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MidReal Story
The Graves Family
Scenario:Adopted by the Graves family when she was just a year old, Jordan grew up alongside her two older new siblings—a brother who loves football(2 years older) and a sister who's passionate about fashion(3 years older). Jordan has always been quite tall and since she was 9 she has been taller than her siblings.Start the story at 13.
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Jordan Graves
She is a 13yearold navigating life with her unique height among peers. She is resilient, humorous, and independent. Jordan faces daily comments about her height but finds solace in her family. Her brother Ethan is her closest confidant, sharing a bond strengthened by their shared experiences. Her sister Sydney supports her emotionally. Jordan discovers a passion for photography, finding joy beyond her physical appearance, and learns valuable life lessons from her family.
Ethan Graves
He is Jordan's older brother by three years, an avid high school football player with dreams of playing in the NFL. He is protective, supportive, and caring. Ethan encourages Jordan to embrace her uniqueness and stands by her through teasing comments at school. He shares a strong bond with his sister, often defending her and including her in his adventures. His dedication to football provides Jordan with stability and inspiration.
Mason Graves
He is Jordan’s father, an enthusiastic coach for his son’s baseball team and a high school photography teacher. He is caring, supportive, and adventurous. Mason encourages family involvement in sports and values teaching life skills through realworld experiences. His dedication to work while maintaining family harmony is evident. Mason's guidance helps Jordan discover her interest in photography, which becomes a significant part of her identity.
I was thirteen years old.
Yeah, I know, not that great of an age.
But it wasn’t all bad.
I mean, I had my awesome parents, Mason and Morgan Graves.
They were the best and I knew it.
I also had two older siblings, Ethan and Sydney.
My brother Ethan was two years older than me.
He loved football and was really good at it.
He played in high school and wanted to go to the NFL when he grew up.
My sister Sydney was three years older than me.
She loved fashion, makeup, and taking pictures of herself on her phone.
She took pictures of everything else too and posted them on social media.
Both of my siblings were very nice to me and we got along great.
When I was thirteen, I was already taller than both of them.
I know it sounds weird, but it’s true.
My growth spurt seemed to be in high gear.
Being the tallest person in my grade made me stand out even more than I already did.
I mean, I got comments about my height almost every day at school.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, flipping through a magazine.
My bedroom door bursts open and Sydney comes in, waving her phone around.
She’s wearing her favorite pink sweater and her hair is in perfect waves.
She plops down on the bed next to me and starts swiping through her phone.
"Look at this!"
Sydney says excitedly, showing me her phone screen.
I see a picture of her wearing a beautiful blue sweater dress and posing in front of a Christmas tree.
She looks so pretty!
"You look so pretty, Sydney," I say honestly.
"Thank you. It’s my new Instagram post. I’m doing a winter fashion series and this is the first post," she explains.
I smile at her, happy that she’s so excited about her project.
"So, I was wondering if you could help me with the next post," she says, looking at me hopefully.
"Me? How can I help?"
I ask curiously.
"Well, I want you to be my model for the next post," she says, smiling at me. My stomach tightens at the thought of being in front of a camera.
I hate taking pictures because I always look so awkward in them.
"I don’t know, Sydney. I’m not really good at taking pictures," I say hesitantly.
"Oh, come on! It’ll be fun, I promise. You can wear this dress," she says, pulling out the same blue sweater dress from behind her back.
"It’s really pretty," I say, touching the soft fabric of the dress.
"I know! And it will look perfect on you. The length will be great for your height," she adds, smiling at me.
I nod slowly, remembering how the last time I tried on a dress at school, everyone called me a giraffe.
But maybe Sydney is right; maybe this dress will look good on me.
"Okay, fine. But if it doesn’t turn out well, you can’t post it," I say finally.
"Deal!"
Sydney exclaims happily.
Standing in Sydney’s room, I eye the blue sweater dress laid out on her bed.
It looks soft and cozy, but I’m still not sure about this.
I pick up the dress and hold it against myself.
The color looks good with my pale skin and dark hair, but I’m worried about the length.
Sydney is only a little taller than me, and the dress hits her right at her calves.
I’m not sure if it will be long enough for me.
"Hurry up, Jordan! We don't have all day!" Sydney's voice rings out with playful impatience from the hallway.
Sydney calls from outside her door.
I sigh and slip off my jeans and t-shirt before pulling on the dress.
It feels soft against my skin, and I have to admit that it looks pretty good.
But it’s definitely shorter than I expected.
The hem hits me just above my knees instead of at my calves like it does on Sydney.
I step out of her room and find her waiting for me in the hallway.
She’s holding her phone and smiling at me.
"You look great!"
She says, motioning for me to follow her into her room.
She positions me in front of her window where the afternoon sunlight is streaming in. "Perfect," she says, holding up her phone to frame the shot.
"Okay, now turn a little to your left," she directs, moving around behind me to get a better angle.
I do as she says, trying not to feel too self-conscious about being in front of a camera.
"Great! Now look down at your hands," she says, snapping another photo.
I do as she says, feeling a little more comfortable with each passing second.
"Okay, now look up at me," she says, smiling brightly at me through the camera lens.
I smile back at her, feeling happy that she’s enjoying herself so much.
"Perfect!" she exclaims again, taking a few more photos before finally putting down her phone.
