[Wachsende]

The holidays have me all discombobulated; I will get back to this eventually, I promise:)

[Wachsende]

I have no idea where I'm going with this, guys, so hold tight!:) Part two should be up in a few days.

[Wachsende]

I didn't head into chapter four within the intention of concluding it there, but once I finished it the story I was telling felt complete; the transformation of the narrator's influence over Sarah going from physical superiority to emotional superiority. I would be content if I never continued it further.

That being said, there is still plenty left to tell in this world and I have plenty of ideas left. I think Sarah's story is pretty much complete for now, but I'm not so sure the narrator's story is. I'd really like to explore a more egalitarian relationship between the narrator and one of the girls his own age, for instance. The narrator still ultimately retained some control over Sarah because he was older and more emotionally developed; what control, if any would he hold over his peers? And just because Sarah was pulled back from the brink doesn't mean everyone in her generation was. It'd be interesting to explore the way society changes moving forward in time. One of the big factors in determining success at work has been proven to be a man's stature; would that same instinct give these towering young women a leg up (pardon the pun) in the business world?

So to address your query, I'm not sure I'm going to continue on with these characters, but there's definitely the possibility…

[Wachsende]

This one gets into some pretty sick places towards the end, but does a good job of demonstrating the power reversal and growth spurt over time:
http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc10/rebecca.txt

[Wachsende]

[This section took me a long time to write, and a long time to come
to terms with. It will probably be controversial both for the ages
of the characters and the questions it raises. Men are still men,
women are still women, boys are still boys, and girls are still
girls — even when the balance of physical power has been totally
reversed. I set out to write this section with the protagonist
exploring the territory toward a completely different character.
I came to the realization that in this world has advanced to the
point where males like the protagonist would no longer be in a
position to be proactive but must instead be entirely reactive.
That change in turn led to questions about what else would change.
Most GTS fiction I've read allows the growth to serve as a total
liberation from responsibility. I strongly disagree with that. I
also came to the conclusion that the things that make a man a real
man still exist even when he has been entirely stripped of his
physical power. From that perspective, Part 4 is a true coming of
age story for our protagonist. Sorry if I kill any one's buzz, but
these are issues I had to deal with as a writer, and decisions
that had to be made by these characters.

Without further ado…]

