Thomas would have known a little bit about us midgets from his mother beforehand.

“It’s nothing.” I mumble. “I’m just super sensitive to sound. It’s why I wear earmuffs everywhere.”

I can almost see the cogs turning inside Kevin’s head. “Ohhh. So you’re like a dog, then?”

I shake my head. “Worse.”

“That sucks, man.”

I don’t reply, instead simply nodding. I can hear fine, except everything’s gone fuzzy. Although, when the woman holding the whistle who looks like a teacher blows it for the second time, I really go deaf.

“Stop!” Cameron yells at her, waving his arms to get her attention. Meanwhile, my brain is doing fifty or so things at once; my nerve cells are trying to repair themselves, my skin cells are recovering from the amplitude, my heart is trying not to explode, my lungs are trying to function properly, and my mind? I’m cursing my bastard of a midget body for screwing up my life and making even the tiniest thing like the blow of a whistle send me into complete deafness. The teacher notices my brother yelling and stops blowing the metal whistle, looking baffled. Only when Cameron points at me, sitting clutching my ears in Thomas’s hands does she understand.

As I go through my own private round of embarrassment now with the eyes of the kids in the entire room trained on me, I realise that all the teachers must know about me and my obvious disorders. Why does my life have to suck? I ask myself. Finally, I retain my hearing again and when I do, I regret it.

“I’m sorry, Marcus, is it? I was just using the whistle to get everyone’s attention… I know you’re sensitive… I’m sorry…” The teacher babbles, her eyes filled with concern. She jogs over to us and I catch a glimpse of her soft hazel eyes.

“It’s alright, miss.” I say.

My apparent PE teacher looks relieved. She wheels around on her heels to address the rest of the class, who are now gathered around us, most of them staring at me. “I’m sorry, guys.” I mumble to Kevin and Thomas. “This is embarrassing…”

Thomas opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the PE teacher. “Sorry, everyone. Welcome to grade eight PE and my name’s Mrs Davies. This term we’re going to be focussing primarily on soccer…”

I swear that over the chattering of the students, I hear Cameron laugh out loud. I also swear that I hear myself groan out loud.

We have so much in common. 

If I was granted one wish, it would be to be a normal sized thirteen year old. I’d die to get a taste of what a normal life would feel like. How much different would it be to what I have? For starters, I’d get a normal bedroom and I’d be able to walk around the house in the time frame of five minutes. I wouldn’t have to teach myself parkour so I can get around efficiently. I’d be able to travel places, play sports, maybe even get into something musical, like drumming. I wouldn’t have to worry about being squished, my stupid sensitive ears, people staring at me when they see me, and most importantly, bullies.

I’d be able to ride a real bike. Go skateboarding. Get a girlfriend who won’t suck me into her mouth like a vacuum if she tried kissing me. So many things I can’t do as a midget. If I decided to write a list, it would probably span the width of my entire house, taking into consideration the size of my handwriting. Cameron often asks me questions about my life; for instance, what it feels like to sit on his shoulder or go in a car at this size. He hasn’t said anything for years now, though probably because he’s so used to seeing me this way. But the questions still never fail to pop up once in a while.

As the rest of the class begins their PE lesson with their teacher, Mrs Davies, I sit on a bench cross legged, which is propped up against the far wall of the gymnasium. Since it’s so hot outside, my class plays soccer inside on the timber floor, with a set of goals on either side of the room. My bench is positioned about three metres behind one of the goals, so I get a full view of the game.

When the other kids aren’t doing anything in the game, they turn around to stare at me. Sometimes when they do this, I give a little wave, or even smile, but that’s rare. Most of the time I’m too preoccupied with my IPod to notice, or my brain’s too used to the giant eyes trained on me to even realise. Either way, everyone in my class knows who I am. Most of the faces I recognise as some of the many students following me on instagram.

After the first half-hour of the two hour lesson, I begin to grow bored, but I force myself not to fall asleep on the bench, because that would just be embarrassing. Instead, I fiddle around on Instagram, frowning when I see one of Cameron’s new posts, which is of the two of us reading the previous night. I had stretched out on my belly on his shoulder with my tousled blonde hair half covering my eyes. To put it simply, I look like a dead midget. Well, at least he’s demonstrating his ‘brotherly love’ in his feed.

I see him now out of the corner of my eye as he blasts the soccer ball into the goal, earning a chorus of whoops and cheers from his team. I see Thomas jog over and give him a hi five. And in the reflection of the fibreglass pole of the goals, I see myself, lonely and midget as ever sitting with an IPod on the sidelines. Right now, my body is itching to join in the game.

“I’m sorry about your condition.” A voice suddenly says from above me. I sit up properly and crane my neck to see the teacher, Mrs Davies looking down at me with obvious interest. The whistle that almost killed my ears before is strung around her neck on a red lanyard.

“That’s alright.” I answer. Mrs Davies sits down on the bench beside me, her giant frame casting a shadow over my entire body. I find myself shivering a little at her presence, which is ridiculous because I’ve seen people way bigger than her.

“It must be hard.” The teacher continues. This is definitely weird. I thought that teachers minded their own business in real life, like they always do in movies. I guess I’m wrong.

“You mean the fact that I can’t play sports?” I ask warily. No matter how hard I try to avoid the topic, questions about my size and my life make their appearance more than once in a while.  

“Yes.” Mrs Davies says.

“I guess I’m used to it, now.” I say softly. “It isn’t so bad, after a while.”

“I was thinking.” The teacher continues. “That seeing as you can’t play soccer, then you can be our unofficial DJ.” She points across the gym and I squint, a blue macbook laptop catching my eye. It’s hooked up to a stereo system, from what I can see. “Usually we get the sick kids to be in charge of the music here, but I thought that you’d enjoy doing that because you’re too sma-“

“Thanks.” I smile up at the teacher before she can finish the sentence. I’m not in the mood for ‘small’ talk, as such.

“Excellent.” Mrs Davies smiles back. She stands up and moves to walk away, but pauses, as if she’s unsure of what to do with me. I understand her reaction; not many people seem to be able to find the right words to say, when they want to pick me up and take me somewhere.

“Hold out your hand.” I tell her gently, standing upright with my IPod slung under one arm. My knuckles are white from the strain of holding the thing. Slowly, the teacher kneels down and places her slim hand, palm up in front of my socked feet. Careful not to trip over her tree trunk sized fingers, I step on and plonk myself down in the centre of her palm with the IPod in my lap.

Mrs Davies stands up to her full height as slow as a snail and I can’t help but giggle from her narrow hand. “Aren’t you scared?” She asks curiously. In all reality, I should be, particularly because she’s got me suspended at around 90 feet in the air (to my scale) but, I’ve grown so used to all the ‘handling’ that it’s become instinctual to supress the fear of falling to my death or worse, being crushed in someone’s grip.

“No, not really.” I say after a pause. Mrs Davies gives me a strange look, but doesn’t speak as she carries me gently to the laptop, which is set on a tallish wooden table on the other side of the room. Once I’m safely atop the table, I drop my IPod to the ground and shake out my now aching arms. The laptop sits directly in front of me, so big it’s like my version of a cinema screen. As I step closer to the screen, I can see every pixel that makes up the desktop page.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Mrs Davies smiles, walking away with her whistle positioned back in front of her mouth. I know she’s trying to blow it softer when she gets the class’s attention, but it still brings a stab of pain to my ears. “Take a break, everyone.” She says loudly. “We’ll continue in five.”

While the other students rush in a swarm to the bubblers for a drink, I place both my palms on the computer mouse and grunt as I push it along the table, so the cursor reaches its destination: Internet Explorer. Despite the soft padding underneath it to ease friction, the mouse is still just as heavy as pushing a fridge. Relaxing my arms, I press down on the click button and Google flashes before my eyes.

After one of my tedious dancing sessions of typing in ‘Youtube’ on the keyboard with my feet, I’ve finally opened the program. What song? I think to myself, eying the screen sceptically. To play it safe, my first choice is a teenage favourite, ‘Radioactive’ by Imagine Dragons. Mind you, it takes me a good two minutes to get the name of the song typed up, but once I do, the familiar tune of the band fills my ears, as well as the rest of the room.

It’s then that the class notices my small form, standing behind the screen of the laptop. “Awww!” A girl squeals, causing me to groan loudly. I think she might have picked up my irritation because she proceeds to giggle in a high pitched, girly voice. I look away from the crowd of sweaty students and try my best to focus on the Radioactive music video playing in front of me. It’s only when a giant finger prods me roughly in the back do I avert my gaze from the band.

“Oww!” I wheel around on my heels to face the kid who’s pushed me but the scowl slides from my face when I realise it’s just Thomas.

“I’m sorry…” I mumbles sheepishly. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head quickly, seeing his concern. His blonde hair is streaked with sweat from the soccer game. “Nah, I just hate it when people do that when I’m not looking. Freaks me out sometimes.” I say, smiling slightly.

“Yeah, I would, too.” He agrees.

“How’s the game going?” I ask, stepping backwards so I can lean against the computer mouse. ‘Radioactive’ blares in my ears.

“Good.” Thomas says. “I didn’t know your brother played. I do too.”

“Yeah, Cam’s been playing since he was seven or so.” I tell him. I remember when he first took up the sport; I’d recently been cured of Shrignakemia back then so I was still getting used to my new scale. Cameron had offered to take me with him to training, because Ebony was there at the time, before she’d been diagnosed with cancer, that is. I declined the offer at first, mostly shy that everyone would judge me for my size, but once I was eleven and I’d adapted better, I became the team’s official mascot. They gave me this little eagle outfit to wear to all the games, which I find pretty funny.

“Have you ever tried playing soccer?” Thomas asks curiously. My automatic reaction is to snort.

“Cameron tried teaching me once, but as it turned out, I can’t even move the ball without a struggle. I like watching it, though.” I say.

“I mean, with a…” He holds out his hand with his thumb and index finger curled so they’re about an inch apart. “smaller ball.”

“That’s not even possible.” I laugh. “You can’t get a marble sized soccer ball! I’ve already tried online.”

Thomas smiles at me sadly. “Listen, I’m sorry about what my mum did to you…”

“No! Not you too, Atomic Boy!” I whine instantly, cutting him off.

Thomas is clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

“I hate it when people pity me. Honestly, dude, I’m happy the way I am. Well… I spose I could have been happier without your mother’s cure, but if that was the case, I’d be dead. If anything, I want to meet her and thank her in person.” I say.

“You wanna meet my mum?” Thomas’s face lights up. “You can come over to my place this afternoon, if you want! I know we’ve only known each other for a day, but…”

“I know, I know. I’m too awesome to resist.” I wave his sentence off casually, smirking. “I’m kidding, I swear. But thanks.” I say.

“No problem.” Thomas winks at me.

“So… where do you live?”

“Outside of town. I’ll show you.” He says.

“Later.” I reply, pointing to the song on the laptop, which has just finished. “Your job right now is to play sports… and mine?” I jump onto the keyboard and expertly dance across it to type in the song: Hey Ya! By Outcast, the song instantly filling everyone’s ears with its thumping rhythm. “I’m the world’s first midget DJ!” 

Throughout the rest of my school day, I concentrate in classes as best I can, am offered another burger by my new acquaintance, Kevin, who I’ve nicknamed ‘Burger Kev’ (while both Thomas and Kev call me either Tom Thumb or MiniMark), and find myself looking forward to my afternoon at Thomas’s house. This will be the furthest I’ve been from home in my entire life. I rarely ever leave the vicinity of my street, and I never go anywhere alone.

