Thomas laughs at my comment and I stick my tongue out mockingly at him. I am here to tell you right now that this situation’s awkwardness has just diminished. “So, your mum keeps files on all the cancer survivors?” I ask, a little curious.

He shrugs lightly and takes a bite from his apple. I’m tempted to ask him for a bit, but hold it back. Yes, my stomach is screaming, but no, I am not going to die of starvation any time soon. Thomas swallows quickly and replies. “Nope, only the shrunken ones. We call them the shrunken, though, as a nickname.” He says.

“How fitting,” I roll my eyes from my position on Thomas’s pencil case. The material is soft and squishy, so it’s almost like a pencil filled beanbag.

“Sorry.” He smiles cheekily. Well, all I can say is that at least he’s not talking to me as though I’m some creepy science experiment anymore… well… in some cases I kind of am. “But mum thinks it’s appropriate.”

“I’ll give her brownie points for that.” I mutter with heavy sarcasm. “So, she’s got my file then?”

“Yeah, you’re Marcus Andrews, cured at five, living in Kingaroy, Australia on 23 Marigold Drive.” Thomas replies, sounding like he’s giving me a lecture on my own life.

“I have to admit, that’s creepy.” I say.

Thomas giggles for a moment before his expression hardens. “She only keeps a record because the shrunken’s relatives are rioting about the flaws in the cure. She keeps track of who is happy with their transformation and who isn’t.”

Ok. That makes sense. Someone like Sally Ryan has the right to do something like that, even if it gives her a double agent nickname: the paedophile. I wonder briefly what my own file looks like. I’m probably one of the few ‘shrunken’ who accepted their transformation and am getting on well with their lives…. If you count getting on well as being a real life midget.

“Well, alright then.” I say. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t nickname me a ‘shrunken’, though. A ‘Real Life Midget’ or a ‘Hide and Seek Ninja’ are my options.”

Thomas snorts, his huge eyes glinting cheekily. “Hide and Seek Ninja?” He asks.

“I hold the record for the longest time taken for someone to find me.” I explain, shooting him a smile of my own.

“Can’t I just call you Marcus?”

No one’s ever not stuck with the nicknames before. Usually it’s stuff that tie in with my name, like Mini-Marcus or Marcus the Midget, but only Cam and Mum bother to label me as plain old Marcus. “Be my guest.” I smirk up at him, taken off guard by his question.

“Ok, Marcus. What class are you in?” Thomas asks, checking his watch. Funny, the thing’s face is bigger than my own.

“The Principal said 8A, whatever the hell that means.” I smile awkwardly as he checks his laminated yellow timetable. He begins to pack away his art gear as he replies.

“That’s my class, too.” He says. His hand hovers beside the pencilcase I’m sitting on, as if he’s wondering how to ask me to get off. Usually people don’t hesitate in nudging me away. I like his ‘niceness’. I quickly scramble off the checked material to stand back on the metal bench so he can shove the pencil case in his schoolbag. I shuffle awkwardly on my feet as he stands to full height in front of me. “Want a lift?” He asks with a smile.

“Really?”

“Sure.” His hand comes out at me and I ready myself to be grabbed but the feeling never comes. When I open my eyes, which were squeezed shut beforehand, I realise his hand is rested palm up just in front of my socked feet. Bewildered, I step up onto his soft flesh and sit down on his palm as he lifts his hand up. I can automatically tell that he’s trying to be gentle with me so I rest a hand on his thumb, causing him to shiver. Wow, do I really have that chill effect on people?

“Sorry, but you don’t have to worry about hurting me. Just move at your own pace.” I say, trying to smile. Why is it that I suck at first impressions? Thomas begins to walk, my midget sized form cradled at his chest. “I could get used to this.” I grin, propping my head up against his t shirt covered chest and stretching out in his hand.

“Are you usually this lazy?” He asks as he turns down a corridor, amongst a sea of students who thankfully haven’t even seen me yet. I wonder where Cam is. I hope he’s alright. He’s usually the severely overprotective one, so I’m surprised he hasn’t found me yet.

“God no.” I reply, brushing thoughts of my brother away. “I do more exercise in a day than Usain Bolt!” When he shoots me a mocking look, I shrug innocently. “You’re talking to a real life midget here, Ryan.” I remind him. At his weird expression, I get the feeling he’s still a little confused and probably awkward around me. It’s obvious as to what the guy’s thinking.

How is he acting so calm? Does he realise how dangerous it must be for him?

Or, one of my least favourites:

Why is he acting like a normal teenager? Because I am one, dickhead.

Sometimes, I don’t understand the logic of a situation like that. I find it annoying how people have to judge me because of my size. No one wants to hang out with a real life midget, I guess. I don’t even know for sure if Thomas is OK with my presence. He’s having a conversation and all and it’s pretty coincidental that he’s Sally Ryan’s son, but I can never tell whether people actually want me as a friend. Usually, they’re scared of me, despite the obvious size gap.

Anyway, Thomas pulls up in front of what looks like a classroom and waits in a line… with about twenty other chattering students. Shit. And they’ve just noticed us. Actually, they’ve noticed Thomas, because I’m half obscured by his pudgy hand, but it won’t be long before…

“OMG THOMAS! Is that the tiny kid the teacher told us about!?!” Someone squeals. I’ll say this again, because I don’t think it’ll ever get old: thank the lord for my good old earmuffs. Although I have to say, the amplitude of that voice did hurt a little. Before I can make an effort to stand up for myself, the other kids in my so called class are looking at me, encircling Thomas so he can’t get out. I swallow back my nerves and stand up in his hand, so that they can get their sneak peak at my midget face. I hold out my hand respectively.

“Hi, I’m Marcus Andrews…” I break off in a gasp when twenty or so waiting fingers are suddenly being shoved in my face, probably wanting to shake my hand. Nervously, I grip a random girl’s finger in my whole hand and shake, before snapping my half trembling hand away. Thomas looks like he’s going to be sick. So much for making friends. I think as I shoot him an apologetic look. He’s gonna hate me after this.

“How did you get so small?” Someone asks in awe.

“He’s adorable!” You don’t have to be genius to work out that that one belongs to a girl.

“Wanna be my boyfriend?” Another girl.

“Can I hold you?” A boy.

“No.” Me.

“Awww. But Thomas gets to!” A boy.

“Maybe later.” Me.

“What’s it like to be tiny?” Someone else asks. I shrug, wincing at the constant noise.

“Spectacular.” I mutter back, half under my breath. The kid probably didn’t even hear me reply.

“What’s all this chatter about?” A voice asks, noticeably feminine and adult. I exhale in relief and rub the back of my neck with a hand.

My saviour has arrived. The teacher. Who I’m pretty sure goes by Mrs Harrington.

“Have a good lunchbreak?” She asks.