Crossing Boundaries [Part 4]
by Wachsende

I stood in the cereal aisle, my hands on the handle of the shopping cart. The emerging curves of a young woman's back filled the center of my field of vision, silhouetted in the pale lavender fabric of a loose t-shirt. A long, graceful arm easily snatched a box of Apple Jacks from the top shelf and tossed it into the cart.
The high tones of a young girl's voice rang down distractedly from above. "Okay, that should do it for cereal. What's next on the list?"
I'd gotten my license a couple weeks ago and quickly discovered that the rite of passage had increased Sarah's freedom far more than it had increased mine. Grocery shopping was one of a dozen or so errands Sarah had volunteered me for since.
We moved aisle-by-aisle through the store, with me reciting each item scrawled out in Mrs. Flynn's careful handwriting and Sarah quickly guiding its real world counterpart into the cart. At the register, Sarah handed the cashier the two crisp fifties her mother had given her and tapped her foot impatiently as the order was tallied. The aproned girl behind the register was a pretty undergrad, probably about twenty-two and blond with glacial blue eyes. Having finished growing before the Change, as the media called it, she was a couple inches shorter than me. I flashed her what I hoped was a confident and attractive smile. She rolled her eyes back.
By the time the color faded from my cheeks, the last of the Flynn's groceries had been bagged. Sarah shoved two of the brown paper bags into my arms carelessly into my arms and scooped up the other six bags herself before setting off for the exit. I hurried to catch up.
When you're five-foot-nine, it's only too easy for a girl with three-foot long legs and the energy of a fourteen-year-old to disappear into the distance.
I'd started wondering lately if that might not be such a bad thing. Mrs. Flynn had always been very good to me and I was happy to help out. It would have been nice if Sarah had asked rather than informed. As I unlocked the trunk, I wondered idly what Connor was up to.
A few days ago he'd gotten into an argument with his sister, and since she hadn't really wanted him around. When Sarah didn't want Connor around, it meant that I didn't see much of Connor. During these periods, we kept our friendship afloat through AOL Instant Messenger.
Even those conversations were primarily reactive to Sarah. In the time since the controller incident, his bitter diatribes had largely shifted from the arguments he'd had with his "little" sister to the arguments he'd like to have. When things finally boiled over the other day, she'd effortlessly lifted him clean off and hung him from the corner of his bedroom door by the back of his shirt. For my part, I exasperatedly ticked off the latest transgressions against my personal sovereignty.
It's not really that I disliked hanging out with Sarah (despite what I might tell Connor). She was, for the most part, the same fun energetic girl she'd always been. Connor and I had been the ones who taught her how to have fun, so most of the things she wanted to do were the kind of things I wanted to do. The disconcerting thing was the way she now approached our friendship. When we were all younger, and she looked up to us, Connor and I would often strive to create the illusion that we valued her input. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, Sarah made no effort to hide the fact that she made all the decisions. She asserted her control in subtle, likely unconscious ways. When we played Frisbee in the park, she'd make a show of waving the disc in front of me just an inch or two out of my reach. When I would try to assert an opinion contrary to her own, she would correct me as if her position was hard fact. Even errands like this curtailed my time with other friends. When the errands had started, she was careful to thank me each time for my help. But as time passed, my subservience increased and her respect for me decreased. She never thanked me any more, and patronizing criticism had started to filter in.
I was halfway to the driver's seat, when a finger gently tapped my finger from behind.
I sighed and turned around. "What's up, Sarah?"
"I noticed you just tossed your bags in the middle of the trunk just now. Your bags had the eggs, milk, and lemonade which really need to be secured against the side. Don't worry about it this time, I fixed it for you. Just something to think about for next time."
She slid by me without pausing for a response, her elbow brushing softly against my bicep. Car loaded up, I plopped down behind the wheel -— content to revel in one of my few remaining illusions of power.
After glancing around in vain for some sign of Connor's presence, I flipped channels from the couch in her living room as she unpacked the groceries. I didn't bother offering to help anymore; the Flynns' kitchen had cathedral ceilings and since she cleared 6'4" had insisted on putting everything on the top shelf so she wouldn't have to bend down — thought only she and her father could reach it.
Besides, she moved faster on her own.
I was just starting to zone out to a documentary on the construction of a giant bridge in southern France, when I noticed the sounds of metal cans hitting hardwood shelves had silenced. Suddenly my view of the television was obstructed by a large patch of pale lavender. By the time my view of the screen had cleared, a warm soft presence began pressing down lightly on me. The air became heavy with a familiar smell. Soft lips brushed against mine, and a pair of breast squeezed gently against my chest. I felt myself begin to stiffen even as my mind filled with dawning, horrified comprehension. I had been interested in girls for a while now, and girls developed earlier than boys — especially now. My suspicions were confirmed when a voice far too young whispered inches from my face. "The house is ours for at least another hour now. Something big pressing against my abdomen tells me you're just as excited as I am."
So this is what it had come to. Plenty of fourteen-year-old girls had crushes on older boys. But until recently, none had the confidence nor the means to act upon them. Sometime between last summer and the controller incident she had become attracted to me. And as she asserted more and more control over me, my authority had meant less and less. At some point, the idea of making a move on me must have stopped seeming ridiculous. As I pushed up against her firm abdomen and completely failed to move her, I had to concede that it certainly wasn't ridiculous to me. Apparently, we'd reached a point where my voice no longer had any meaning.
That was about to change.
"No, Sarah. This is not going to happen."
She laughed a little and pressed herself closer against me. "Oh, really? Go ahead and stop me."
My tone remained firm, even as I struggled to inhale against the pressure. "I can't. You know I can't; you wouldn't being doing this if you thought I could. You're bigger, stronger, and faster than me. If you wanted to, you could rip open my pants and fuck me right now. But you don't want to."
She laughed again, somewhat more nervously now. "I don't, really?" she cooed sarcastically.
"No, you don't. You obviously don't have much respect for me any more, but there's a part of you that still loves me like I love you. And that part of you is missing the boy that tried to be like a brother to you. At some point, I stopped having the courage to be that person for you. This is my last chance to be that boy again. Because if I let you go through with this, the girl that I loved like a sister is gone."
I paused and the room filled with silence. The pressure against my body let up a bit.
"If anything I've said still matters to you, you're going to stand up and walk me to the door."
The pressure finally lifted entirely and cool air flooded in to the gap in between.
When we reached the doorway, streams of tears ran down the face floating above me.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I spread out my arms, and an entirely different kind of pressure pressed against me, trembling as increasingly powerful sobs racked her entire body.
"I can't be around here for a while," I ventured cautiously.
"I know," she whispered back as she slowly withdrew from the hug.
I was a few steps before I turned back to the lanky form stooped in the doorway, riddled with shame.
"And Sarah?"
"Yeah?"
"Apologize to Connor. He doesn't deserve to be treated that way."

