Caitlin wasn’t positive exactly where the euphoria she fell asleep with had come from, and most importantly, where it had gone. All that she knew now was that she felt like utter shit. Her clothes constricted her at more places than she could count, her back ached from falling asleep in an awkward position, and her feet had gone completely numb from being cramped into a pair of uncomfortable boots for far too long. She felt ill from what she recalled must have been six or seven pounds of cafeteria pizza, which was not sitting well. To top it all off, she was damned big.

Huge.

Gigantic.

The couch she more wrapped around than laid on felt like some kind of child’s furniture, which groaned and creaked as she shifted about. She had no idea how tall she was at this point, but whatever size she was, this couch was not designed for it. She tried to do some math in her head, but the only figures she had to work with were “taller than six foot six,” “not big enough to destroy my clothes,” “too big for this couch,” and “I can’t feel my damned feet.” She grunted, fighting with her undersized wardrobe, and tried to both sit up and stretch at the same time. Underestimating the size of the couch in relation to her body and caught off guard by the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric from seams around her shoulders, she flopped forward, pushing the couch back, bashing her elbow on a table, and making a general ruckus.

“Hey She-Hulk, keep it down, we’re making art over here.”

Had the voice belonged to anyone else, Caitlin would have panicked. Instead, she sighed. Why does it have to be her?

“Give the girl a break,” a familiar male voice broke in. “Hey! You okay?”

And him? Caitlin didn’t move, and only managed to mutter her response. “Uh…yeah.”

From her seated position, Caitlin peeked over the couch. She did her best to ignore her dread of actually being tall enough to see over the couch while seated on the floor. Sure enough, Nicole Ryder and her boyfriend Tristan were busying themselves at a large canvas spread out on the ground. Tristan had paint on his hair, face, knees and feet, and Nicole was generally covered in paint and naked from the waist down with her foot in a bucket of paint. Neither seemed particularly distraught at their appearance or at Caitlin’s hyper-grown state. Nicole rolled her eyes at Caitlin’s misfortune and returned to her canvas.

“…so anyways, I’m thinking I can call this corner ‘persuasion’ and the opposite corner ‘shallowness.’”

“I thought that corner was ‘elephant.’”

“No! That corner is ‘shallowness’ and that blob right there is ‘elephant.’”

“I’m confused.”

“I’ll make it more clear. Pass me the yellow paint.”

“I’m going to check on Caitlin.” Tristan said, running his hand through his paint-splattered hair.

“Pass the yellow paint!” Nicole replied, stamping her foot and pouting.

“Your foot is in it.”

Nicole giggled uncharacteristically before dropping to her knees and pressing her face to the canvas. Tristan shook his head smiling and headed over to Caitlin. Caitlin was not sure what to make of this development and could not figure out what to do with herself as he approached. She imagined she would officially be “villagers-chasing-with-torches” sized if she could look him in the eyes while seated. That seemed reasonable, but as he closed the distance, she couldn’t help but fight the fact that Tristan was around six feet tall and he looked kind of short. Then again, she thought, he’s probably closer to six foot than I am. I’m probably closer to…

“Nicole told me you’d been growing. I thought it was a metaphor or something.”

“It is, just not hers.”

“Hm. Do you need help?”

Caitlin paused to turn over the question in her head. She was seated on the floor in undersized, skintight, shredded clothing, tall enough to break her nose on doorframes, and had probably failed at least three of her finals. “Sure. What do you want to tackle first?”

Tristan scanned her up and down, pausing briefly at the outline of an undersized bra clearly visible through her t-shirt. The girl in front of him was truly a disaster, and that said a lot considering the drug-induced mania his own girlfriend was in. He eventually set his sights on a pair of black boots so tight that the pleather had taken on the shape of her toes. “You might need a knife to get out of those boots.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that. My feet are numb.”

“Gotcha.”

Tristan produced a craft knife from his pocket, and set to carefully slicing through the boots. The dull knife slowed his progress, so he would have to take his time. He made small talk. “So, I know someone who’s been asking about you.”

Caitlin played stupid. “I can’t imagine who you’d be talking about.”

“I’ll give you a hint, she has a lot of tattoos and is barely as tall as your bellybutton.”

