Some people even pulled out their phones.
Two years earlier, Elliot had transferred to our school midway through sophomore year. I still remembered the way the classroom had gone quiet when he walked in behind the principal for the first time.
He had achondroplasia. Dwarfism. He was short enough that people noticed before they noticed anything else about him, like his smile, his wicked sense of humor, or how smart he was.
Our teacher had introduced him like any other student, but by lunch, the jokes had already started.
He had achondroplasia.
“Do they charge half price for school photos?” One boy said.
“Can he even reach the top locker?” Another replied.
“Did somebody lose their kid?” One of the popular girls said to her friends.
Most people laughed because everyone else did.
I didn’t.
I sat next to him in chemistry three days later because nobody else would.
At first, I think that Elliot expected pity from me. Instead, we argued about movies for an hour.
Most people laughed because everyone else did.
We quickly became friends. Then, somehow, without me even realizing when it happened, he became the person I wanted to talk to first every morning.