[Wachsende]

These changes are starting to be felt in a very real way.

Startling Implications [Part 3]
by Wachsende

SEPTEMBER 2013

"Any luck with Emily?" Bob Wilkens whispered to his best friend, Jerry.
Jerry let out a heavy sigh. "Well, the last time out on the lake, I got my best time ever."
Bob looked surprised. "Well, that's perfect, right?"
Jerry. "I thought so, and she certainly made a good show of being enthusiastic. But when I checked the boards, she'd already beat my time by a good minute and a half."
Bob shook his head sympathetically. "How are we supposed to compete with girls like that?"

I craned my neck back around to facing forward. Clearly Connor had heard the same thing I had. He wasn't as surprised as he would have been a few months ago.
I looked around the bus. There were the tops of boys' heads jutting over some of the seats. There were head and necks visible from the girls. The chatter continued.

* * *

December 2013

I staggered forward into Billy Tompkins from the impact of the collision, my empty lunch tray clattering to the floor. I turned around hastily, to find myself staring at a particularly fine example of a collarbone. A high, sing-songy voice rang down from on high.
"Oh sorry! I didn't see you there! That's the second time I've done that this week."
She leaned over for what seemed like forever and retrieved my tray. Seeing the head as it closed in on the ground, I recognized a familiar pink headband. It was Marissa Perata, who I've had a crush on since sixth grade. She'd always been a klutzy little kid.
"Oh shit, it's dirty! Here, take mine. It's easier for me to get another one."
A long arm rose out of nowhere and set the dirty tray on top of the display. Another guided a clean tray in my general direction, albeit a foot higher than strictly necessary. The arms were quickly followed by a torso and head, which rose up, up, and away. Her hips were level with the counter. My eyes traveled reluctantly up past said hips, which had rounded out rather spectacularly over the last few months up past a chest which had started to do likewise, past that long thin neck, over an adorable apologetic smile, to the friendly hazel eyes which were hovering just above the top of my head.
I realized I still hadn't taken the tray.
"Thanks Marissa! Did you take the quiz in Mr. Wolanski's class yet?"
"Oh! No… sorry. I don't have Mr.  Wolanski for English this year. I'm dreading the bio quiz though."
"If it's any consolation, Mrs. Harris's entire second period class assures me they failed it, so odds are good she'll throw it out."the
Connor nudged me. The line had moved, and Crabface — the sagging old lunch lady, a vision in her weathered hair net and smokey yellow dress – was getting impatient. I flashed the tiny old shrew a meek smile, placed my order and returned my attention to Connor and the procession of towering female figures in front of him, all starting to curve out in similarly flattering ways.

* * *

Two inches of snow had already fallen before my parents convinced me to run a Christmas basket over to the Flynns next door. I had a shallow coating of snow on my hat and shoulders by the time the big maroon door swung open and the bright light and warmth poured out.
Sarah had opened the door. At first, I thought I might have stopped a step short, because I was making eye contact with her chin. As Connor rush to join her in the doorway, I realized that this was not the case.
He'd always been a couple inches taller than me, and had remained a hair taller than her even through the end of the summer. Standing side by side in their slippers, his eyes only came up to her mouth.
They waved me into the foyer. Sarah took the basket from me and brought into their living room, where the Christmas tree was set up. Connor set in with detailed complaints about every one of his visiting relatives. I followed him into the living room, illuminated by the reddish glow of the technicolor evergreen in the corner. From the armchair across the room, Mr. Flynn's hand popped up out from behind his newspaper in distracted greeting. Mrs. Flynn pulled me into a quick tight hug and launched into a fast-paced greeting.
"Oh, how are you? Enjoying your vacation? I heard Connor and you had a great time sledding down at the golf course. Are you eating enough? You've got that same pinched look that Connor has; Sarah's been eating like there's no tomorrow. Oh, a cheese basket! Your parents didn't have to do that!"
"They were happy to do it, Mrs. Flynn. After you guys watched our cat last month…"
"Oh nonsense, that's what neighbors are for. There was no need to get us anything… Sarah, can you dig out the presents for the Kleins."
Her own objections to gift giving apparently aside, she grabbed three wrapped boxes from her daughter's arms and shoved into mine.
"Take these over to your parents, dear."
She walked me back to the door, pausing every couple of steps for an admonishment or invitation, her youngest child in tow. She finally got distracted by a mess in the dining room and left me on my own to clear the last couple feet to the door. From behind, Sarah gave my shoulder a squeeze that was undoubtedly intended to be affection, but felt rather harder than she'd likely aimed for.

