There it was. My locker.
All was lost.
Our hall lockers came in pairs, each pair consisting of a tall, skinny bottom part and a rectangular top part. My locker was the one on top, and I couldn’t reach it.
Even though the school, my peers, and the universe now recognized my status as a teenager, my body did not. I was still the smallest kid in the class, as I had been since 4th grade.
I knew this was a possibility, of course. I dreaded this outcome the entire bus ride to school and throughout the pre-locker homeroom activities. I had a 50/50 shot, and I lost.
This wasn’t going to work, and I had to tell the teacher. For a split second, I thought, “Maybe nobody will notice.” Already a shy, unsure, and self-conscious kid, I was terrified, but I did it.
And that’s when the nightmare became a reality.
The teacher called over my locker partner, a girl, and said we were to switch places because I couldn’t reach mine. She giggled a bit, the teacher giggled a bit, and within 1.4 seconds, the entire class knew my shame.
I had to switch lockers because I was too short. I was not worthy of the gifts bestowed upon a teenager with a locker. My talisman was a cheap piece of costume jewelry. It had no power.
I wasn’t a teenager. I was still a baby. Where was my cubby?
