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.”