* * *

June 2014

I waited ahead of Connor to exit the bus, our sophomore year finally over at last. Ahead, the girls ? many only freshmen ? were hunched over in the aisle to stay below the curved ceiling. As each crossed through the folded up doors, they seemed to visibly expand and unfold, finally free of a cage that had become much too small. From the street corner, the masses scattered in every direction as the two of us set off down the same old familiar stretch of road. Connor had turned sixteen in May and my birthday was in July, so we had more than enough car talk to last the journey.
At his house, we got snacks from the pantry and plopped down on the floor in his living room, the Christmas tree having been replaced by one of the presents underneath it ? a 48" flatscreen television. We were in the middle of a heated battle in Halo 2 went I heard the front door swing open then slam shut. Connor stabbed me from behind as I turned around to greet the new arrival. Sarah wandered in, her backpack bouncing lighting on her back, stopping in the doorway as I waved hello. The top of her head cleared the doorway by a mere two inches.
"Hey sis," Connor called out distractedly, still facing the television.
"Hey! You guys playing Halo? I'm in!" she said as she stalked into the room, throwing her bag casually on the couch. She plopped down right next to her brother, slid the controller neatly from his hands, and pushed him aside with a quick sideways trust from her hips.
"What the hell! I wasn't done!" he spat at her profile.
"You can have it back when I'm done. Klein! Watch out, I'm about to kill you!" I glanced over at Connor. Though clearly unhappy, he made no move to counteract his little sister's assertion of power. I resumed play, feeling rather awkward doing so, glancing over ever so often at my best friend sulking in the corner.
After two hours of play, I had to go home for supper. I grabbed my bag and stood up to leave. Sarah got up as well to walk me out. By the time she rose to her full height, my eyes were only level with the bottom of her neck. I was already through the doorway when, as an afterthought, she tossed the controller at Connor. "See? I told you I'd give it to you when I was done." Rolling her eyes at her brother's apparent impatience, she followed me out to the foyer.
As I started down their front walk, she called out to my from the top step of her porch.
"You should swing by after you finish dinner. Maybe we can rent a movie."
The implications were startling. Had she just stolen me away from Connor like she had the controller? Did I really want to be her best friend? Did I have a choice?

[Wachsende]

Starting to move the pieces into place now.

Small Changes [Part 2]
by Wachsende

AUGUST 2013

I felt the cold turquoise water sting my eyes as it paralyzed my short, speedy descent. Flipping over to my back as I closed in on the black and white checker board tile at the bottom, I saw the blurry outline of a figure with dark hair in a sky blue one-piece towering above.
She'd gotten me in less than a minute this time.
Even combining our efforts, Connor and I hadn't once managed to heft Sarah into the pool since I'd gotten back from the Cape. Only in the last couple days had she thought to turn the tables.
As I hoisted myself up the sparkling metal ladder for the third time in a row, I gladly took the hand offered out to me. My feet touching concrete, I looked straight ahead into a pair of nostrils slid gracefully under a cute little button nose. My eyes only had to travel up a couple inches to find those familiar eyes which so matched her bathing suit. Her dark eyebrows had reached maximum height against burnt red skin as her firm, one handed grab pulled me the rest of the distance.
"C'mon, I think I've humiliated you enough for one day. You may be lucky enough to tan, but Connor and I are positively crispy. And I'm famished."
I exchanged a quick look with my equally scarlet best friend, a couple feet off, as she twirled around and set off for the snack bar. Over the last two weeks, both of us had quickly gotten used to the "suggestions" she had started making without any room for a response. But this was our second trip to the snack bar today. And my mom said I had a bottomless appetite.
Still no one could call Sarah overweight. Until puberty had kicked her into overdrive, Sarah had always been a wisp of a girl. While her features had begun to round out a bit this summer, she was still skinny. Indeed, looking around the grass and concrete landscape, she was still probably one of the smaller girls her age. Some of the incoming freshmen were positively monumental.
The two of us were still lost in our thoughts when Sarah returned, a massive burger in one hand and a thing of fries in the other. She didn't offer to share.
"I wondered where you two went off to. I'm all set; let's go."
Connor looked ready to take umbrage at being treated like a five-year-old by a sibling two years his junior. By the time he got his mouth open, though, Sarah was already halfway to the exit and well out of earshot. I shrugged at him and waved him forward with an "after you" motion. There was no place else I was going to hang out. And as I recalled, it hadn't been that long ago that we'd taken her similarly for granted.
Once she'd tossed away her wrappers, we headed to their backyard, where the tree house was slowly resolving itself into one of the more prodigious examples of its species. Heavy scraps that Connor and I had earlier dismissed out of hand as being impractical were finding their way into the project under Sarah's direction. With a concerted effort and surprising deftness, she managed to lift up pieces that it took the two of us to handle with confidence. By the time September rolled around, it was like having a fourth person.
Once she had decided it was complete enough, our days were spent more evenly divided between bike rides and the pool. Connor and I took no longer really put up a fight when she decided to dunk us into the pool. Either of us could still drag it out a minute or two if we wanted to, but mostly we ceded to the inevitable with what we hoped was a convincing attempt at good humor. Our bike rides took us further and further out of town as the first leaves started changing colors. I had started to notice that Sarah had begun slowing down occasionally to let us catch up.

