[ATTENTION: Male Giant, Feet/footwear, odor, “rubber” tiny deformation, cruelty. If any of that’s not your cup of tea, don’t say I didn’t warn you!]

You had offered to volunteer at the local high school because you thought it would look good on a resume, maybe score some good karma while you were at it, helping kids who needed it. But, what you hadn’t expected was getting saddled with detention duty, and playing warden to a classroom with exactly one delinquent kid.

“He’s definitely a repeat offender, and we honestly just can’t spare the staff hours to keep having someone watching him in detention.” The principal had said, waving his hand dismissively. “But, since you were so kind as to volunteer, it really is a big help. Just, don’t let him get under your skin, and you’ll be fine.” With that, the principal had slung a messenger bag over his arm, clapped you on the shoulder, and handed you the keys to room 3C with a tight smile. “It’ll only be a few hours!” He said, and briskly walked out the door.

You sigh, tossing the keys up and catching them in one hand. It wasn’t ideal, but technically you did sign up for this. Of course, you had no way of knowing what else you had unwittingly signed up for, as you made your way down the hall to room 3C, practicing  your best air of adult authority. You find the room without much trouble, and open the door with a creak of hinges, stepping into a small classroom.

When the principal had said ‘repeat offender’, You were expecting some sort of classic bad-boy senior ready to drop out at any moment - but the figure awaiting you in the desk, shoes up on the surface, had to be a freshman. You try not to look too surprised.

The boy - you remember his name was Orrin, was  leaning back in his chair, a mess of tousled sandy blonde hair sitting atop his head like a bird’s nest, the front two legs of his chair a foot off the ground as he rocked back and forth. He was 14 years old, wearing a pair of dirty Vans that had clearly been on top of the very same desk he was currently resting them on, the surface littered with scuffs and tread imprints, as well as a dozen or so tally-marks and Orrin’s name crudely carved into the wood. He had a surprisingly kind face, blue eyes narrowing as you entered the room.

The two legs of the chair drop to the tile with a bang as he lets his arms fall from behind his head to dangle at his sides lazily, long sleeves of a dirty hoodie dangling over his fingers. He seems upset that you’re even existing in his line of sight. He frowns. “You’re not Ms. Bishop.” He says, with a tone of disappointment creeping into his force nonchalance. “Oh mann, did she quit?” He says, smirking smugly.

You clear your throat. “No, I’m just - filling in for her today.” You look at the paper with the detention details. “Uh, Orrin, right?” You say, trying to put forth a pleasant smile.

“UH, OrRiN RiGhT?” Orrin says back in a mocking tone, snorting out a laugh at the end. “I know it says on the paper, yeah?” Orrin taps his chin with a thoughtful look. “Oh, unless…” He turns to an empty desk at his right. “Are you Orrin?” A shit-eating grin on his face as he turns to the left, addressing another empty desk and chair - “Or maybe you’re Orrin, I bet?” He seems to be cracking himself up.

You try to keep your cool, the annoying kid already getting on your nerves. “Okay, very funny, but’-”

Orrin cuts you off with another slam of his chair onto the ground, his Vans squeaking on the tile. “Lemme stop you right there, mmkay? I bet you’re all pumped to walk in here and finally reach me or whatever, or make me see the error of my ways, or I’m not applying myself or whatever.” Orrin says, rolling his eyes almost into the back of his skull. “But uh, I don’t give a shit about any of that. I was hoping Ms. Bitch-hop would be in today so I could get some payback.” He says, frowning. “But I guess you’ll do.” He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie with a hand, running his other one through his messy hair.

You step back a bit - did he have a knife or something? Was this some sort of power trip? You were just a volunteer, you didn’t expect this kind of shit coming in.