As the bell rings though, signalling the end of our last class, which is biology, I’m ready to throw up. I had to be excused from class because as an introduction to the topic, the teacher instructed us to dissect bull’s eyes (literally). Seeing as one: all the students carried scalpels which could potentially be used to dissect me, two: the bull’s eye I was given could have served as a beanbag to my smaller frame and three: I made the mistake of stabbing my eyeball, spurting out a thick gelatinous liquid, which unfortunately doused me head to toe… in parts of cow. Thomas had to take me to the bathroom for a bath in the sink.

Now, I smell like rotting meat. Well, seeing as my body doesn’t have as much of an odour as a regular sized person’s, no one else notices my weird smell, but I do. And the thought of cutting open an eye sends shivers down my spine. “Do you know how intimidating it is to dissect something almost as big as you are?” I ask Thomas sceptically as he laughs at me as I sit amongst the soapy bubbles in the sink, my shirt hung over the metal rim. “It looks like sport won’t be the only subject I’ll be missing out on.” I add dryly.

Thomas grins cheekily down at me, causing my cheeks to redden as I bob around in the chest high water. It clings to my soaked pants like glue. He reaches over to grab a box of tissues from beside one of the cubicles and passes one down to me once I’m out of the makeshift bath. I stand on the bench of the bathroom, my teeth chattering uncontrollably as the cold sinks in. The tissue wrapped around me provides some protection, but it’s really not a good idea to go to Thomas’s house like this. Midgets like me don’t get sick like normal people (one of the perks from the cure), but I probably would if I went around saturated.

“I think we should have a change of plans.” I tell him as I wring out my wet hair. “Why don’t you come back to my place so I can change into some fresh clothes. Then we can hang out there.”

“How tall are you?” Thomas suddenly asks. I frown, feeling heat rising to my cheeks again.

“I don’t know why you have to know this, but I’m four and three quarters of an inch tall.” I say softly.

“I have some doll’s clothes back at my house from when I was younger, if you wanted to… you know…” Now it’s Thomas’s cheeks that are flushing red.

“You played with dolls?” I laugh as I tug my wet shirt over my head and turn around to inspect my reflection in the giant mirror behind me. My earmuffs aren’t on right now, because they’d break if they were submerged in water, but I’m pretty sure Thomas has them. I hope he does, because I actually feel pretty exposed without them. Already, my ears have begun ringing from all the un-muffled sounds.

“Well, yeah, but it used to by my mother’s.” Thomas explains hurriedly. I roll my eyes as I face him again.

“Still, I’m not really a fan of doll’s stuff.” I admit warily. “I prefer not to look like some toy.”

“But you told me you buy all your clothes from a doll’s shop…” Thomas reminds me.

“Mum shrinks some of my stuff in the clothes dryer…” I smile a little at those memories.

“That actually works?”

I look down at my saturated jeans. “It worked with these. You just have to get the heating and spinning settings in the drier just right and you’ve got yourself midget pants.”

“That’s awesome!” Thomas laughs. “So, which house are we going to?”

“Maybe mine for today… but I’m not kidding when I say that I want to thank your mum for curing me.” I answer from the bench. Thomas nods, smiles widely and holds out his hand, which I quickly scramble onto. My IPod is tucked safely away in his schoolbag with, which I presume is the case, my earmuffs.

I’m not quite used to going without the earmuffs, actually, so I’m a little shocked when everything outside the bathroom sounds so clear. It’s like hell to my ears, but I find I can hear so much better without them. Not that it’s hard anyway, to listen to someone ten times the size of you as they talk. Thomas moves me up onto his shoulder as he continues on outside, so we’re at the front of the school building. As usual, teenagers mill around chatting and gossiping, some playing handball again like they’d done yesterday. In all honesty, every time one of the students slams the rubber ball across the court, I flinch, thinking about what would happen if I was the one getting slammed across a bitumen court. Not fun.

Cam sees us as we reach the front gates of St Agathas and greets me with a toothy grin, which I return. He seems a tad agitated still, probably because I’m sitting on Thomas’s shoulder rather than his own, but I ignore it. He’s not the boss of me. “Hi Thomas.” He smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He holds out his hand expectantly, palm up. Thomas hesitates, knowing he’s motioning for me.

“Thomas is coming over this arvo.” I say quickly, when my friend makes no move to transfer me into Cam’s waiting hand.

“Oh… cool.” Cameron smiles, looking almost shocked. I frown at the expression. “The bus comes in ten, so we’d better get a move on.”

**********

The bus ride takes forever, especially since there’s traffic, being the second day back at school. By the time Cameron, Thomas and I enter via the front door, I’m covered head to toe in goose bumps and my toes are blue from the cold water of the sink. I’m giddy despite it all, though. I’m actually having a friend over. To my house.

The moment Cameron and Thomas step into the kitchen, I leap off the shoulder I’d been sitting on, dropping the last few midget stories so I land in a roll on the bench. I notice Thomas’s amazed expression and wink teasingly at him before sprinting over to my little collection of bowls and plates.

“You guys like the sound of chocolate cake?” Cam asks, his head stuck inside the fridge.

“You bet I do!” I say instantly, the cold vanishing from my body. A change of clothes can wait. Chocolate cake on the other hand…

“I wish I was a midget right now.” Thomas laughs as Cameron sets the half-eaten cake down beside me, the chocolaty goodness the size of a house.

“Trust me, Tommy. You do not want to wish for that. Although…” My voice trails off to allow me to smirk up at him. “This might be an exception.” While Cameron cuts two thick wedges of the cake for himself and Thomas, I don’t hesitate in ripping crumb sized portions off my brother’s slice. It’s not like he’s going to care because after all, I don’t eat much. “Wanna see my room?” I ask Thomas as I swallow the final mouthful of my cake. My mouth is smeared with chocolate pieces that make me look ten years younger than I really am.

Thomas nods, a smile creeping at his lips. “We should play the Wii later or something.” Cam suggests, as I clamber up Thomas’s arm to sit back on his shoulder. I’ve always lived the Wii Console. Heaps of people don’t believe me when I say that it’s even possible for me to work a remote, particularly because it’s twice my width, two heads taller than me and weighs (on my opinion) more than a young midget rhinoceros. My choices of actual games are limited, because I’m not big enough as a midget to lift the remote and hold a nun chuck or accessory in the other hand, but Mario Kart is one of my options. Same with Nintendoland, for the Wii U Console.

As expected, Thomas shoots me a look of disbelief. “You can use a Wii remote?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not that handicapped, Ryan.” Still, I can’t keep the doubt out of my voice. I preoccupy myself by pointing up my house’s mountainous staircase or as I like to call it, the heartbreak stairs. “My room’s upstairs.”

“Your house is huge, Marcus!” Thomas marvels as he climbs the staircase effortlessly, one hand on the wooden railing I sometimes use as a slide.

“Sucks for me.” I mutter, allowing a small smile to stretch across my face. Admittedly, the gesture’s a tad forced.

“You have a really crap attitude, MiniMark.” Thomas jokes as he’s directed to my room/bookcase. He’s about to pass it when I snap my hand out in front of his giant face.

“That’s it.” I say, pointing to the bookshelf. Thomas is confused. He moves to open Cameron’s bedroom door, which is locked. “No, you duffer!” I laugh. “That’s my brother’s room!” I move my pointing arm a fraction to the left, so it’s facing the shelf. “That’s my room.”

The look on Thomas’s face is stunned. That and a mixture of the common curiosity. Like everyone else who visits me, he’s instantly kneeling in front of my bedroom/book shelf to get a better look at its insides. As sparsely furnished as the bottom shelves are, he still wants to take it in. Taking his frozen stature as my advantage, I roll back on my heels before diving into the top section of my bedroom from his shoulder, almost missing the timber divider between the levels. Thomas blinks twice at my near death experience, but I’m too busy standing up and dusting myself off to notice.

“I know you’re dying to hear my life story.” I smirk up at him, walking to my tissue box wardrobe and yanking out a plain white shirt and a pair of black shorts. “Just give me a sec, I’m freezing.”

Thomas averts his eyes as I tug the dry clothes on and shivers a little when I touch his hovering hand lightly with a finger. “All set.” I smile.

**********

Cameron has already set up a Mario Kart 32 game marathon by the time Thomas and I are downstairs. Thomas is quick to settle himself down in our two seat recliner lounge with my brother, while I use my usual doll sized pillow to get a better view of the cinema sized tv screen that displays our game.

A remote and nun chuck (since I can’t use a Wii steering wheel) are placed on the coffee table in front of me and I quickly arrange the remote itself so it’s positioned horizontal to my body, with my two feet hovering over the accelerate and reverse buttons, like I’m driving a real car. I hold the nun chuck awkwardly between my legs, one hand on top of the joystick. The other hand rests just over the ‘use item’ button. It’s a really intricate and confusing way to hold and operate the remote, but it’s the best I can do with the body I have.

Trying to get Thomas’s eyes off me and my remote, I smirk up at him. “I’ll bet you ten bucks I’ll smash you at this!” Cameron giggles at my strong words but pauses in mock fear when I stare daggers at him.

Thomas purses his lips in consideration for a moment, before his lips twist into a smile. “I think I’ll shake on that.” He declares smugly. He holds out his car sized fist, his index finger free. A rush of a challenge surges through me and I jump up so I can take the bigger boy’s finger in my whole hand as he shakes it to seal our little bet.

Cameron’s laughing softly as the character choosing menu flashes across the TV screen. I’m instant when I select my all-time favourite character, King Boo. Thomas selects the Wario character, while Cameron scrolls down the Mii character list until he finds our homemade Sam Temple, from the Michael Grant Gone series. I lean forward in anticipation of the first race, feeling the adrenalin course through my veins.

3, 2, 1…

My hands grip the nun chuck joystick expertly, swivelling it around to control my kart. I hold first place, but Cameron’s close behind and Thomas isn’t going to give up without a fight. There’s a pixelated streak of yellow and purple as Thomas swerves into first place and I grit my teeth. I can’t lose this bet… I don’t have ten bucks… Luck is on my side when I obtain a red shell from one of the passing mystery boxes.

“Hah!” I laugh triumphantly as Wario’s hit. Thomas swings his steering wheel around like a madman, trying to catch up. My arm around the nun chuck tightens. Suddenly, Thomas has pulled in front of King Boo again and is leaving me behind. The finish line’s within sight now, but Thomas has a good lead…

The look on his face is priceless when I streak past Wario at the last minute to score first place. Kicking the heavy nun chuck off my lap, I punch the air with my fist and let out a ‘whoop’. “Toootally whooped your ass, big guy!” I poke my tongue out at Thomas, which causes my brother to stifle a laugh. I watch with satisfaction as my new friend reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a blue ten dollar note, as promised. He sets it a few midget centimetres away from me, and I pick it up using both hands to check it’s the real thing. The ultraviolet from the thick plastic catches on the overhead light and I nod in approval. Holding the money is like holding a poster twice my height and almost as wide.

Thomas rolls his eyes mockingly as I inspect my reward. “Who ever thought Mario Kart Wii would turn into a version of gambling?” He laughs.

Making sure he’s looking at me right in the eye, I wink slyly. “Me.” I say matter-of-factly.

“Oooooh, Oooooh, Radioactive! Radioactive!” I sing loudly, as the water beats down on my exposed back. I stand beneath the midget shower I installed myself on the second floor of my bookshelf. It isn’t flash, like a real shower, but it serves its purpose. Mum and I cut up one of those flour sifters and strung it up to resemble a showerhead. All I have to do is pour water into the bucket suspended overhead and presto! You’ve got yourself a fully functioning mini-shower! “I raise my flag, and don my clothes… it’s a revolution I suppose…” I continue to sing, whilst lathering soap over my tanned skin and feeling the warm water rinse it off. Droplets run down my hair ant the sides of my face. “We’re painted re-“

“Will you shut up, bro?” A voice yells over my singing. I wince slightly at its amplitude, having no ear protection on at the moment, but it doesn’t bother me too much.

