“See me after class please,” Chad's nasal voice droned from the back of the gym. I flinched. My stomach dropped. Everyone at Medford High knew what that meant by now — Chad, despite being just a student himself, had full shrinking privileges through the school’s twisted “Frat” program. And he loved using them.
It had already happened to me once, thanks to a bitter math teacher freshman year. I still remembered the sharp reek of polished dress shoes and stale burrito farts lingering in my hair for days.
After class, I reluctantly made my way into the equipment room where Chad had set up his so-called “office.” It was a disaster. Crumpled papers, empty energy drink cans, and a massive pile of laundry made the cramped space feel even smaller. It smelled sour and unwashed, like someone had lived in their gym clothes and never bothered changing.
Chad was lounging on a folding chair, socked feet propped up on a milk crate. His long red hair was frizzed and wild, and he looked bored — until he saw me.
“Alex,” he sighed dramatically, like I was a bug on his lens. “You’ve been slacking off in gym. Again.”
He stood up slowly, brushing crumbs off his tight Frat-issued tank top. Even though he was barely taller than me at full size, he still made a point to loom — belly out, chest puffed, arms crossed like he was some kind of king. “You know, I’m not just a bully,” he said with a crooked grin. “I’m a mentor. And it’s my duty to, like, mold you into something less pathetic.”
He gestured lazily at my arms. “You’re basically a noodle, bro. If you want to survive in this school, you need discipline. You need... perspective.”
His grin widened as he pulled a thin wristband from his locker shelf. “Luckily, I’ve got just the thing.”
Before I could respond, he snapped the band onto my wrist — way too fast for someone who pretended to be lazy. I didn’t even have time to protest. The shrinking sensation came quickly, stretching and warping the room until Chad’s grimy tube socks looked like wall-length tapestries and his pale hairy legs rose up like redwood trunks.
“Awww, you’re even more pathetic tiny,” he snorted, green eyes gleaming. “This is gonna be fun.”
He crouched down — his loose shorts sagging low on his hips, his belly squishing slightly over his waistband — and reached for me with those long, knuckly fingers. His grip was surprisingly gentle, though I could tell he liked how easily I fit in his hand.
He raised me to eye level and smirked.
“I think I’ll keep you somewhere safe,” he said, _______________________ “We’ve got a whole weekend to bond, little bro.”
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