A Pinch To Grow An Inch

School is a hard place with the fear of failure ever present, compounded by the fear of being unpopular.  Worse still, is the fear of being invisible.  Common student wisdom is, it's better to be noticed for being bad than to not be noticed at all.  This story explores what it means to be noticed, and whether that's a good thing or not.

Joey Carter hated school.  Not that he was a bad student, just invisible.   He was average height, average weight, had average brownish hair, and got average grades.   

Children at school never made fun of him, but they never invited him over to their houses either.  When he stood in a group of kids, everyone else talked, while he stayed invisible.  The one time he tried to speak up, the other children kept talking as if he wasn’t there.

Which is why he dreaded his birthday.  At Expansion Elementary School, children gave their friends a pinch to grow an inch on their birthdays.  It never hurt, and everyone laughed when the birthday boy or girl squealed in pretend pain.  There was even a pinch party every spring for all the students who had birthdays in the summer.  

Joey knew how many pinches he would get.  Zero.  Even when his mom brought in cupcakes the year before, kids sang a half-hearted happy birthday only when prodded by the teacher and gobbled the cupcakes with barely a thank you.  The second his mom left, everyone went back to their work without a glance at Joey.

To make it worse, this year his birthday was a Monday.  Joey spent the entire weekend devising ways to skip school.  He prayed for snow, which was rare in April.  He invented a new holiday called First Mow of the Year, but he gave it up.  If his parents believed him, he’d probably spend his birthday pushing the lawn mower.  Finally, he settled on the old standby.

MONDAY:  “Mom,” he called down the stairs early in the morning.  He moaned and held his stomach when his mother entered his room.

“What’s the matter, Birthday Boy?” she said with a smile, but frowned when she saw him.  

“I feel sick.”  Mom eyed him for a full ten seconds before breaking into a smile again.  

“Well, my sick boy, let me get the thermometer.  But I warn you; if there’s no fever, you go to school.  Birthdays are no excuse for skipping.”

She doesn’t understand, Joey thought.  His mom simply thought that he wanted his birthday off.  She had no idea how humiliating it was to have people look right through you when they were supposed to be giving you pinches to grow an inch.  If people really depended on those pinches, Joey would be about four inches tall.

Mom stuck the thermometer in his mouth, but her smile told him everything he needed to know.  “98.6,” she said and kissed him on the forehead.  “Nice try.” 

Slowly, Joey rolled out of bed to get dressed.  He put on his underwear and was just reaching for a pair of jeans when his bedroom door flew open.  His eight-year-old sister filled the doorway, a broad smile spread across the horizon of her face. 

Joey clutched the jeans to his body and crouched down.  “Ginny!” he shouted.  “I’m getting dressed!”

“Happy Birthday, Joe!” she cried with a little hop that made her red curls bob up and down.  Then, without warning, Ginny darted forward and pinched his thigh.

“Ow!” he squealed, rubbing the blooming welt.

“Pinch to grow an inch!” Ginny called and raced out of the room before he could catch her.  Joey slammed the door but smiled.  

“Well,” he told himself, “There’s one at least.”

When Joey got to school, he slunk in like every other day.   Nobody wished him Happy Birthday.  Nobody talked to him.  Nobody looked at him.  At Expansion Elementary, fifth graders did not take cupcakes on their birthday -- Mr. Baker did not like it.  So, as far as anybody knew, Joey did not have a birthday today.  As far as anybody, Joey did not exist.

When the lunch bell rang, all the children hurried to the cafeteria.  Joey brought up the rear, carrying his brown paper bag.  He sat down near a few other kids but not with them.  He sat at the “regular” boys’ table, the one for boys who were neither popular nor unpopular.  The popular girls led by Kelly Burns sat at the table behind him.  The popular boys sat at a table next to theirs.  The most unpopular kids sat at a table in the corner.

As the regular boys unpacked their lunch boxes or poked at their hot lunch trays, Joey pulled out a peanut butter sandwhich and, to his surprise, a cupcake with a little “11” written in icing on top.  Frankie Butler looked over and said, “What you got a cupcake for?”

Joey felt a twinge of excitement.  Maybe someone would notice him.  “Birthday,” he said, looking Frankie in the eye.  Frankie took one last look at the cupcake, said, “Oh,” and went back to his conversation.  Joey’s face burned.  He looked around at all the other kids enjoying themselves while he sat alone, wishing himself what nobody else would:  A Happy Birthday.

That was when something snapped inside Joey.  I don’t have to sit here and be ignored, he told himself.  After all, I’m eleven years old.  I can make them notice.  Before he knew what he was doing, Joey leapt onto the bench of his table and called out, “Today is my elelventh birthday!  Would somebody just give me one pinch?”  As soon as he said it, he sank down, his face burning, and wished he could disappear.  Why had he done such a stupid thing?  The other students stared at him a moment, some whispered and others sniggered, but soon they all went back to their meals.