“You sing in the shower, too!” I shout back, even though I can’t see Cameron beyond my makeshift shower curtain. This section of my bookshelf is closed off from giant prying eyes by a thick plank of wood. At least that way I get my privacy.

“A least I don’t sing crappy songs like Radioactive!” He calls from outside, causing me to roll my eyes comically. I don’t reply to his comment; instead I continue to sing, purposely louder than before.

“To fit right in… oohhh. I’m breaking in, and shaping up, and checking out of the prison bus… this is it, the apocalypse…”

“Don’t make me come in there!” Cameron yells. “I swear to god!”

“I’m waking up I feel it in my bones, enough to make my system blow!”

“Shut up!”

“Welcome to the new age, to the new… SHIT!” I yelp in shock as my brother’s huge hand squeezes through the gap in the shelf to rip the shower curtains away. “Hey!” I yell, as I try to cover my genitals with my hands. The water still beats down on me, the lack of the curtain fogging up my mirror. “That’s gross, Cameron!”

My brother’s head appears from outside and he stifles a giggle at the sight of me, soaking wet and visibly naked standing in my midget shower. “I told you to stop singing!” He laughs.

I don’t get the joke. I’m shivering from the lack of warmth provided from my curtain. “You’re disgusting!” I say incredulously. “Pervert!”

Cameron rolls his huge eyes and drops my curtain. It swings back into place to conceal me and I gingerly remove my hands from my privates to stick my head out of the gap in the material.

“Can you please let me finish my shower?” I ask, giving Cameron the death stare. He rolls his eyes again, seeing my pout. An idea pops into my head and I say: “I’ll sing one of your favourite songs, like ‘The Story Of My Life!’” Cameron’s a huge Directioner. He doesn’t like confessing it to anyone, but once you’re in his bedroom, you can tell he’s addicted. He’s not gay or anything like that, but the enormous posters of Niall and Louis hung up beside his bed are a little unnerving.

Cameron’s smile returns. “Deal.” He winks, causing me to sigh. As I continue my shower, I try to recall a few lines of the One Direction songs, failing miserably. I end up repeating the line: “Let’s go crazy, crazy, crazy till we see the sun!” until my throat is raw. By then I’m certain Cam won’t be returning to sneak a look at my guy parts. Smiling to myself, I wrap a fluffy doll’s towel around me and grab a pair of trackies and a blue t shirt from my cupboard, as well as a matching set of earmuffs.

Yawning, I slip into my bed and pull the covers tightly up to my chin. Kingaroy weather is hot usually, but it’s coming into winter now, and with my midget body, I’m freezing. As an afterthought I tup on some fuzzy yellow socks to warm up my feet. A minute passes by as I stare up at the checked ceiling of my bookshelf tiredly. Then, shrugging, I sit up and lug my IPod onto the bed with me, fumbling for the thick white earphone cord connected to it.

The last time my Dad visited from Tokyo, he brought with him my Christmas present; not only my specially made earmuffs but a matching cord to go with them. It is a normal thickness, but rather than splitting into two regular sized earplugs, it can connect to my midget sized earmuffs and also has the ability to control the sound of the music so it’s much quieter than usual. Often I plug my earmuffs into the cord and listen to music when I sleep. But tonight, I’m back on Instagram.

I press my palm to the photo icon and bring up a recent photo of Thomas and I playing Mario Kart together on the couch. After our first race, Cameron offered to take a photo. Mind you, since it’s been taken on an IPod, the definition’s terrible, but it’s the first picture I’ve had taken with a real friend. Ebony’s an exception, but I mean a real guy my age.

I’m smiling as I enter the caption for the photo with my palms. Thomas smiles back at me from the screen, along with my smaller form on the coffee table beside him. My hands waver over the keyboard for a moment, before I type out a quick sentence; Mario Karting with Thomas after school. The screen flashes as my picture loads. Instantly, Thomas likes the photo and comments: Cool pic, MiniMark! See you tmoz!

Laughing quietly, I immediately reply: I’ll be the guy sitting on a dude’s shoulder ;)

Figured. Thomas types up. I glance at my picture again and notice that over fifty people have already liked it. They’re all in my classes. I decide against telling Cam about it. He’s worried enough about me as it is. I can hear him in his room now, actually. Despite my earmuffs, I can hear the loud music playing through the wall between my book shelf and his bedroom.

I scroll down my feed boringly, but stop on one particular picture. It’s of a young girl with raven coloured hair and shining green eyes. She holds a soccer ball under one arm and smiles widely at the camera. My eyes travel instantly to the caption beneath it:  I Wish I Was Normal.

“Ebony.” I whisper under my breath, still staring at the smiling girl in the photo. That was Ebony from almost three years ago, when she was a normal teenager like Cameron. I was eleven or so then, but I remember her as a normal girl like it was yesterday. She and Cam got into the State Soccer Team together, only weeks before she was diagnosed with Shrignakemia and changed. I haven’t seen her in almost a full year. She’s got severe depression, though, and hates her life and her cancer that died with her spirit. I do too, sometimes.

I lay my hand down on the comment section of her photo and type hastily: Me too, Ebby. Are you ok?

I’m not surprised when she answers immediately. Being a midget, the IPod is my life. Since we can’t really do many normal things like sports or even shopping, we usually amuse ourselves on Instagram, or some other app. Yeah, just down lately. How’s the new school going btw? Ebony types.

Great! Made heaps of friends and got to become the DJ for our sport lessons! What about u? I type back, grinning. It takes a few minutes for her next message to come through; probably because she was thinking or something beforehand. At least she’s talking to me instead of ignoring me like she usually does.

Really? I don’t go to sport lessons full stop. Usually hang out in the library with my IPhone then. I miss soccer…

Same, but I like watching everyone play. It’s cool!

Hey, I’m coming to your place for the weekend bcoz my parents are away in Brisbane. C u then :)

Cool! C u :D I reply, knowing she doesn’t want to talk anymore. It’ll be Wednesday tomorrow, according to my Calender, so she’ll be staying over in four days. I haven’t seen Eb since she was recently cured, and she looked like hell back then. I hope she’s recovered a little from her depression now. It doesn’t help me to have the downsides of being midget laid out like it’s a flashing poster.

Sighing, I lock my IPod and push it off the bed so it’s beside me, before I tug my earmuffs off and roll over to face the far wall of my shelf. I stare straight at my tissue box wardrobe, as well as a few scattered pillows pattered with polka dots. It’s only seven thirty at night, but Cameron and Mum know my curfew. I get tired too easily to stay up late. Trekking around the house is a nightmare, but it’s also the way I am. And if that means I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow, then I’ll have to make do with it. And I have. For eight years and counting, I’ve dealt with it.

And I’m not going to stop fighting. Well, at least not until I put my head down on that pillow. With a final breath, I let my eyes slip shut and pull me into a dreamless sleep. But I do allow myself to think about one thing before I drift away. The caption Ebony wrote after her photo:

I Wish I Was Normal.

The next day at school, I’m forced to leave the room during music class. If you’d like me to repeat that sentence for the purpose of your word digestion, I will: The next day at school, I’m forced to leave the room during music class. Not by choice, of course, but by the sheer sound coming out of the instruments. Besides, I would have fainted otherwise and that’s not a good way to start your school year.

I’d been having a pretty good day so far, with physics and English lessons up first. Physics was probably the one class I can say I loved. Why? Because we happened to be learning about matter. And the teacher decided it would be fun to discuss what ordinary things like water would feel like to much smaller beings and vice versa. Let’s just say that for the smaller beings part, I was like a midget Einstein.

English was pretty good, mind you, with news about our first piece of assessment; a journal about what you get done in your average day. I’m pretty sure that teacher’s going to anticipate my submission. Pretty much everyone wants to know what it feels like to be five (or in my case four and three quarters) inches tall.

After a quick morning tea with Thomas and Kevin, they’d taken me to my next class with promises that they would pick me up before the second break. I wasn’t completely excluded from this class; my IPod does have a miniature piano app installed. But I didn’t get to participate in the actual ensemble.

My ears had been fine during the first half an hour, probably due to the fact that no one was actually playing their instruments. Unfortunately for me, though, the moment the conductor waved their stick signalling the start of a song, even my poor earmuffs couldn’t supress the noise. I’d been sitting on the teacher’s desk at the time listening to their talk about famous musicians of the world before the band had begun playing so I had access to a phone.

Long before I’d actually managed to call the school reception though, I felt my ears pop. The room was mute. It sounded like someone was crinkling a lolly wrapper right up against my ears so everything was overcome by white noise. No one had noticed that I was unconscious until the song was over and the school’s nurse was bursting into the room…

****

I open my eyes to see white. White sheets, white walls, white shelves. I sit up straighter to find that I’m lying, tucked in, on a regular sized bed. The whole thing’s completely out of proportion, having a tiny kid seated with their head right up against a fluffy white pillow and their legs covered by the thick sheet, but I spose who ever put me there didn’t realise that. Either that or they were completely oblivious to my size.

“You’re ok, honey.” A familiar voice startles me and I turn my head to see my mother, seated in a blue plastic chair beside my bed. My head spins uncontrollably to a point where the whole room is a mess of blurred colours.

“What happened?” I slur. My ears ring dully, uncovered by my usual earmuffs. I’d already figured they were gone, though. Mum’s voice is sharper than usual.

“You fainted in music class, Marcus.” Someone else says. I look away from my mother to meet the huge grey eyes of an old woman in spectacles. The nurse.

“What?” Crap. That’s probably the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to a guy during school. I guess I should be lucky I wasn’t squashed or something instead…

“He’s sensitive.” Mum explains to the nurse. “His ears…” She lowers her voice but I can still hear her whispers. “Because he’s so small, then loud noises affect him. That’s why he’s got earmuffs on sometimes.”

“Ahhh.” The woman says, eyeing me with obvious curiosity. I push the sheets off my legs and try standing up, wobbling a little on the uneven surface of the mattress.

“What time is it?” I ask.

Mum glances quickly at her watch. “Lunch. You’ve been out for about twenty minutes.”

I grin, nodding. “Great. I’ll go back to class then.”

Mum purses her lips. “Marcus, I’m going to take you home to rest a little. Your ears have popped.”

My smile fades a little, replaced by a scowl. “I’ll be fine, mum! It was just an accident!” I assure her.

“Honey…”

“I’m fine, mum.” I repeat, slower this time. “Don’t ruin this for me, please.”

Mum’s expression is pained. “The nurse thinks you’ve had enough for one day.” She holds out her long, slender hand in front of me, palm up. “Let’s go home.”

“No.” I say firmly. “Come on, please? I’m fine I swear!”

“I think I’ll leave you two to sort things out.” The nurse says softly, before departing through the door behind my mother.

“Marcus, We’re leaving. You’re overtired.” Mum says.

I push my thick blonde fringe out of my eyes and shoot her a pleading look. “I’m not!”

“You are, honey. We can go out for lunch at the mall, if you preferred that…”

“I told you, I’m not going home!” I snap incredulously. Mum sighs, retracting her hand and moving it back to her lap.

“Marcus, please just cooperate this once. I don’t want to have to…”

“Make me?” I say coldly. “You know you can do it so go ahead. But I’m asking you here and now to let me stay here.”

Mum swallows, not meeting my eyes. “I wasn’t going to say that, Marcus. I was actually going to say bribe you with food…”

I roll my eyes. “Suuurrrreee. I know how it is, mum. You’re just like everyone else. You think you can do whatever the hell you want with me and I can’t stop you.”

“That’s not true!”

“Everyone probably got to see firsthand how weak I was in music class today. I fainted because of the music. Because something was too loud. If I can faint because of that, then I’m sure they’ll realise sooner or later that I can’t defend myself. Cameron’s right, mum. I’m too small to do anything.” I don’t look at my mother as I speak.