Instead, Orrin pulls out a strange looking - well, it looked like a toy, or a cheesy 80s sci-fi prop. Orrin flicks a switch on the side, and it starts to hum faintly. “So, my dad works for this top-secret government contractor type deal, yeah?” Orrin says, fiddling with the knobs. “S’why he’s never around, so I figured if he’s gonna bring his work home, I might as well swipe something to make detention more fun, right? I looked at the notes on his desk, I think I have an idea of what this thing does -” Orrin says offhandedly, pressing a button on the side that makes the whole thing glow a faint green. “But I’m kind of guessing, so you wanna help me out with my uh, science project? You are a volunteer, right?” He says, snorting and leveling the ray at your head.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, this freckle-faced delinquent pointing - some kind of gadget dead at you without even blinking. “Hey, how about - we just say you were a model student and I let you out of detention right now?” You say with a nervous grin.

“Phbbllt!” Orrin replies. “And I don’t get to find out what this thing does? Booooring.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulls the trigger.

-- zZzZZAAAP --

You see a burst of bright light and a ray springs forth, hitting you dead center in the chest, before the light fades. Your body crackles with static and light, and you feel your shirt start to slide over your shoulders, your frame rapidly getting smaller…. And smaller. You stagger around the side of the desk at the front of the room, soon finding it at your shoulder, rather than your hip. You feel the heat subside for a moment, and see Orrin looking down at you - twice your size. 

“Hoooly shit.” He says, wide eyed and breathless. “It fucking worked? No way.” A glimmer of pure delight takes over his blue eyes as he grins wide, jeans rustling as he walks closer. He points the ray at you again, closing one eye.
“Orrin - don’t you fucking da-”

-- zZzZZAAAP –

Laughing in disbelief, Orrin watches as you trip out of your oversized pants, fumbling frantically as your shirt hangs over you like a massive circus tent, your head smacking into the knee of his torn jeans as he snorts, covering his mouth in a fit of laughter.

“WOW, this is fucking awesome!” He says, and you see the front of his filthy Vans fly forward and catch you square in the chest, sending you several feet back, smacking you into the front of the teacher’s desk in the front of the room. Orrin puts his hand over his mouth in pretend shock. “Oh, so sorry, teach… didn’t see you down there!” He says, and steps over your discarded clothes with a nonchalant air.

You gasp, trying to get your breath back after the impact knocked it clean out of you, watching the smirking teen level the ray at you once more, pulling the trigger with a gleeful little chuckle.

-- zZzZZAAAP –!

Orrin watches you dwindle down until your eyes are level with his frayed shoelaces, and his eyes glitter. A foul scent of hot rubber and worn canvas rolls over you, making you pinch your nose. Orrin catches this and snorts. “Aw, what’s wrong, teach? Don’t like the weather down there?”

He presses the heel of his toe on the back of his sneaker, and starts wriggling out a foot clad in a thin black sock that had clearly seen better days, riddled with holes and stained through overuse. He was clearly enjoying finally being the one to have the power here, after so many long days stuck in a chair, being told how he was misbehaving. He kicked off the ratty sneaker with a thundering clatter, and wriggled his toes in the open air. Setting one foot down on the dirty tile. You shake a little in disgust as the tiles around his socked foot steamed up with condensation, clapping your hands over your mouth and nose reflexively.

The sock was worn thin in some places, and dotted with little holes in others - it was clear that he hadn’t bothered to change them for quite some time. In fact, whenever his mother complained, he would make an effort to wear them even longer, simply out of spite at being told what to do.

Orrin bends down and rifles through your discarded pants pocket until he finds the key to room 3C. “Score.” He says with a toothy grin. “You don’t mind if I lock up after we’re done here, right, teach?” He says, and leans down to peel off his sock, plastered to his young foot by a long school day cooped up in his ratty old Vans. A gust of cheesy, pestilent air rolls out as he pops off the sock with a spray of soggy black lint and sweat, the mist of teen boy foot funk rolling over you like a dense fog, making it hard to breathe.

Orrin sneers and wiggles his toes in the open air, the pale flesh of his sole reddened where it met the floor, and absolutely covered with lint and grime, plastered into the wrinkles of his foot as if baked there with the intense heat. 

“Feels good to air out the dogs, right?” He says, with a malicious little grin, and hovers his long toes over your tiny form, the scent making your eyes water. You open your mouth to protest, but find yourself coughing on the thick, cheesy air that radiates from the boy’s feet like an open oven door. “Oh, I can’t wait for this part..” He says, raising his foot high above you.