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.”