clumsy, small steps and where it would take us

1

Thirdy hated it when they asked him what kind of superhero he wanted to be. He never wanted to be a hero. He never saw himself in tights and capes. He never imagined himself flying with swift and awful gelled hair, saving people from bad guys. That's why it annoyed him to death that his friends—Anton and Isaac—were teasing him when he defended their new and tall neighbor against her bullies.

A hand in his pocket, another was holding his juice box– The seven-year-old boy was trying his best not to pay attention to his friends. He turned to the young girl wearing a pink shirt and black pants, looking down at him, literally. It fumed Thirdy that the girl was taller than him.

His brows furrowed together. "Make yourself short."

"Hey!" Anton, smaller than Thirdy but older, slightly tapped the boy's elbow.

"That's mean!" Isaac, the tallest of the boys, standing beside the small boy, also agreed.

And it frustrated him that she had always tagged along with them since that day.

In basketball plays, talk about the new cartoon shown in the morning and the new lunch box from McDonald's. The girl looked at him like he saved her life, and he hated that. He was no hero. He was just a kid who wanted to be a basketball player like his dad.