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!”