Slowly, carefully, she touches my shoulder with a finger. “That’s not true, Marcus.” She says. “And I’m going to prove it to you.” Without warning, she wraps her fingers around my waist and I feel myself being lifted into the air. Mum’s grip on me is light, but firm enough to hold me steady. She raises me up off the bed and onto her shoulder.

“Mum!” I yell angrily. She begins walking to the door. “Don’t you dare ignore me!”

“I told you I would prove it to you, Marcus.” She replies calmly. “We’re going to the mall.”

“Wait… what!? No, please mum, I wanna go to school…” My voice catches in my throat.

“You’ve got a whole year for that.” Mum says.

I protest the whole way to mum’s car. She ignores me most of the way, but I don’t stop. “This isn’t how you prove it!” I snap from her shoulder. Mum tugs the passenger door open and places me gently on the seat of the yellow Voltswagon beetle. Immediately I sprint for the opening but Mum slams the door so hard that I stumble backwards, clutching my exposed ears in pain. I grit my teeth angrily as she enters through the opposite door and revs the engine.

“You better be happy.” I snarl, practically quivering with anger. “And you thought what I was saying about free will wasn’t true.”

“Calm down, Marcus!” Mum replies tersely.

“Don’t you tell me-“

“Marcus.” Mum says, firmer this time. “Do you want me to get you a job or not?”

“What?” I ask.

“You heard me. A part time job. You said you couldn’t get one?”

“I can’t, mum!” I snap.

“Yes you can.” Mum says. “And I’m going to prove it to you.” 

Kingaroy has always been a relatively small, country town. Here, rather than the fourteen and nine months deal, you can get a job at eleven. Sometimes you’ll get served at the liquor store by a guy who’d barely pass as a teenager out in the big city. We’re one big community here, all working together whether it’s in the fields harvesting peanuts and god knows what else, or back in the main street, entertaining all the tourists.

So it was natural that Cameron got his first job at only twelve years old. He works at the local corner store as the cashier, earning a decent wage of ten dollars an hour. I remember the moment we both turned twelve, how mum had given him permission to get his first real working experience. He used to go out to work every day at two, but now we’re in a real high school, it’s been a little trickier to find a workable timeslot. But he’s had the job ever since I can remember.

The first time he left on his bike to the store for his shift, I watched him from behind the kitchen window as he pedalled down the street and out of sight. The feelings that went through me could be summed up pretty darn easily with one word: envy. I’ve always known that getting a proper job would be challenging for a midget, and my options are slimmer than paper. So on that particular birthday, mum didn’t mention to me once about getting my own part time job. Not once. She raved with Cam about it, though. Somehow, when it comes to normal conversations, the two of them always find a way to exclude me.

As mum drives out of the school’s car park, I have my doubts. How the hell is she going to find someone who needs young, inexperienced workers who happen to be just under five inches tall height wise? I don’t think anyone is going to be interested. Actually, scratch that, I know that no one will be interested. “This is a waste of time, mum.” I snap from the passenger seat. My entire body vibrates uncontrollably with the car’s engine, but I’m used to the feeling. I just have to watch out when mum drives over potholes (I’ll go flying in pursuit of the windscreen) but other than that… “Let’s just go home now, seeing as you won’t let me act like a normal kid…”

Mum doesn’t meet my eyes since she’s driving, but she stares defiantly ahead of her at the road, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I hate it when you talk like that, Marco!” She says, using the nickname only Cam uses for me. I stare down glumly at my socked feet. Sitting in the passenger seat of a car is like sitting in the world’s biggest couch to me. “You’re so negative!” Mum continues when I say nothing.

“It’s true, though.” I say quietly, unsure that she actually heard the words. “It’s a waste of time.”

Obviously she did hear me over the car’s grumbling engine, because she shakes her head abruptly, eyes dead set on the road. I roll my own eyes but don’t question her any further. After all, I don’t have any say in this stupid situation. I never have. Kinda sucks? Yeah, I know…

Mum pulls into the underground carpark of what us country-folk call the ‘mall’. It isn’t anything flash; besides the supermarket and a few other retailers, but it’s something. It branches off Kingaroy’s main street, though, so there are always tourists here and there flashing cameras in our faces. I’ve had a few tourists pull up short at the sight of me in the past, actually. They usually regard me with confusion, before walking away in a rush. They probably think I’m some kind of human-alien hybrid. You never know.

“You’ve gotta trust me, hun.” Mum says gently, as she pulls the keys from the ignition and shoves them in her handbag. I don’t look up from into my lap. Not even when I feel a finger gently stroke my back. “I know you’re pissed at me, but just trust me.”

“I don’t want to go in.” I say bluntly, not meeting her eyes. I don’t need to, though, because I can practically feel her huge blue ones stare right through me. The finger on my back tenses, and I feel the slight pressure lift as mum withdraws her hand.

“Come on, Marcus!” She sighs. “You’ve wanted a job for years!”

Ok, that’s enough sulking. I pull myself angrily to my feet to glare up at my mother, who’s still seated beside me, making my smaller form look extremely out of proportion with everything else. It kinda is, anyway… “Mum, there’s no way you can find me something! I think you know it too, because it’s not that hard to work out! No one’s going to hire me! Just let. Me. Go. Home.”

“Don’t act like that.” Mum scolds, frowning down at me.

“Like what?” I snap back.

“Like you’re different. Because you’re not, Marcus. You’re just as human as everyone else!” Mum’s frown disappears as soon as it came.

“For god’s sake!” I yell. “I’m five inches tall! You call that human?!”

Mum opens the car door and climbs out, ignoring my bickering. I plonk back down into my seat, arms folded, but a giant hand catches me before I get the chance. Mum lifts me carefully outside into the concrete car park before placing me onto her shoulder. I let my legs hand over the edge as I sit there with my head in my lap. Most of the locals know me from my previous expeditions to the mall, but I can’t help but feel exposed. It has something to do with my midgetness, of course. If I was normal, no one would stare at me or point me out like I’m some kind of freak wherever I go.

“I’m sorry, Marcus.” Mum sighs, once I’m on her shoulder. She closes the car door behind her and continues into the mall itself. I’m greeted with the familiar bright white lights, checked tile floor and scents of McDonalds and Subway as we enter. I don’t reply, and try to ignore the passers-by as they scrutinise me from my vantage point. I usually sit in mum’s pocket or something during shopping trips, but with my foul mood, I’m not really feeling all that choosy. Besides, I’m just as human as everyone else…God, I wish I was normal…

“What is that thing?” People snicker under their breaths as they pass us. Let’s just put it nice and simple: they don’t mean my mother. And without my earmuffs, which somehow managed to misplace themselves, I can hear everything. Especially, things I don’t want to hear at all. Supersonic hearing my ass. So yeah, that’s my average shopping experience. And let me tell you, it’s no fun.

“Happy?” I snap from mum’s shoulder as she walks. I fold my arms and look over the edge of my seat as she walks. Her giant jean covered legs are suddenly phenomenal to the eyes. Even more interesting than the 100 foot drop to the ground if I managed to slip off her shoulder. “You’ve humiliated me, taken me here and now you want to get me a job?”

Mum’s eyes swivel around to face me as I pout. I feel her smile dropping. She doesn’t reply, but continues to walk, until she stops finally outside a small, neatly fashioned store just outside the supermarket. When I squint around the bright lighting, I can make out the sign out front:

Johnson and Son’s Dollhouse

It’s written in fancy retro style writing, the white font standing out extremely well against the black painted wood. I groan, looking away. Dreading to see what lies behind the glass panel of a window. When I decide to take another peek, though, I realise mum’s now crouched down in front of a smaller sign, a crinkled sheet of A4 paper taped to the inside beside the open sign. There’s a few words typed out on the tea stained paper, but they’re enough to make me feel sick.

Young workers needed. Small hands in preference. Apply at the counter.

The words replay themselves in my head. Small hands in preference. Young workers…

You’ve got to be shitting me.

“It’s perfect!” Mum smiles in encouragement. I don’t look at her. Instead, I’m looking down at my open hands. I allow my fingers to clench into fists. If this is some kind of practical joke, I don’t find it at all amusing. Mum stands to her full height again, still just outside the entrance of the store. Here I get a better look at the inside. My suspicions are confirmed. It is indeed, a posh doll’s store. Something that would fascinate me on any other day but now.

“Can we please just screw it can go home?” I sigh. Mum looks at me again, but this time her own eyes are pleading.

“Marcus, you’ve gotta give it a shot! Life isn’t about hiding yourself away! At least let me take you in…”

“Fine.” I snap, silencing her. I pull my legs up to my chest tightly in attempt to make myself look as obscure as possible. My bare feet dig into mum’s shoulder blades. I doubt she even notices. After a few seconds, mum eases the glass door to the store open, causing a bell to tinkle quietly. Even so, I manage to cringe at the pitch. I want to leave already. But this is for mum. I’m making an effort for her sake, more than my own.

Gingerly, I force myself to look around the cluttered store. No one’s here, thank the lord, so I don’t have to hide myself away from any curious teenagers or hallucinating thugs. I stifle a gasp though, as I take in the surroundings. Tables laden with intricately designed cutlery sets, clothes, furniture, even full on houses. Rows and rows of precisely fashioned shoes, socks, clothes for any occasion. All built to my scale. If I was with Cam and not my mother, I would have gone nuts over all this. But I’m not with my brother today, and I don’t need to be embarrassed any more. So I stay put, studying the scenery with my eyes.

“Need any help?” A gruff sounding voice asks so suddenly I jump from mum’s shoulder. Mum turns around slowly to face a dark haired man in spectacles, probably around forty or so years old. He wears a neat white button up shirt and long pants. I have a hunch he’s the owner of this place. It isn’t exactly hard to guess. His long, bony hands are easily those of a craftsman. And it would take much more than a craftsman to carve, sew and paint these tiny (to their standards) items.

“Yes, actually.” Mum replies politely. I stiffen a little on her shoulder. It’s natural at first for the man not to see me, but as usual, it’s only a matter of time…

“My lord!” Yep, right on cue.

I raise my head to look the man right in the eye, before holding out my hand. After much speculation, and a great deal of eye rubbing, the bewildered man raises his own hand so I can shake his index finger. “I’m sorry for the shock, but this is my son, Marcus.” Mum smiles through her teeth. “He, um… how can I explain this…?”

The store’s manager tears his enormous brown eyes away from my face at last and I exhale in relief. That was intense. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I think I might need to lie down out back for a while. You can continue looking around as you please…” He blabbers, sweat beading on his forehead. I know the drill. He thinks he’s hallucinating, seeing a tiny kid on a woman’s shoulder. Exasperated, I stand upright on mum’s shoulder and fold my arms.

“I’d like to apply for a job here.” I state, maybe a smidge too blunt.

The man does several things at once. He wipes his forehead with one hand, inhales sharply, widens his eyes and last but not least, pees his pants. Hah! I’m joking about the last part. But everything else is pretty impressive. You’d think a guy who makes all this stuff for dolls would find me a tad more interesting…? I mean, come on! I’m scaled perfectly to every single item here! Coincidence? I think not!

Finally, the shopkeeper sighs. “Ok. I am not hallucinating.” He says.

“He’s perfectly real.” Mum creases her brow in annoyance at his reaction.

“That’s already been established.” I mutter sourly.

“Alright then.” The man says. He claps his hands together and I force myself not to wince. “Why don’t you two step into my office?”

“Gladly.” Mum smiles.

“Ok then, right this way.”