* * *

SEPTEMBER 2013

Inevitably, the first Thursday in September came as it always does. Connor and I walked up to the familiar corner to see a flurry of familiar and unfamiliar faces — many dark like mine, a few burnt and peeling like Connor's.
He was the one who noticed it first.
"Hey, where are all the other guys at?"
I glanced over the clothes and hair of the kids nearest us. All were undeniably feminine. Only as we closed the remaining distance did we begin to understand why. Clearly Sarah and the girls at the pool were not an isolated fluke. The closer we got, the taller these girls appeared. I waved to Mary Lyles, a cute girl from my homeroom last year. She returned my wave and my smile. By the time we reached her, I realized my head could comfortably fit underneath her chin. I was reminded forcibly of the prom last spring, except this time none of the girls were wearing heels.
As we waded through the forest of teenage girls, we found a couple pockets of our male classmates. Whatever first explorations between the genders had begun at the end of the last school year had clearly been waylaid over the summer. That intangible recalculation that had permeated our neighborhood games during the summer pervaded this crowd with particularly potent intensity, married to unspoken feelings of fear and unease. Small talk that should have come naturally felt unbearably belabored.
When the bus finally rolled around the corner, the mass of students exhaled in relief.
Whatever truths the sleep away campers had discovered over the summer, they were clearly not the sort that Connor and I had imagined.

[Wachsende]

Sorry about the overabundance of italics; I forgot to close the tag on the Every in Everybody. By the time I figured it out, it was too late to edit.

[Wachsende]

I spent a couple weeks developing these characters in my head, where I wanted them to start and where I intend them to go; I finally sat down today and hammered this out in one sitting. Expect at least two or three more entries to these characters. The reason I'm drawn to gradual growth stories is because the characters get to develop as much as their bodies do. Part one offers just the first hints of the journey to come.

Shortest Girl in Her Grade [Part 1]
by Wachsende

SEPTEMBER 2011

The school year began like any other. I was waiting at the bus stop at 7:15 in the morning, pacing back and forth along the corner, certain my best friend Conner would miss the bus. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the street, prematurely cut off by a high-pitched scream.
I turned around to see the distant shape of Connor's back, hands thrown up in the air out of frustration. Sarah — a tiny little fireball at about 4' 4" — was panting several yards further back, fists balled, staring daggers at her older brother.
"Mom told you to wait for me!"
Connor threw his head back and groaned, pantomiming a strangulation but proceeding no further.
"I'm not going sit around and miss the bus because of you!"
"It's my first day at middle school! You promised you'd stick with me!"
It was a routine I was well-used to; though we'd started at the middle school two Septembers prior, Sarah never-the-less followed him every afternoon and summer since. For all of his grumbling and theatrics, Connor has always been very fond of his sister and enjoyed her admiration for him. Being Connor's best friend meant being Sarah's best friend too.
They finally made it to the stop sign just as the bus rolled off the main street. Sarah'd always looked young for her age, but it never really stood out when it was just the three of us. Glancing around at the other new six graders, I noticed she was easily the smallest by a good four or five inches. I was glad Connor had waited for her; kids could be really cruel.

