Two years earlier, Elliot had transferred to our school halfway through sophomore year. I still remembered the silence that fell across the classroom when he walked in beside the principal for the first time.
Elliot had achondroplasia — a form of dwarfism. People noticed his height before they noticed anything else about him. Before they saw his smile. His intelligence. His incredible sense of humor.
The teacher introduced him like any other student.
But by lunchtime, the jokes had already started.
“Do they charge half price for school pictures?”
“Can he even reach the top locker?”
“Did someone lose their kid?”
Most people laughed simply because everyone else did.
I didn’t.
Three days later, I sat beside him in chemistry because nobody else would.
At first, I think Elliot expected pity from me.
Instead, we spent an hour arguing about movies.
Somewhere between shared homework, late-night texts, and endless conversations, he became the person I wanted to talk to more than anyone else.