The shopkeeper leads my mother through a small aqua painted door at the far corner of the colourful store. Behind it is a makeshift workshop. There’s a desk and lamp in one corner, the desk laden with piles of documents and drawings. The rest of the small space is occupied by countless woodwork machines, jars of paints, strips of material and… a boy. He sits with a mug of hot chocolate on a ratty couch in the very back, his features relaxed as he sips at his drink. He wears dark glasses and a modified version of the shopkeeper’s work clothes. I almost don’t notice him as we enter. He looks around my age, but I can’t tell, with his shaggy black hair and glasses.

The shopkeeper catches me staring and he sighs for the second time. “That’s my son, Kyle.” There’s a long pause, before he adds. “He’s blind.”

That explains the glasses. I think.

If I were forced to construct a list of my ten least favourite words, it would probably end up like this:

1. Tiny/Small/Puny (whichever fits in that particular sentence)

2. Handicapped

3. Fairy

4. Hallucination

5. Sports

6. Amplitude

7. Normal

8. Staircase

9. Defence

10. Embarrassment

In any other circumstance, I would choose to elaborate on each choice, but I think my point is made clear enough. Although, maybe number three, fairy, is a little hard done by. Well, this word actually fits into my day right now, so yes, I will describe this one a tad more.

Fairy. Commonly referred to as a tiny, winged being capable of casting charms and hexes. Well, judging by the look on the shopkeeper’s face right now, then I think he’s begun questioning what I am. And let me guarantee that on everyone’s list, the fairy pops up. Maybe not as prominently as the Borrower, but still there. And it’s a little too obvious for my liking that he’s guessed I’m a fairy. Sitting himself down alongside a table of miniature, unfinished pairs of butterfly wings that would slip nicely onto my back kind of prove my point.

Enough said. He thinks I’m a fairy. So let’s get on with things. It’s not the worst assumption around. I mean, people take one look at me and their head screams anything but human. Not even tiny human. Their guesses are always comical, fake. Things that I’d laugh upon if I was normal. But I feel for people. It’s true that they wouldn’t exactly have seen a midget before. At least not a real life one.

“So, um… Marcus…” The shopkeeper asks, as he sits down. His son, Kyle, looks up curiously from his drink, obviously hearing us talking, but he says nothing. Strangely, I feel as though I’m similar to the boy. He may be a normal, healthy size, but he’s handicapped. Like me. It’s nice in a way, to know that there are others sharing similar difficulties. Maybe not as odd as my own, but nonetheless similar.

Mum sighs and I feel her shoulders beneath me sagging slightly. “Ok, let’s get this all sorted out.” She says, before slowly giving the man behind the desk the details. What details, you may ask? My details. Because quite frankly, I’m no pixie. As she launches into a discussion about my past, I slide off her shoulder onto the polished wooden table the two adults are sitting at. There’s a computer beside me, as well as a keyboard. The screen is a paused game of pac man. My lips curl into a grin.

The shopkeeper is startled at first, to see a teenager of a smaller stature walking calmly along the table like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And to me, it kind of is. It’s basically all I know. Only someone who recently or became midget a few years back would understand. When I was five years old and a hair over four inches, I had to think maturely. My childhood wasn’t the same as an average kid’s. The obstacles I face each day I’ve faced since I could barely think properly for myself. Being too small to tackle basic things, my brain had to adapt to survive. Which means that while Cameron struggled to stop wetting his bed at night, I was already reading, writing and moving about normally. Normally for my size, that is.

By the time Cameron could walk, I could somersault between objects and perform basic manoeuvres like dive rolling to absorb the impact, leaping across the couch and exerting my upper body strength to tackle the staircase. While my brother was afraid of thunder, I was afraid of nothing. Being so small and so weak to everyone of greater proportion, I couldn’t afford to live in fear. I still can’t.

I don’t live in fear. Yes, I am lonely. I’m weak. I’m depressed a lot of the time. But I’ve learned that fear is a sign of weakness. And I have too many weaknesses as it is to take fear on board. As mum finishes explaining my condition to the Shopkeeper, the man straightens in his seat.

“Right.” He says, smiling gently down at me, where I’m standing atop his desk. “Well, my name is Mr Johnson. You both can call me Alex, though. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Marcus.”

“You too.” I reply evenly, shifting on my feet. My fuzzy yellow socks are silent on the table.

“So, you tell me you’d like a job here?” Alex asks.

“Yes, sir.” I say.

“Right…” The shopkeeper tugs open a drawer, retrieving the envelope mum gave him on our arrival; my resume. I wrote it myself on my IPod, but it’s been printed out on an A4 sheet of paper for the sake of the man’s eyesight. Alex tears away the corner of the letter, retrieving the resume inside. His eyes flick between the lines as he reads. I remember every single sentence I wrote on that sheet of crisp white. I’d spent hours contemplating what to say, pacing my bookshelf back and forth. After much consideration, though, I’d written the truth. It had taken me a while, but I’d realised eventually that if someone were to hire me, then they wouldn’t want a bunch of lies.

Even if those lies made me feel the slightest bit better about myself.

Alex slides the printed sheet into a folder, before addressing me again. “You’ve mentioned in your resume that you enjoy building things.” He informs, tilting his head to the side. “What have you built before, Marcus?”

The list is endless. When I was ten, I built my first hang glider out of an old plastic bag and some pipe cleaners. It worked well enough, that is, until I got it ensnared in the branches of a tree. I was up there for hours, waiting for Cam to grab a ladder to get me down. I made myself a flying fox set at seven. A pulley system at six. Little things that helped make life that little bit easier to manage. My entire house is wired up with gadgets and gizmos I’ve made out of scraps. At the moment, I’ve planned out a complete airlift system for travelling downstairs more efficiently.

“I usually use what’s lying around.” I tell him after a pause. “Anything I can make into something useful.”

Alex nods. His glasses slipping a fraction down his nose. “See, the reason I requested a worker with smaller hands was for cleaning out all the doll’s houses and things. But I also requested a helper. Someone who could give ideas for my doll’s houses. Maybe even someone who could craft the items themselves.” He gestures to the machines scattered around the room. Countless rolls of colour coded fabric line the back wall. The place reminds me a little of Geppetto’s workshop, from Pinocchio.

“Kyle and I have run this business ever since he was diagnosed with optical cancer as a toddler. He’s only just begun to work here as the sale’s assistant, but we’ve still been needing someone else…” Alex continues. “He had to have both eyes removed to prevent the cancer from spreading, you know. They’ve spoken of an operation which implants glass eyes capable of sight, but I doubt that’ll work.”

“That’s horrible!” Mum says sadly. “There’s no cure to Marcus’s condition, either.”

None of us have noticed how Kyle hasn’t stopped looking in our direction. The mug of cocoa cradled to his chest. He raises it to his lips, drinks, and sets it on the table beside him, without averting his gaze. As he returns his hands to his lap, his thin lips curl up into a smile. I wonder whether he knows we’re directly in front of him.

Alex’s eyes swivel down to me again, this time warier. “I’ve heard of Shrignakemia, actually. A woman came here once, looking for girl’s clothes for her daughter. The name was Sawyer, I think. That or Leebeck…” He tells mum.

“Yes; we know the Sawyers. Their daughter is good friends with Marcus, actually.” She replies with a smile, before checking her watch. “Well, I should probably get going now, but did you want to give Marcus the details for the job? I can pick him up in an hour or so…”

Alex nods. “Of course! Go right ahead.”

As mum departs the store, I glance up a little wearily at my new boss. “Thanks for hiring me.” I say. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted a job…”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all!” Alex answers, looking sheepish. He gestures over to Kyle, who’s still perched on the couch with his mug of cocoa. He doesn’t turn to smile at us, or even acknowledge us in anyway, but continues to sip at his steaming drink. I guess it’s understandable, considering he’s blind. “Why don’t you get yourself acquainted with my son while I man the counter.” Alex suggests as he catches me staring across the expansive room.

I shrug apprehensively. “Sure.”

If Alex’s smile could have stretched wider than the limits of his narrow face, then I’m sure it would have. He looks giddy, probably since he’s talking to someone who’d be able to physically wear and utilise every single item in his store. Usually I’d be a little giddy too, at the sight of all this mini stuff. I’m not going to screw up with this, though. I refuse to be fired for… irregular behaviour. If that’s even legitimate.

“Great!” Alex says. He quickly jogs around the workshop to place a hand on his son’s shoulder. Sighing, I allow myself to sit down cross legged on the desk as the shopkeeper guides Kyle around the machinery and over to the desk. Kyle’s head swivels around, dazed, but he never looks in my direction. It’s understandable, I guess. When you’d usually go to talk to someone, you wouldn’t go staring at the desk, would you? You’d look the speaker right in the eye and, well, talk.

“Well, I’d better get back to work. The store closes in twenty, so we’ll be able to start training you up in a few!” Alex beams down at me, with his hands clutched to his chest. As he leaves the workshop and shuts the door behind him, I let out a quiet sigh. He really is excited about all this. Maybe even more-so than me. Now that he’s gone, though, it’s dead silent. Kyle looms above me, even though he’s sitting down with his back to me in the desk chair. It’s one of those wheelie ones that allow you to rotate around on the spot in. When Cameron and I were little, he used to seat me down in the centre of our chair and spin it around until I finally puked. He thought it was funny…

“Where are you?” Kyle asks suddenly, his head swivelling around aimlessly. He’s got one hand clutching the edge of the desk firmly as he studies the room. I wonder what he sees, instead of what’s real, that is. Does he see complete darkness, or the lingering shapes of the furniture. I’ve never formally met someone blind, before. Heck, being a midget, I barely meet anyone.

“I’m here.” I answer after a pause. Kyle’s ear prick slightly at my voice. He scrunches his brow in confusion. “Why are you sitting on the desk?” Without warning, he brings his arm around out in front of him, the power behind his blow so forceful that I stumble backwards a few midget metres. His giant hand whistles overhead as he feels for my apparent ‘normal’ body. Kyle must have pretty good hearing, to be able to pinpoint my voice so precisely that he can realise where I am. I read somewhere that when you lose a certain sensory organ, like hearing or sight, your remaining sense work on an overdrive.

“You aren’t on the desk…” Kyle frowns, evidently confused.

“I am!” I protest, willing him to see me. It’d make the whole midget curiosity process a hell of a lot easier for the both of us. “And do you mind not trying to bludgeon me?”

Instantly, Kyle retracts his hand and peers sightlessly in my direction. “Are you under the desk? This isn’t funny, picking on a guy like that!” He snaps, growing angry. “Everyone thinks it’s funny…”

I expel a breath, kicking the table beneath me with my toes. Well, I guess I should get this off my chest then… “I’m standing on the desk, Kyle. It’s just… I’m not exactly-“

His arm swings out blindly again, whipping across the space on top of the desk. I yelp under my breath, dodging the giant hand. Somehow I manage to trip over my own feet during the entire process and fall flat onto my face. Picking myself up gingerly, I glare at Kyle.

“For Christ’s sake!” I yell up at him. “I’ve been trying to tell you this gently, but I’m a real life midget!”

Kyle’s giant eyebrows crease almost instantly. The glasses covering his missing eyes show a reflection of my smaller body, my arms folded in a pout and my eyes glaring.

“What the hell’s that?” Kyle snaps, loudly. I grunt under my breath, wishing I still had my good old earmuffs.

“It’s exactly as it sounds.” I say curtly. “I’m a little under five inches tall.”

“That isn’t funny.” Kyle says. “Just because I can’t see, doesn’t mean I’m some stupid idiot!” I wince at his raised voice, out of habit.

“Look, man… I don’t lie. I can prove it to you, if you promise not to… well, move too quickly.” I say.

“You’re a dick. Get out.” Kyle snaps, practically ignoring me. “You want this job so you can make fun of me like everyone else. All you wanna do is stare at me, knowing I can’t even fucking see-“

“I don’t want to stare at you.” I interrupt quietly. “In fact, I know how you feel. I’m different, too.”