“Nicole?”

Tristan laughed softly. “No, no. That one’s mine.”

Caitlin peered over at Nicole again, who was rolling about in ecstasy on her canvas. “She’s quite a catch.”

“In her defense, she’s high as a kite right now.”

“Quite a catch indeed.”

Tristan smiled again, and shook his dark hair out of his face as he carefully separated the soles of Caitlin’s boot. After a short while, the pressure of Caitlin’s cramped foot aided the process and her toes blossomed out of the tip of the boot. The rush of blood circulating properly through her feet made them tingle and she couldn’t help but smile. Cailtin offered to finish job herself and, gripping the tip, tore away the rest of the sole until her foot comfortably extended nearly three inches longer than the shoe itself. Tristan’s eyes widened, clearly impressed with the show of strength, before setting to work on the left foot.

“I may need to special order from now on.” Caitlin remarked to break the awkward silence.

“That won’t do you much good now.” He said. “I’ve got some size 13 sneakers you can use.”

Caitlin felt bad taking his shoes, but a quick glance at her lengthy feet suggested that she should probably take him up on the offer. Tristan finished up the job on Caitlin’s other boot, and with both feet free and the boots utterly destroyed, Tristan returned to his Nicole, who lay motionless face-down on her canvas. He ran his fingers through Nicole’s paint-stained hair, and Nicole cooed and rolled over. Caitlin had never seen Nicole so genuinely happy, and watching the moment made Caitlin feel suddenly lonely.

“Call Ivey,” Tristan spoke up.

Caitlin was caught off guard. “I don’t have her number.”

“Then go see her.”

“I don’t kn…”

“Today. Until 7:00. I can’t imagine you’ve got much going on.”

Desperate for an escape, Caitlin gestured at her feet. “I’m not really dressed for success right now.”

In response, Tristan kicked off his shoes at Caitlin and tossed an oversized art smock at her.

“What about pants?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Nicole’s voice chimed in. “Tristan, give that whiny bitch your pants and belt. Caitlin, you have a really annoying habit of ruining my buzz.”

“I thought you were incoherent.”

“I thought you were resourceful. Hey look! We’re both wrong!”

“You want me to change in front of your boyfriend?”

“We’re going to have sex in here when you leave, or sooner if you don’t get to stripping.”

Caitlin pondered briefly how exactly that was an answer to her question before shrugging and removing her undersized clothing. She realized that the t-shirt wouldn’t be coming off unless she cut herself out of it as it gripped her body with gusto and left little to the imagination. While her t-shirt was elastic enough to wear like a mini-tee (which it wasn’t…originally), the bra would have to go. She unclasped the bra and maneuvered it with some difficulty out from underneath her second-skin t-shirt. Her breasts seemed to be held in place well enough, though the shirt was stretched nearly to the point of transparency. Caitlin caught a glimpse of Tristan giving her a brief once over while removing his pants, and he nodded in playful approval at her as he handed them over. She rolled her eyes and peeled the remnants of her jeans off. She shimmied into Tristan’s cargo pants, which barely reached her calves and hugged her hips snugly. She grudgingly slipped on the art smock, groaning when the sleeves ended at her elbows and the top two buttons puckered around her generous bust.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Caitlin said, fastening the belt around her waist. She was facing away from Tristan and Nicole as she made the final adjustments to her wardrobe. She stood to her feet, and felt almost light-headed instantly. Her earlier growth spurts had left her feeling a bit off-kilter at most. Her height at present was absolutely dizzying. The room, the easels, the desks, everything was so…small. Even the high ceiling in the art room looked almost reachable. She couldn’t bring herself to even say the numbers to herself, but she had a feeling she had reached an elite numerical group as far as her height was concerned.

“This is insane,” Caitlin mused aloud. She was about to turn around when audible moaning from behind her stopped her short of that. She could make out sounds of paint splattering as Nicole and Tristan went to town on their most recent art collaboration—apparently still in progress.

“Never mind. That is insane.”