Then something happened that stopped the entire cafeteria cold.  Kelly Burns stood up, walked over to Joey, and gave him a pinch on the arm.  Without a word, and with the entire school staring, she walked away.  

Alec Mally, the most popular boy, stared after her, then a nasty grin formed on his lips.  “If she can, why can’t I?” he said to his buddies.  Only, when Alec pinched, it hurt.  His friends lined up to pinch Joey, all competing to give him the hardest pinch until he wailed in pain and his arm looked like he had chicken pox. Then the popular girls jumped in, not as hard, but just as mean.  Where are the monitors? Joey thought as even the third and fourth graders ganged up on him and gave him pinches.

Joey did not take the bus home that day.  He walked by himself rather than face the humiliation of all those kids who pinched him.  All those kids whom he now hated.  As he walked, Joey thought, I wish each of those pinches really would make me grow an inch because then I’d be able to do anything I wanted to them.

That night, when his family sang Happy Birthday and his mother told him to make a wish, Joey closed his eyes and thought, Let each pinch make me grown an inch.  Then he blew out the candles.

TUESDAY:  The next morning, Joey woke up, his wish forgotten.   But when he sat up and put his feet on the floor he noticed that his knees came up to his chin.  That’s strange, he thought and stood up.  His head smacked the ceiling, and Joey cried, “Ow!”  A second later, Ginny pounded on his door and called, “What’s the matter, big brother?  Arms still hurt?”  She pushed the door open, stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at him, then let out a long, blood curdling scream before bolting down the stairs.

Joey could not stand up in his room even though it had a ten-foot ceiling.  He sat down on the bed again and rubbed his head, wondering what was going on.  A voice from downstairs broke his thoughts.  “Joey!” called his father.  “Please come down here.”  Joey tried to stand again, slowly, but gave up and crawled down to the kitchen where he knew his father was making breakfast.  

When he got there, he saw his father facing him, a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other.  Ginny stood behind their dad, trembling.  “Look at you,” his father said with a tut.  “You must be thirteen feet tall if you’re an inch.”  He did not seem frightened or even surprised.  “What did you wish for last night?” 

Joey looked at his long thin arms and legs waving around like tenticles, his elongated body, and his pajamas which had somehow grown with him.  He told his father about his bad day and his wish.

“You really do have to be careful what you wish for, my son,” said Dad.  “Wishes are powerful things.  Now you’ll have an uncomfortable day or two before finding out if your wish will stick -- but in the meantime you’ll have to go to school.”  Just then his mother walked in and joined them.  “Being a giant is no excuse for skipping,” she said with her sympathetic smile.  

“I’m not going to school in pajamas,” Joey insisted, but in reply, his mother simply reached into a bag she was holding and pulled out a set of clothes that looked more like tents.  

“Where did you get those?” Joey asked, forgetting his problem for a moment.

She smiled.  “Mothers are always prepared.”  Dad put a hand to Joey’s ear and said, “They used to be mine.  I - uh - had a giant problem of my own when I was your age.”

Even Ginny knew that Joey could not ride the bus in his condition.  She offered to walk with him, but he wanted to go by himself.  He had never been a giant before, and he wanted to think about it.  He walked slowly, and after a while the bus passed him.  Joey looked up and saw all the students staring out the window at him.  Joey’s heart sank.  Yesterday was bad enough, he thought.  Now I’m a freak.

When he arrived at school, he was met by two hundred children and all the teachers.  The children looked frightened, but the teachers never let on what was going through their minds.  After a minute, the bell rang, and Ms. Piston the principal jumped as if startled from a dream.  “All right, children,” she called, clapping her hands.  “To your classrooms!”  She started toward the school but stopped and turned back.  “You too, Joey.  You don’t want to be late.”  

That day, Joey had to sit cross-legged on the floor because none of the desks could hold him.  Even so, he towered over the other children who kept staring at him.  He did not like the feeling of their eyes boring into the back of his head.  When it was time for band, he shuffled to the auditorium and for the first time could stand upright inside.  When he tried to play his trumpet, however, he found it was far too small.  Mr. Adagio, the band director gave him a tuba, but even that was too little.  Joey ended up tapping on the bass drum until he accidentally hit too hard and broke it.

When he went to gym class, they played dodgeball.  Alec Mally was captain of the other team, and he told his players to aim at Joey because he was such a big target.  Joey’s team lost miserably.

At lunch, Ginny sold tickets to her second-grade classmates who stood in line to touch the giant boy.  Joey sighed.  He handed the tiny lunch sack he had been trying to open to a second grade girl and left the cafeteria.  He decided the tiny sandwhich his mother made probably would not have helped much anyway.  He was way too hungry for that.

After school, he trudged home alone, tired of all the staring.  The school bus drove past him, and the bus driver honked in greeting.  Once again, all the kids gaped at him out the school bus windows.  Oh well, he sighed, at least people noticed me today. 

That night at supper, Joey’s family ate outside so he could sit upright.  His favorite part of the evening was when Ginny got in trouble for selling tickets, and his parents made her give him all of the money.  But then, Ginny got her ball stuck in a tree, and his parents made him reach up and get it for her.  