“No. You’re not. Trust me.”

“I told you I’d prove it.” I say. “So I will. Hold out your hand and I’ll show you.”

“Stop acting like some crackpot freak! It’s impossible to be five fucking inches tall! I know the facts!” Kyle rages.

“That’s it.” I mutter under my breath, storming across the desk to the boy’s hand, which is still holding onto the side of the wood for support. Taking a deep breath, I walk into his palm, settling myself down into the centre. His hand is filmed with sweat, but I barely notice. I’m too busy fuming at Kyle. His entire body goes rigid at my presence. Slowly, he brings his hand up so I’m suspended centimetres in front of his giant face. “Believe me now?” I snap.

Kyle swallows tightly, raising his other hand to poke at my chest. His touch is purposely gentle, but I still hate it when people prod at me like some voodoo doll. I purse my lips as he studies me with his fingers.

“Ok, ok, I believe you.” Kyle breathes.

I’ve never felt so excited in my life. It’s a weird feeling for a midget; excitement. The last time I was truly excited was, of course, when my mum announced that Cam and I would be able to go so a real school. But now, I’ve just broken my excitement record. I stare down at the miniature white button up shirt and long, black trousers. The shirt is stitched with the logo: Johnson And Son’s Dollhouse. They should seriously consider changing it all to ‘Johnson, Son and Midget’s Dollhouse’. Personally, I think that my version of the store name is much classier. And, as a bonus, I get to be included in the grant title.

I got the job, if no one’s already guessed. A few minutes after announcing that I was in fact, four and three quarters of an inch tall to a quite frankly bewildered Kyle, Alex brought me out into the store to show me around. I’d already gotten a bit of a glimpse of the place from mum’s shoulder, but a grand tour hosted by the store owner himself? That, my friends, is a privilege.

Alex had kept my introduction to the store pretty brief, because we only had an hour before mum showed up again, but nevertheless, I got a firm indication of what my work would include. What’s that, you ask? Well, I get the grand opportunity to… clean, dust and polish the insides of the dollhouses. I have a feeling that when Alex spoke about his employee having ‘small hands’, so to speak, he meant it seriously. And under that category, he’s just hit the jackpot with me.

After another glimpse at my resume, the shop keeper had nodded to himself. That was about the time where he’d walked back into the store and returned with a doll’s white shirt and pants, which he held using his thumb and forefinger. I myself held them in my entire arms.

So you wonder why I feel so giddy right now? That’s simple. I’m sure that every teenager has tried at least once to apply for a job, and most likely had themselves turned down by the manager. Usually in my resume, I try to be discreet about my certain height challenges, but I can’t really deny the fact that I’m a real life midget. That’s why I’ve never been able to secure myself a part time job. That, and the fact that my options are extremely low. I’d apply for heaps of things like Boost Juices, McDonalds, The Night Owl and more… if I was normal.

That’s been the biggest problem for me. My size gap. It’s basically made it impossible for me to get a job, despite the hundreds of resumes I’d handed in over the years. My size was the reason I’d given up a few months back. That is, until mum stepped in and took the reins. Now, finally, I can act like a normal kid. As normal as I can get, at least.

I didn’t speak to mum as we drove home in her old beetle. Nor did I speak as she carefully scooped me up and placed me on her shoulder to get inside the house. I do speak, however, when Cameron walks through the front door after school.

“I GOT A JOB CAMERON!!!!” All levels of my maturity have vanished as I stand on the kitchen bench, while Cam enters the house. Immediately, he wheels around on his heels, eyes darting around until he spies me in the kitchen.

My brother wears a plain t shirt, jeans and a confused frown as he plonks himself down on a stool in front of me. Usually, his size would be a little unnerving, but I’m really too excited to care. “You got a… what?” Cameron asks in shock, resting his chin on a hand. I can feel his slow breathing tickle my skin like I’m standing in front of a fan. My fringe sways about.

“A job, bro.” I repeat with a smile wider than the capacity of my jaw. “At the mall.”

Cameron raises an eyebrow, looking just as dumbfounded as I was when I’d been hired. “You? Getting a job?” He marvels. “Was the shop keeper on crack or something?”

Instantly, my smile vanishes. “Why would you think that?” I ask slowly.

Cameron rolls his eyes and reaches out with his index finger to poke me, but I take a step away from him with my arms folded indignantly. “You’re too small to work, Marco!” He says.

“Not according to my new boss.”

“And who’s this new boss?” Cameron snorts, making me cringe in embarrassment.

“Alexander Johnson.” I say softly.

It takes my brother a moment to digest that. I can practically see the cogs turning in his brain. “Hang on a sec…” He says, eyes glinting. “That’s the guy from that doll’s shop! I bought your birthday present there last year!”

I groan. I remember that birthday present all too well. Cameron had bought me a midget swing set, complete with an equally midget slippery slide. I’d used them once or twice, but Cameron couldn’t seem to stop laughing as I swung back and forth on my tiny seat and slid on my ass down the plastic slide.

“Yeah, that’s the place.” I sigh inwardly, anticipating the reaction. I’m not exactly disappointed.

“Hah! Really? Oh god, I can’t wait for your new friend Tommy to hear about this! My own brother working in a girl’s doll shop?!? That’s priceless!” Cameron giggles.

“Ok, Firstly, it’s Thomas, not Tommy, secondly, this girl’s dolls shop is run by two guys and thirdly, you’re an ass, Cameron.” I shoot back, exasperated. Shoving my hands in the pockets of my hoody, I begin to walk across the kitchen bench, away from my brother. I’ve had enough scrutinising for one day.

“Hey, Marco!” Cameron follows me with his eyes. They’re so huge compared to mine that it’s hard not to notice. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end but I grunt under my breath, keeping my head down. “It was a joke, bro!” Cameron continues, but he doesn’t push it. Maybe he notices my obvious irritation or something.

As I descend down my midget ladder at the edge of the bench though, he clears his throat half-heartedly. “You want a lift upstairs?” Cam mumbles.

I shake my head with my arms folded from the kitchen floor. Usually, I’d meet my brother’s eyes, but my neck’s aching already, and I’m sick of always having to look up at people. Cameron’s thick black converse stand directly in front of me, accompanying a sky scraper high body. For me, trying to stare up at his enormous head is like staring up at the penthouse of a block of high-rise units. Sometimes I imagine myself in my brother’s titanic shoes, looking down at a miniature of Cameron. What would he look like, at four inches? Maybe he’d feel a little more sympathetic towards me if that was the case. But that’s never going to happen. I know better than anyone not to get my hopes up. It just makes the whole situation worse.

Still refusing to acknowledge my brother, I begin trudging across the tiled kitchen floor, ignoring the looming shadow of Cameron behind me. I know my walking speed is painfully slow to him, but it’s his fault for following me. I don’t yell up at him or anything, though. In the kitchen, I prefer to concentrate on not tripping over the grooves of silicon between the tiles, which, to someone of my stature, are like thirty centimetre wide ditches.

Once I’ve finally trekked to the bottom of the staircase though and am just flexing my arms to begin the painful procedure of yanking myself up, Cameron steps in with a yawn. “Sorry dude, but this is getting boring.” He mutters, bending down so he kneels directly behind me. I know what he’s about to do so I grumble loudly and let myself fall backwards, only to be caught and scooped up by a hand that could potentially serve as a queen sized bed to me.

Cameron is purposely slow as he ascends up the staircase, probably sensing my annoyance from before. I say nothing as I’m dropped onto the roof of my bookshelf. Cameron gives one final huff before shutting the door to his bedroom behind him. A minute later, his familiar heavy metal music fills my ears and I roll my eyes, out of habit. Taking a minute to sigh, I slip through the circular manhole in the top of the shelf, swinging straight onto the soft mattress of my bed.

Another long day to recount. Geeze; ever since I’ve started going to a regular high school, my life has turned into one big rollercoaster. My casual, laidback lifestyle with Cam is like a dream, now. Sinking into my doll’s bed and tugging the thick furry sock I use as a blanket over me, I reach out for my IPod again. Like De ja vu all over again… I think dryly as I tug the plasma screen sized device onto my bed so it rests up against the frame.

On the bad days, I’m not motivated enough to put the necessary amount of pressure into tapping on the screen, and the touch mode doesn’t sense my midget hands. If I’d have taken the stairs, I doubt I would have had the scrap of energy needed to perform the annoying task of doing CPR to a ‘pocket sized’ Apple product. Today, however, is somewhat special, despite the way that my brother just ruined it all. Yes, Cameron; I love you too.

Shaking the memories from my head, I sit facing the dark screen, taking a moment to look at my refection. My sandy coloured hair is getting a little long, as I’ve noted recently. It’s hard for me to find a hairdresser equipped with nail clippers for scissors, though. Usually my mother does that sort of stuff. My clothes, which I’d changed into as soon as I’d gotten home from the mall, are basically just a pair of grey trackies and a red t shirt. My feet are bare.

12 notifications greet me as I punch the unlock button on the IPod and type in my password. I roll my eyes upon noticing Cameron’s recent Instagram picture. It’s another one of me and this time, to my dismay, it’s of our twelfth birthday. I happened to be using the doll’s swing set at the time, speak of the devil…

Sighing loudly (for a midget), I open up my own profile, noticing my recent snap of Thomas and I has already received over fifty likes. A few new comments catch my eye and, feeling bored already, I bring them up.

Awww! It’s so cute how you can use a Wii Remote!

And round two:

I think I’m going to have a cutegasm! Holy crap!

I have a feeling that there isn’t anything in the English dictionary that describes the word: Cutegasm. Stupid girls and their stupid made up words… Anyway, my whole reason for accessing the IPod was to post one of my new pictures. It’s pretty boring, really; just of my new working uniform. I’m proud of the thing, though. And the fact that Alex could whip one up in miniature so quickly.

Wondering what to type underneath, I furrow my brow. Eventually though, the words come to me. Got a job today: First Midget Worker :) Cheesy? Yep. Girly? Probably. Stupid? You tell me. As soon as the picture loads, Thomas has liked and commented, as stalker-like as that seems:

So that’s where u went today :) Kev and I went looking for u after music! What happened?

Groaning instantly, I reply.

Too loud for my stupid ears. I kinda fainted in class so mum thought it’d be good to get me a job, to cheer me up…

Thomas posts a sad face. How original. Rolling my eyes for what feels like the thousandth time, I type:

I’ll be back @ school tmoz, though. C u then ;)

The reply this time is seconds later.

C u, Minimark.

“God help me.” I mutter aloud. Shoving my IPod away, I rest my head on my pillow, letting sleep take over. It’s been a seriously long day, even to a midget like me. I know, I know. It’s three in the afternoon. But I spose a guy’s gotta sleep sometimes. I am the world’s heaviest sleeper. Keeping those thoughts in mind, I drift off into unconsciousness.

Nighty Night world. I think. Be nice to me tomorrow, eh?

A week of high school passes by like the snap of one’s fingers. A full week of homework, assignments, workloads beyond my poor midget brain’s capacity and furthermore, sappy teenagers. See, despite my attempts to steer clear of anyone apart from Kev and Thomas, the girls of my classes and beyond always manage to make uninvited reappearances. They ask basic questions about my stature, ruffle my hair or pat the top of my head with their fingers like a freaking dog. It’s gotten pretty annoying, actually -to be treated like a pet- for a week. Maybe mum was right; I shouldn’t have taken to school.

But in saying that, school has also become my favourite thing to look forward to in a day. I’ve become quite accustomed to hanging around with Kevin and Thomas during lunchbreaks and while practicing our new drama scripts. My role of Tom Thumb means that I have to picture Thomas as my father and Kevin as the kind old man next door. It’s put me in a bit of a piffle really, because I get manhandled heaps more than usual and have to pretend to step out of a tulip whilst wearing a baby’s diaper in the beginning, where Tom Thumb is born.