* * *

Connor and I had lucked into the same homeroom teacher for eighth grade, Mr. Poole. Known as the most eccentric science teacher by far in the school, he always had interesting experiments for his classes set up on the black lab tables each morning. His notorious lack of focus meant that each day's equipment provided more than enough entertainment for the fifteen minutes before bell. We were smart enough never to mess with the chemicals he occasionally had set up, however.
As for Sarah, Connor had to pull aside a couple bullies early on. Afterwards, however, she fell in with a popular and energetic group of girls and we didn't see as much of her afterwards. Before long, Christmas had already passed and we were rolling around to better weather again. Though we enjoyed our time as top of the heap, it wasn't long before we were counting down the days until summer — our voices now awkwardly frog-like at times.

* * *

JUNE 2012

On the last Thursday in June, Connor and I scrambled off the bus for the last time. We were only a few steps down the road, already deep in discussion about plans for soccer games and tree house forts when Connor abruptly stopped.
"Shit! Where's Sarah? Mom's not going to be home until five and I've got the key." We turned around, and watched the dispursing crowd of our classmates, already laughing and lightfooted in glow of fresh summer.
Sarah was still the smallest of the lot by a few inches, but looking around at her classmates that no longer seemed such a damning statement.
"Jeez, the girls weren't that tall when we were in sixth grade, were they?" I muttered. Connor shrugged noncommittally. I wiped sweat off my forehead with my hand as we waited. It was probably just the heat.
After waving off the last of her friends, Sarah tromped over, glowering darkly at no one in particular.
"I told mom! Didn't I tell her? Everybody's going to camp this summer. Everybody! Apparently it wasn't too far away for their parents!"
Connor put his hand on her shoulder and sighed sympathetically.
"Yeah sis, but the thing you've got to realize is that our mom's an overprotective psycho."
His concurrence threw sent her into a fresh attack against their mother and, ducking out from under his hand, she stomped ahead, consuming the entire walk home with a detailed explanation of why this summer life was more unfair for her than any one else.

* * *

SETEMBER 2012

As I stood waiting at the bus stop, now a half-hour earlier than the summer before, I thought back almost nostalgically to the year prior. After spending all summer hanging out with Sarah, it was weird to see Connor walking quietly up the street alone. By the end of the summer, Sarah had come within half a foot of our heights. That meant that instead of merely being a tag along, she was actually big enough to participate in our games. Since most of the neighborhood boys also turned out to have gone away to camp, this was lucky. Where last year she was at the bottom of the pile and we were kings, this year it was our turn at the bottom.

* * *

Our new homeroom teacher was also a science teacher, but he didn't set up before his lessons and certainly wouldn't have permitted our playing around with them if he'd had. In fact, the one time we arrived after the bell resulted in a week's worth of detentions.
The bullies were merciless. I evaded a swirlie only by a well-placed kick in the shins on my part and a particularly sweat grip on the bully's. Connor got shoved into a locker twice during that first month. Despite significant growth spurts on both our parts over the course of the year, the girls stubbornly remained just an inch or two taller than us (and, indeed, most of the boys in our grade). The spring formal was known for being an awkward affair, the first dressy dance for any of us. Based on the grumbling heard in the locker room before gym class the Monday after, however, I gathered it was, by general consensus, more awkward for us than our predecessors; in their heels, the girls in our grade positively towered over us.
Still, by June awkward glances were covertly exchanged. Notes were passed hastily under desks. Hands were clasped awkwardly in the halls when no seemed to be looking.
All in all, it was a pretty standard freshmen year — often miserable but occasionally wonderful.