By the end of the day, Joey was ready to be small again.

WEDNESDAY:  When he woke up the next morning he was not small.  He bumped his head on the ceiling again, squatted his way downstairs, and complained to his mother and father.  “Why haven’t I shrunk?”  His father looked up at him and waved the spatula in his face.  “I told you this could take a day or two -- if you shrink, that is.  You might be stuck as a giant.”  Joey crawled away from breakfast thinking about how it would feel being a giant for the rest of his life.

When the schoolbus came, he watched Ginny climb on.  On a sudden inspiration he yelled to the busdriver, “I’ll race you!”  The busdriver did not speed, but buses still go pretty fast.  Fortunately, Joey’s extra long legs made him even faster.  He skidded to a halt in front of the school five seconds before the bus pulled up.  The children piling out of the bus cheered and gave him high fives (which were low fives for him).  

As they marched toward school, Joey heard Ginny say, “You should have seen him get my ball from the tree.”  For the first time in forever, Joey felt special.  

Class was much the same as the day before, except Joey sat on the floor in the back.  “I can always see you,” his teacher joked.  

At recess, Alec Mally threw a ball onto the roof of the playground shed.  “Hey, Joey,” ordered Alec, “get the ball.”  Joey scowled down at him.  “Say please,” he commanded.  Children looked nervously from Alec to Joey.  Nobody ever told Alec Mally what to do.  After a few moments, however, Alec blushed and said, “Please.”  Joey reach up and tossed the ball into the crowd of cheering boys.

Five minutes later, one of the teachers hustled over to him.  “Uh, Joey,” she said, “the flag seems to have gotten wrapped around the flagpole.  Could you please unravel it?”

At gym class, they played dodgeball again, and once again Alec Mally was captain of the other team.  Joey had thought about this, and he had a plan.  Instead of trying to dodge the balls, which he could never do, he caught them with his giant hands.  Joey discovered that he could catch two balls at once and use them to block shots while his teammates picked off the other team.  That day, Alec Mally’s team lost, and Joey was a hero. 

When Joey went to bed that night, he felt a warm glow he barely knew.  But he also felt troubled.  What if the kids liked him just because of all the things he could do now?  Could they ever like him just for being Joey?

THURSDAY:  On his third as a giant, the kids hardly stared at Joey, even when he raised his hand to answer a question.  Maybe because his hands were so big now, the teacher finally called on him, and Joey gave a good answer.  He answered three questions in a row, and the teacher said, “Where have you been all year, Joey?”  He answered, “Right here.”

At lunch, he sat on the floor at the end of the table with the regular boys.  Alec Mally still wanted nothing to do with him, but Joey didn’t care.  He pulled a giant peanut butter sandwhich out of his bag  (filled with two full jars of peanut butter and two full jars of jelly) then cracked a joke.  He had told it before, but nobody had listened back then.  This time, everybody laughed.

That night when he kissed his mom and dad goodnight, he lay down on the floor with three pillows and five blankets and said, “This has been a great day.  People liked me, and not just because I was big.  For the first time, I felt like a regular kid.”  He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

FRIDAY:   Joey woke up still smiling.  He rubbed his eyes, yawned a toothy yawn, and without thinking stood up.  His head did not hit the ceiling.  Wide awake now, Joey twirled around.  He looked at his arms and legs.  They were normal.  “Ginny!” he called with excitement.  “Come here!”  His sister burst through the door and stopped short.  Her mouth dropped open.  She took a step backward, then ran down the stairs screaming, “Mom!”

A second later he heard heavy footsteps racing up the stairs.  When they reached his door,  Mom smiled, and Dad gave a little laugh.  “Looks like your giant days are over, Son,” said Dad, waving the spatula around.  “And I just made you five dozen pancakes, too.”

“That’s no excuse for not going to school, though,” warned Mom.

“Don’t worry,” said Joey, “I’m ready.”

Alec Mally was most interested in Joey being small again.  He said, “Not so special now, are you Joey?”  Nobody listened to Alec.  They wanted to know how Joey had gotten small again.  He just shrugged.  But in class he raised his hand and answered correctly.  In gym, he caught several balls during dodgeball and even hit Alec Mally.  And at lunch, he told a new joke he had heard on the radio that made the regular boys laugh so hard Mike Stellman snorted milk through his nose.  

Joey rode the bus home that day with all the other kids, and when he got off with Ginny, they all called, “Have a great weekend, Joey!”

The next morning Joey jumped out of bed and threw on his clothes.  He raced downstairs but was surprised to find the kitchen was empty.  He packed his backpack and called upstairs, “Come on, Ginny!  Time for school!”

Dad and Mom crept down the stairs still in their pajamas.  They smiled.  “I’m glad you like school now,” said Mom.  “But it’s the weekend -- Being happy is no excuse for going to school.  But don’t worry, Monday will come soon.”