I’m set to start working part time at Alex’s shop in the coming week, which is something great to look forward to. This journal’s been chock a block as it is, so I hope I’ve still got room to describe my new job. And to top that off, there’s cross country coming up (which I’m determined to participate in) as well as my birthday! I get excited just thinking about it.

On Saturday morning, nothing really latches onto my mind as I open my eyes and find myself staring at the checked ceiling of my bookshelf. I shimmy further under my covers instantly, the winter morning chill setting in. I’ve got to be extra careful in the winter months, being smaller than everyone. Most people walk around outside in shirts and shorts on an Aussie winter.

Unfortunately for me, though, even the slightest drop in temperature can send me into a shivering, frostbitten frenzy. At this size, germs are too big physically to capacitate my smaller lungs so I won’t get the flu or anything, but that doesn’t stop me freezing to death. In bed during these months, I sleep with two thick blankets, one of those Kleenex super-soft tissues beneath me, a beanie that stretches right over my face and three pairs of socks.

Please god, let me open my eyes and be normal. I think hopefully, before counting down from ten and finally ripping off the covers. As soon as I’m on my feet, I feel like someone’s set up a miniature wind storm in my room. The beanie flies off my head, revealing shaggy blonde hair that sticks out at odd angles. I shield my face against the gust, my nose already beginning to redden and grit my teeth. The watch face, that’s had its straps removed so that it resembles a regular sized clock reads ten in the morning. As usual, I’ve slept in. And like every weekend, it’s my family rule that no one can disturb me till then unless it’s an absolute emergency. I’d probably sleep through anything like that, as it is.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I wander across the small section of the shelf to a small shard of mirror blue tacked to the wall. A tinted version of myself stares tiredly back. It’s taken so long for me to find my sanity that I’d forgotten what the heck made it all so windy. Probably just someone opening the front door or something. I spose I’ll never know.

“Up and about already?” A taunting voice sounds from outside, the pitch just as low as usual to my uncovered ears. Not bothering to strain my neck meeting Cameron’s eyes, I throw up a weak thumbs up and continue my morning routine, which is walking aimlessly around until I can find something worth making an effort in doing. And after a few laps of pacing, I find that something.

“Hey Cam?” I ask, finally deciding to acknowledge my giant brother. He drops down to one knee in front of my shelf to see me better as I come to a halt at the very edge of the shelf. Cameron’s face is so close that I can see my reflection in his huge, glassy eyes.

“Yeah, bro?”   

I quickly tug off one of my two hoodies and straighten the denim jeans I’d slept in. The multiple layers of thick woollen socks can stay. “You think you could get me a plastic bag?”

I’ve asked him this too many times for him to simply ‘shrug it off’. Cameron’s eyes glint in interest. “You wanna parachute downstairs again… right?” The knowing look he gives me causes me instantly to roll my eyes.

“Actually, no. I’m making something…” I laugh.

“Like what?”

My eyes wander back across the shelf I stand in to the far corner, where my unfinished project lies. I’ve been studying aerodynamics and mechanisms used for human flight for months now, and I’ve taken a particular interest in hang gliding. Since my body mass is one; less reactant to gravity than others and two; smaller, it’s easy to create a structurally sound glider for someone my size.

“It’s a surprise.” I tell my brother with a sly wink. “Could you grab the bag, though? I’m pretty tired and don’t want to get-“

“Yeah, yeah, Marco!” He drones. “You don’t want to get it yourself.” He pauses before adding. “You can’t even hold one without it turning into a mini parachute…”

“Can you just get the thing!?”

“Fine.”

“Good boy.”

As Cameron bounds away, his movements sending a sharp rumbling through the bookshelf, I slip down into the shelf below my ‘bedroom’, where I keep everything I can possibly use for building. Straws, pipe cleaners, thin rolls of wire, hooks, thread, match sticks, paper clips and the likes have a home down on this level. My old IPod Nano’s here as well, so I can listen to music while working. I weave around a few spools of thread the size of kitchen stools, rummage through a lunchbox container filled with softball sized magnetic spheres and glance through a collection of bottle caps before I find what I’m looking for.  

Before you judge me for all this, let me say that I’m no Leonardo Divinci. Nope; I simply utilize what I can and work around all the flaws. The project I’m working on right now, as I said before I think, is a glider. I invented it, actually. It’s actually a combination of a glider and an umbrella.

So far, the framework’s nice and secure, being constructed of long lengths of wire connected with PVA glue (which is seriously a bitch to work with at midget size) and a few other rods of metal for the actual glider shape. The length of metal is padded at the base with a small square of felt and two straps extend from the wire, fitted so they’ll slip nicely over my shoulders like a backpack. A strap goes around my waist, too.

My glider can essentially fold into a smaller, easy to wear form of a backpack. But, like an umbrella, the plastic bag material will spread out like a pair of wings behind me, if I pull a string cord at my shoulder. The glider is one of the many inventions I’ve built to help tackle life at a hair under five inches.

I barely register as Cameron appears again at my shelf, clutching a flimsy green bag, and a pair of scissors. He kneels down again and makes a note to quickly snip the bag into smaller pieces before handing them to me. I stretch the plastic a little to test its strength. As usual, the thick blanket sized piece doesn’t even budge in my grip. “Thanks, bro.” I smile up at him, before continuing with my work. Sensing this as a ‘go away’ signal, Cameron departs my peripheral vision and I hear his bus sized feet as they clamber down the stairs.

“And now…” I mutter as I set to work at measuring out the plastic sheets before me so they fit the frame of my glider. “…the world’s first human to create a backpack hang glider!” Rushing across the room, I gather a handful of rope like thread in my arms and slide a sewing needle into my belt. The metal could potentially double up as a sword at this size, but I still use it for sewing. Slipping the thick string through the eye hole, I begin the process of stitching the sail to my glider.

“Let’s see if this baby can fly…” I mutter, once my creation is complete. I slip the straps around my shoulders and wrap them around my waist tightly, before standing up. The frame, combined with the plastic bag material makes me look like a being with bat’s wings protruding from their back. Hopefully this isn’t another failed experiment. I slide the frame back into its folded form before standing at the very edge of the shelf, to a point where my covered toes curl over the side.

“Here goes, then.” I say. “God, please don’t let me break something again…” And without hesitation, I leap starfish style off the side of the shelf. It’s like falling from a block of skyrise units. After a split second, I release the glider and the wings spread out on either side of me. For a second I think that it hasn’t worked but suddenly the drop lessens and I rise high over the shelf, carried by unseen wind currents. Laughing out loud, I spread my arms wide as I soar down the hallway, almost touching the ceiling.

As I drop a little towards the ground, I tug two straps connected to the wings forward, causing them to flap. It takes a lot of my muscle power to rise back to the height of the ceiling but I’m not particularly fazed.

“CAMERON I’M FLYING!!!”

Knowing me, this one isn’t going to end well…

I pick up speed as I near the staircase, probably because it’s given me more room to make my descent. As I hover centimetres below the cream plaster of the ceiling, it really gives me the feeling of walking around as a regular kid. Spiralling downstairs using my little invention could almost pass as me walking down, without having to ask for assistance. In a way, flying is freedom. Actually, screw that in a way crap. Flying is freedom. While I’m suspended hundreds of midget stories in the air, I feel a sense of accomplishment. It means I can get around the house normally. Pretty much straight after I’m soaring downstairs, I begin to envision myself flying to school amidst a flock of geese.

Is it a bird?

Is it a plane?

Nope, it’s MiniMark!!! Protector of midget-kind!

Being the insane, sarcasm-fuelled maniac I am, I begin laughing out loud as I dive headfirst downstairs, the wind propelling me to the ground. Just before I hit the coatrack, I raise my arms and the wind currents catch under the sheet of plastic, sending me airborne again. I float almost gracefully into the kitchen, where Cam and Mum are snacking on a pack of crisps and chatting at the bench. I narrow my eyes, squinting across the expanse of the kitchen at the chip packet, licking my lips. I steer in that direction, arms spread wide like the wings of a pretty demented bird.

Just as I reach the chip packet, I fling my right arm out, catching the corner of an oily chip and lugging it upwards with me.

“Wha-?!” Cameron yelps, causing me to practically piss myself laughing as I float back towards the ceiling, out of reach. Mum stifles a giggle herself at my younger brother’s reaction. Once I’m positive that no one’s going to come and grab me form this height, I poke my tongue out at Cam, who scowls in response.

“Who’s the puny one now, huh?” I scoff, both my mother and Cameron appearing smaller from this angle.

“I’m looking at him.” Cameron shoots back with a smug smile. I narrow my eyes in mock anger and peg the piece of chip at him, watching in satisfaction as it falls into his messy blonde hair. He brushes it off instantly and I giggle.

Mum stands up from her seat brushes chip seasoning off her hands. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it then. I’ve got paperwork to do, courtesy of your father.” She walks across the kitchen, heels clicking on the tiles and is about to disappear from my view when she pokes her head through the doorway. “Be careful with your brother, Cameron.” She warns, earning her a glare from me as I hover above her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Mum turns away from me towards Cam, and they seem to eye each other off for a few seconds before Cameron chuckles. As she leaves, I do a little twirl in mid-air, before resuming my casual hovering directly over Cameron’s dickhead. He rolls his eyes and stands up, the creaking of his chair causing me to wince a little. Even when standing, he can’t reach me. It feels amazing to be taller than my brother for once.

“How’s the view from up there?” He asks teasingly.

“Quite good actually!” I grin, spreading my arms wide and performing a neat somersault in mid-air. “Bro, have you gotten shorter?”

Cameron rolls his eyes and reaches for his chair. Making sure it’s balanced on the tiled floor; he steps up onto it, the height advantage meaning he can now reach my level. I let out a yelp as his arm swings round to grab me and snap my arms to my sides, diving lower down to pick up momentum. Just as I’m about to hit the ground and end my life, I throw my arms out, spiralling back up towards the ceiling, now resuming my casual floating about two metres away from my brother.

“That’s cheating!” I laugh, sticking out my tongue.

Cameron smirks, stepping down from the chair and peering up at me. “Should I get out the vacuum?” He asks, more to himself than to my face. I bite my lip.

“You wouldn’t!” I challenge, hoping he’ll drop the topic. Anyone who hasn’t undertaken the process of getting sucked up clean through the nozzle of a common vacuum cleaner before would not understand the pain going through my head. Cameron used to suck me up for fun… and I don’t get the joke. Dust is my enemy as a midget, and charging towards a whole bucket load of the stuff isn’t exactly my forte…

“Oh but I would!” Cameron jeers, pushing the chair back into place and beginning to cross the room.

In an instant, I realise that this is no bluff and float desperately away in the direction of the front door, my arms spread wide to pick up the momentum. My mind whirls around like a top, searching for ideas of a decent hiding place. There’s no use running from a giant fourteen year old, even on a good day. I grit my teeth, zooming across the length of the lounge room with my arms close to my sides, just as the front door opens with a sharp creak…

VVVVVRRRRROOOOOMMMMM!

I yelp, the sound of the vacuum dangerously close by. As the door continues to open, I seize the opportunity to slip through the widening gap and out into the front garden, Cameron in close pursuit, armed with the machine of mass midget destruction. As I swerve back around to dodge his attacks though, two figures catch my eye from the doorstep. The normal sized one, a woman in her late forties is clearly Ebony’s mum. She smiles warmly up at me as I hover just overhead. And sitting on her mother’s shoulder, waving and smiling just as widely is Ebony.