* * * *

The doorway to Bean Town was smaller than Caitlin remembered. Then again, the last time she’d been there, she was a foot shorter. She had taken the bus downtown, realizing that she hadn’t yet grasped the novelty of being an exceptionally tall girl. The bus driver, a stout man in his fifties, had looked at her as if she had nine heads when she boarded the bus. Of course, barely fitting through the door certainly didn’t help that. The rest of the passengers were fairly civil, though a few couldn’t help but gawk at her. While the attention wasn’t exactly welcome, Caitlin couldn’t really blame them. Girls in their teens are rarely taller than six feet tall, let alone close to seven. She glanced about, hoping to see at least one person near her height, but found no one remotely close. Fortunately, the ride was uneventful and the bus dropped her at a transit station near the coffee shop.

Caitlin ducked to avoid both the doorframe and the eye-level bell, which announced her arrival in the mostly empty café. She had only had to do it a few times, but the ducking already had begun to feel routine. Ivey darted about behind the espresso machine, just as she had when Caitlin had first seen her. The shop was fairly empty at 2:00 in the afternoon. A few patrons looked up at Caitlin, although this time they made little effort to hide their wonder at her towering height. When she made eye contact with them, they looked down, though she could feel the glances at her when she looked away. “What are they feeding these kids?” an older woman muttered, reading a book in the far corner. Caitlin glared, but the woman didn’t meet her eyes. Not realizing that she’d paused in the middle of the room, Ivey acknowledged her.

“Long time no see sweetie. What’s new?” Ivey propped her small frame onto the counter, cocking her head slightly as she studied Caitlin expectantly. “You’re different,” She continued with half a smile. Caitlin blushed and hid behind her bangs which fell into her face. She was realizing that bashful gestures, or anything “cute” really didn’t work when you’re nearly as tall as the ceiling. She straightened up.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tristan and Nicole told me you’ve been having a rough time lately.”

“To put it lightly.”

“Nicole said you were having some formative experiences.”

“It’s been crazy.”

“Tristan said you’ve been growing…”

“…?”

“…into yourself.”

Caitlin choked on her words, as Ivey’s words resonated in her head. “I’ve…changed some in the past few weeks.”

“I told you you were ready for a change.” Caitlin felt flush, as if the eyes of the world were on her. The two patrons near the front had risen to leave and Ivey waved a cheerful goodbye at them. The elderly woman in the back had set her book down and headed to the bathroom.

“Come over here” Ivey grinned. Rich green eye shadow framed Ivey’s eyes, and Caitlin gravitated closer to the counter, though still standing a few steps away. “Closer,” Ivey repeated. Caitlin’s waist touched the counter, which seemed unreasonably low to her. With the woman in the bathroom, they were alone in the expansive café. Avant-garde jazz played in the stereo system, which seemed to only amplify Caitlin’s unease. Ivey still smiled, gazing up at Caitlin.

“I want to tell you something sweetie, but you’ll have to come closer.” Caitlin felt her body lower itself down–far down–to the counter where Ivey waited patiently for her. It was as if Caitlin were watching everything happen, but not participating. Ivey smoothly and nimbly reached over the counter, slid her small fingers up the back of Caitlin’s neck, and pulled her in, firmly planting their lips together. Caitlin whimpered slightly, caught off guard both by Ivey’s surprising strength and the feel of Ivey’s hand against the back of her neck, which sent chills down her back. Ivey shifted, inhaling deeply and exhaling a soft moan as Caitlin began to relax. Caitlin touched Ivey’s hand as they lingered for another moment and Ivey parted their lips.

“My, my, you are indeed something special, Caitlin Landry,” she said between them. Ivey kissed Caitlin a second time before casually but concisely breaking the moment. Ivey turned to answer the phone that Caitlin hadn’t even realized was ringing until then. She was hunched over the counter, her face flush. Ivey chatted on the phone, but Caitlin didn’t really pay attention to the conversation. She stared, dazed, before being snapped out of it by the loud squeaking of the bathroom door.

“Thanks Tristan, I’ll see you in ten.”

Caitlin looked at Ivey, who winked back at her. Ivey silenced the phone with a beep. “Nicole got off early, and it looks like I will too.”

Too much information, Caitlin thought. “What’s going on?”

“Tristan’s picking up some pants and filling in for me today. I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“For what?”

Ivey grinned again. “You.”