* * *

JUNE 2013

Though I'd hung out at Connor's house as often as he'd hung out at mine, Sarah was nowhere to be found. So consumed was her time by her clique of a dozen or so girls, I never really thought twice about her absence.
Meanwhile, most of our fellow freshmen were headed off to sleep-away camp this year where, doubtless, the sly early impulses awakened during the spring would blossom into early, tentative sexual exploration. Connor and I were insanely jealous. My parents couldn't afford to send me and his mom had become no less protective over the year; if day camp had been a dangerous proposition, then sleep-away camp was surely out of the question.
With nothing better to do, we plopped down on the asphalt corner and chatted away the forty minutes or so until the middle school bus rolled down the street. Connor had assured me that Sarah was just as jealous of her classmates as we were of ours. All the other kids spending their days in the neighborhood were ten or younger, so I was more than happy to wait for Sarah — by all indications still a tomboy and the closest kid left to our own age.
When kids started pouring out of the bus, I thought for a moment there was some mistake; these girls looked almost the same age as our classmates! But as they fanned out, I saw boys looking much as we had looked in eighth grade emerge from between pairs of shoulder blades. Whatever I had thought I'd seen the previous June wasn't just the heat talking; I looked over at Connor, who looked equally shocked.
"I thought Sarah was just an early bloomer," he whispered to me. "I didn't know they were all like that!"
The gender height difference wasn't as pronounced between the seventh-graders as it was with the eighth graders. But while Sarah, one of the last of seventh graders to filter out of the bus, was still easily the shortest of the seventh-grade girls she now towered over the boys.
She said her goodbyes to her friends and then sprinted lightly over toward us. She still that chocolate mane of untamed hair tucked instinctively behind her ears and those mischievous, watery blue eyes that peered aggressively out from a face quite pale like her brother's. But she was just starting to show the earliest signs of curves in her figure, and standing up, I was astounded to find that my eyes — so used to glancing down at the top of her head well below my shoulders — now couldn't quite see over the top of her head.
I looked down and met her gaze, which peered up from a height just above my chin. She, who had seen as little of me over the past year as I had seen of her, was visibly a little startled as well — though I noticed that she recovered almost immediately. Clearly she had become used to finding herself taller than she might have expected.
"Hey you! Long time no see? How was your first year at high school? Connor's told me some awful stories!" She gave a little theatrical shiver, and launched right into a spirited retelling of her second year at middle school. By the time we had made it back to our houses all was as it always had been between the three of us, though for the first time an onlooker might casually suspect we were all classmates.

* * *

The summer proceeded in its usual hot, humid fashion. With both of my parents working during the day now, and their mom's duties now extended into most of the evening, our days from 9 to 5 were filled with greater freedom than ever before. If last summer Sarah had finally been big enough to do more than tag along, this summer she was proved equal to every adventure we could conjure up. Some days would feature miles-long bike rides into the country. Others were spent in the town pool, fooling around in the shallow end and inventing increasingly creative jumps off the diving boards. Still more were spent building haphazard additions to the treehouse between our yards out of the scrap wood we found laying around the neighborhood.
At the beginning of summer, Connor and I would take turns lifting Sarah and tossing her into the pool. As the days wore on, it took us longer and longer to do. By the last week of July, it took both of us working together a good five minutes of real struggle on the concrete to finally get her into the pool. At the beginning of the summer, either Connor or I had to be up in the treehouse to help her lift the rather sizable boards from the person below. By the end of the summer, she was the one handing the boards up to the two of us.
As the summer sped along, my eyes had to travel less and less down to find hers. By the beginning of July, I only had to look down to the level of my mouth. By the end of July, only to the height of my nose.
The banter among us remained largely the same, but all three of us could feel an intangible change slowly filtering into our dynamic.
At the beginning of August, I spent a week with my parents on the Cape. After unpacking, I ran out to the backyard where Connor and Sarah were hard at work on the ever-swelling treehouse.
"Hey guys, I'm back! The beach was awesome!" I yelled in greeting, fresh from a fun time, but happy to be back in the thick of things. A flurry of hands, some pointing up and some down, waved back happily.
As I approached, I noticed Sarah was pulling at a thick board a bit larger than we'd ever attempted before up to Connor, his head and arms dangling down from the hole in the floor.
"Hey, Sarah! Need any help with that?"
She nodded casually, and hefted the board up to Connor with only a little effort visible. Connor strained at least as much as he pulled it up the little remaining distance.
As I closed the gap between us, Sarah used her now-free arms to pull me into a quick, friendly hug. As she released, she stood straight and I realized we were seeing each other eye-to-eye for the first time. She realized it too, and for a moment we paused and just stared. Then her eyebrows popped up and she looked down at our feet. While I was wearing socks and sneakers, she was completely barefoot.
We met each others eyes again. I met her gaze for a good long while, knowing it was likely to be the last time the two of us ever met eye to eye.
She was as shocked as I was, but also a little amused. I knew without her having to say anything that things between the three of us would never be the same.

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