And before I can yell at her to duck for cover, her smaller body is whipped backwards through the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner, just as my brother barges through the door. “Gotcha!” He yells triumphantly, the sounds of Ebony’s body hitting the sides of the plastic tube attached to the vacuum’s nozzle causing me to wince. It’s only when she’s deposited swiftly into the dust collection chamber that Cam bothers to scan his surroundings… and meet my eyes. And then seconds later Ebony’s Mum’s. His mouth drops open, as if his jaw has been permanently unhinged. “W-w-w-what are you doing o-o-o-outside the v-v-v-vacuum?” He asks me, voice beginning to shake.

Ebony’s mother isn’t impressed. “And what is Ebony doing in it?” She says, a tad too harsh for my brother’s liking. He lets out a faint whimper and instantly drops the vacuum, fumbling for the clasp on the side for unloading the dust collection.

“I’m sorry Mrs Sawyer!” He mumbles sheepishly, as he manages to undo the plastic capsule. I spiral down to the ground, landing on his giant shoulder. Cameron doesn’t even flinch as I poke my tongue out at him. “This is your fault, Marco.” He hisses, knowing full well I can hear it.

“Um… who was the one who decided to get out the vacuum?” I counter.

“Shut up!”

“Where’s your mother, anyway?” Mrs Sawyer asks, frowning at Cameron as he fiddles with the vacuum. As soon as the words have left her mouth, none other than mum herself jogs to the doorstep, panting slightly and grinning.

“Hi Pauline. Sorry about the wait… oh.” Mum’s voice trails off as she sees Cameron and the vacuum. She purses her lips when she realises that I’m safely atop his shoulder, rather than inside the thing. “Cam, Marcus?” She asks awkwardly. “What are you doing with the vacuum?”

“Good question.” Mrs Sawyer mutters icily.

My mother sighs. “What exactly have I missed?”

Before Cameron can make a grab for me, I leap off his shoulder and land in a roll on the gritty concrete path, craning my neck to meet the eyes of the two giantess women before me. “Cameron sucked up Ebony, thinking it was me.” I say coolly.

“Why you little!”

Cameron narrows his eyes and whips out his hand, catching me none-too-gently around the waist. I smirk at him as he brings me up to his face, his eyes practically throwing daggers at me. The hand around me tightens, tree trunk sized fingers pinning my arms to my sides. “Good pun there, bro with the ‘little’ part.” I gasp out, smiling through the torture my lungs are experiencing from being crushed in someone’s iron grip. “I’ve taught you w-w-well.”

Cam’s reaction is to squeeze me even tighter, and only then does our mother intervene. “Cameron!” She snaps tightly. I wince in pain at the amplitude. “Put Marcus down and get Ebony out of the bloody vacuum!”

Instantly, the immense pressure around me waist and chest vanishes, and I drop the last few centimetres to the ground, landing in a sloppy heap on the concrete. After a few seconds to catch my breath, I’m on my feet, running my hands over my body checking for broken bones, as I’ve done my whole life when after I’ve pissed off Cameron. I rotate my upper body, earning a sharp crack from my hips. “Geeze, bro!” I taunt. “Have you been working out or something? That grip was like fricking king kong!”

“Marcus.” Mum warns. “Do I need to scold you too?”

“Can someone please help my daughter?” Mrs Sawyer asks softly, over our bickering.

“You heard Pauline, Cameron.” Mum snaps instantly. “Get her out… before I punch something.”

“You do realise that there’s barely any oxygen in there, right?” I hiss up at Cam, earning a swift roll of the eyes. I shrug. “Just saying- from experience.”

“Shut up, Marcus!” Cameron hisses, finally managing to unhinge the cylindrical dust collection port from the vacuum shell. Instantly, a muted round of coughing and spluttering can be heard from inside the jar sized capsule.

“Am I dead?” Ebony asks.

Nope. Ebony is in fact 100% alive and well, aside from the bruises that now pattern her arms and legs, which are practically coated in thick dust. She lets out a racking cough as Cameron fishes her out of the vacuum’s dust collection capsule by the waist. I wince, noticing a few dust motes exiting her mouth as she gags. Biting my lip, I finally register the pain coursing through my own body; the aftermath of being handled so roughly by my none-too-gentle twin brother. A shudder runs down my spine, despite the fact that I’ve been squeezed in that manor hundreds of times beforehand. Heck, I used to have to be separated from my brother as a six year old because he thought I was one of his action figures. 

Craning my neck slightly to meet his eyes, I shoot Cameron a weary look. “Take her to my shower, bro. I’ll get there eventually.” I say, my stomach churning. Geeze. I hope I haven’t bruised a rib or something, again. Mum usually gets Dr. Jack to come around for those sorts of dilemmas (which happen a little too often in this family). Shaking the thought of seeing my all-time favourite doctor aside, I focus on the events unfolding around me. Which, if you’ve forgotten basically involve Ebony’s battered form, my sheepish brother as he holds her and both mum and Pauline Sawyer. Three of which are giants compared to my smaller stature. 

Mum gives Pauline an apologetic look before kneeling down beside Cameron. I take a few steps back, out of caution that she can see where I am on the footpath. My hang glider is still strapped to my back, although is probably wrecked after being crushed along with me in Cameron’s steel grip. I stare glumly at my socked feet, recalling how long it had taken me to actually build that thing. 

“I’ll take Ebony, Cameron.” Mum says, a little sternly to my brother, holding her hand under Ebony’s dangling form. The smaller girl lets out another hacking cough/sob as she’s placed gently into her waiting palm. Once Ebony is cradled to her chest and secure, mum’s eyes flicker briefly to me, standing a few centimetres from her sneaker clad feet. She’s about to scoop me into her other hand when she notices me flinch slightly. Her hand drops back to her side. “You okay, Marcus?” Mum asks, looking worried.

I wave it off with a hand. “I’ll be fine… just don’t want to be manhandled for a while, if you’re okay with that. I’ll get upstairs myself.” I explain with a tired smile. I shut my eyes tightly in attempt to ignore the searing pain in my upper body. Maybe I’m hurt after all… 

Cameron’s equally worried face suddenly fills my entire peripheral vision like a giant billboard, and despite everything, I wince again. “Are you alright, Marco?” He asks, looking almost hurt. He stares down at his open palms before stuffing his hands in the gaping pockets of his hoody with an ashamed expression. “I’m really sorry for grabbing at you like that, bro.” 

“It’s cool.” I say, patting the tip of his nose with my hand. I can’t help but smile as he goes cross eyed trying to get a better look at me. I rotate my waist again, earning another sharp crack. “But seriously; how many Weet Bix did you have this morning, cause that was one mean squeeze!” 

I have a feeling that my attempt at a joke only makes things worse, because Cameron’s apologetic smile droops into a frown. “Four… but that’s beside the point. Marcus, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asks cautiously. 

“Well…” I bite my lip. “To be honest, hmmm… you know how mum took us to that theme park ‘Dreamworld’ the other day, and you went on that ‘Claw’ ride? And afterwards you told me how the harness you wore really dug you into the back of the seat?” Cameron nods, raising an eyebrow at my topic of conversation. “Well, if you multiply that discomfort by about ten, then that would be what basically all of my experiences with you squeezing me feel like.” I finish, clapping my hands together. 

Cameron lets out a long sigh, before rolling his giant blue eyes. “You have the strangest ways of describing things, bro.” He says with a smile. “So you’re not mad at me?” 

I give his cheek a gentle punch. “Course not! I’m just a little shaken up is all.” 

Cameron’s response is to raise his own fist and ever so slightly tap the side of my body with his knuckles, causing me to stumble sideways a little. I laugh softly at the gesture, earning me a returning smile. 

“Well, I’m glad you two’ve worked it out! I’ll take Ebony up for a shower and put some coffee on, hey?” Mum says, more to Pauline than us. Cameron holds out his hand to me from his kneeled position on the pavement. 

“You sure you don’t want a lift?” He asks. 

I crack another grin and shrug. “I spose it’d be faster than walking…” I drawl. 

“On those w’ittle legs of yours it would.” Cameron snickers in a purposely childish voice. I slap the side of his hand angrily before plonking myself down in the centre of his palm, the size of a queen sized bed at my scale. “Ouch!” My brother protests mockingly, causing me to drive my elbow into my fleshy ride. 

“I appreciate the offer, Rach, but I’ve got a few errands to run for the Mr.” Mrs Sawyer replies to mum’s previous question. Cameron rises to his feet to stand beside our mother, me huddled protectively against his chest. As soon as his hand is steady, I crawl up his arm to plonk myself down at my usual perch on his shoulder. 

Pauline reaches across to stroke Ebony’s dust covered back gently. I can’t get a good look at my old friend from my vantage point, but I know she’s not in a good mood after the vacuum incident. Mum’s told me on multiple occasions that Ebony suffers from severe depression and that’s the reason she’s here in the first place. Ebony, like me, lives in a world much too big for her and both our mum’s figured it would boost her self-esteem to spend some time with someone else her own size. And that person is *drumroll* me! 

“You feeling okay, Eb?” Mrs Sawyer asks now to the small girl seated in mum’s cupped hands. 

“Not really.” She whispers in reply, her voice loud enough to reach my hypersensitive ears but not those of the three normal sized people. “Fine, mum.” She says in a louder tone. I let out a sigh at her original response… although given the fact that she’s just been given a grand tour of what’s inside our vacuum cleaner, it’s somewhat understandable that she’s feeling glum. I would be. 

“I’m really sorry, Pauline.” Cameron pipes up for what feels like the thousandth time. “I was cleaning up the house a bit for your arrival and…” 

“Seriously Cam? That’s your best excuse?” I butt in with an eye roll. 

“ANYWAY…” Our mother says loudly. “You’re sure you have to go so suddenly?” 

Pauline sighs under her breath, looking almost as weary as I do. “I’m afraid so. We’ve got a long drive to Brisbane ahead of us, anyways.” Her eyes flicker to Ebony, who lets out another small cough. She wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, only coating her face with more of the vacuum’s dust. “I’ve given your things to Rachel, hun. They’re up in Marcus’s room for you.” 

Ebony nods, without meeting her mother’s eyes. “Cool, thanks.” She mumbles. 

Pauline purses her lips and as she meets my own mum’s eyes once more, I notice that they’re glistening with tears. “Keep her safe, Rach.” She says solemnly, taking a step back towards our house’s front gate. “Thanks for everything.” 

Mum shoots her a worried look. “If you want someone to talk to, Pauline, I’m a phone call away.” She calls out, as the other woman latches the gate behind her. The four of us are silent as her black station wagon drives off and disappears behind a corner. Only when mum speaks up do Cameron and I register what’s going on. “Ok… I’ll take Ebony up for a shower, so Cameron, why don’t you take Marcus up too.” 

“Sure.” Cameron says in reply. 

“Great.” Mum smiles, before glancing briefly at me as I sit with my legs dangling over the side of Cameron’s shoulder. “You sure you’re not injured, Marcus?” She asks. 

I purse my lips, considering for a moment before answering in the most reassuring voice I’m able to muster while feeling like hell in the stomach. “Um… just queasy. I’m fine though… serious!” I reply. I’m granted another warm smile from our mother, who reaches out with her free hand to stroke my back using her index finger. Eyes widening in embarrassment, I do my best to push the tree trunk sized digit away… and the blush forming across my cheeks. “Mum… Not with a girl here!” I hiss, and instantly regret it, knowing my ‘normal’ sounding voice is much like a yell to others my size, although it isn’t often that I come to realise that. Well, Ebony does and smiles sheepishly from my mother’s cupped hand, drawing her legs to her chest. 

“It’s good to see you by the way, Ebby!” I say at what a midget would call a normal volume, knowing full well that neither mum nor Cameron can hear my softer voice. 

“Thanks.” She calls back in the same level of noise. 

I smile to myself. This is going to be a great weekend!