"There we go! Now let’s take a look," she says excitedly. She pulls up the photos on her phone and starts scrolling through them.
As she does, I can’t help but notice how short the dress looks in the pictures.
It hits me way above my knees and makes my legs look even longer than they already are.
I start to feel self-conscious again, remembering what Tommy Peterson said last week about me looking like a giraffe in dresses.
Sydney notices my discomfort and gives me a reassuring smile.
"Don’t worry, Jordan. You look great," she says kindly.
While helping Sydney organize her closet, she suddenly stops and looks at me with a big smile on her face.
"Guess what? My post is getting a lot of likes!"
She exclaims excitedly, holding up her phone for me to see.
I walk over and look at her screen, surprised to see that the photo of me in the blue sweater dress has already gotten thousands of likes.
"Wow, that’s a lot!"
I say, amazed.
"And look at all these comments!"
Sydney adds, scrolling through the comments section.
I start reading them and can’t believe how nice people are being.
They’re all saying things like "You have model height," "Your poses are so elegant," and "You should be a professional model!"
I keep scrolling through the comments, my hands shaking slightly as I read each one.
After what feels like forever, I finally reach the end of the comments section.
I look up at Sydney, who’s watching me with a curious expression on her face. "What do you think?"
She asks softly.
"I don’t know," I say honestly.
"I’m just really surprised by all these comments."
"Well, you definitely deserve them," Sydney says with a smile.
"You’re beautiful and talented. And it shows in these photos."
I blush slightly at her praise, feeling happy that she thinks so highly of me.
But then I remember all those mean comments from earlier and start to feel self-conscious again.
"Maybe we should delete this post," I say quietly.
"No way!"
Sydney exclaims firmly.
"This post is amazing and everyone loves it. You can’t let a few haters bring you down."
She’s right, I realize.
I shouldn’t let those mean comments ruin this moment for me.
Besides, I did feel really confident during our impromptu photoshoot earlier today.
And maybe this is my chance to embrace my uniqueness and show others that being different isn’t a bad thing. "Okay," I say finally, looking up at Sydney with a small smile on my face.
"Let’s leave it up."
Sydney grins back at me, clearly pleased with my decision.
"That’s my girl!" she exclaims happily, pulling me into a hug.
As we hug, I hear her phone ding with another notification.
She pulls away from me and checks her phone, then looks up at me with an excited expression on her face.
"What is it?"
I ask curiously.
"It's a message from a modeling agency—they want to meet you."
Sydney and I sit in our parents' home office while Mom and Dad look over the contract from Elite Models.
The woman from the agency, Ms. Chen, sits across from us, smiling as she explains everything.
"You'll be traveling all over the world for fashion weeks," she says.
"You'll have a guaranteed six-figure income. And you'll be placed in our youth division right away."
I hold the glossy portfolio they made from Sydney's Instagram photos of me.
My hands shake a little as I flip through it.
"And you're sure she'll make that much money?" my dad asks, looking at Ms. Chen over the top of his glasses.
"Yes," she replies confidently.
"We've had many young models come through our agency and make that much money or more."
"What about school?" my mom asks, frowning a little.
"She's only thirteen."
"She can start by doing local shows," Ms. Chen suggests.
"And then when she's a little older, she can start traveling for bigger jobs."
"But what about school?" my mom presses.
"She can't just miss out on her education."
"We can hire a private tutor for her," Ms. Chen offers.
"She can do her schoolwork on the road."
Sydney looks at me with wide eyes, clearly excited at the idea of me becoming a model.
But when Ms. Chen mentions pulling me out of regular school for private tutoring, I see her expression change to one of concern.
"Sydney, what do you think about all this?" I ask, needing her opinion.
"I mean, it's an amazing opportunity, but I don't want you to miss out on being a normal teenager," she admits, biting her lip.
Ms. Chen leans forward, her smile unwavering. "Jordan can still have a balanced life; we ensure our models maintain their education and personal time."
After Ms. Chen leaves, I pace back and forth in my room, staring at the contract on my desk.
It's hard to believe that this is actually happening.
I've always been teased for my height, but now it's something special.
Something that could change my life.
I pull out my phone and call Ethan.
He answers on the first ring, sounding a little out of breath.
"Hey, what's up?"
He asks, clearly in the middle of football practice.
"I just got offered a modeling contract," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
"What? That's amazing!"
Ethan exclaims, his voice filled with excitement.
"Tell me everything."
I take a deep breath and explain how it all happened, from Sydney's Instagram post to Ms. Chen coming over with the contract.
Ethan listens quietly, asking questions here and there. "So what are you going to do?" he asks when I'm finished.
"I don't know," I admit, feeling a little overwhelmed.
"It's a lot to think about."
"Well, whatever you choose, I've got your back," Ethan says reassuringly.
"Thanks," I say, smiling slightly.
"Just knowing that makes me feel better."
That evening, I sign the contract in front of my family.
My mom schedules my first photoshoot for next weekend and promises to help me pick out some new clothes for it.
Sydney helps me practice posing in front of the mirror in her room, giving me tips on how to look more confident and natural on camera.
As we practice, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stand up straighter than usual.
For the first time in a long time, I'm not trying to shrink myself down or hide my height. The day of my first photoshoot arrives and I wake up early feeling excited and nervous at the same time.
I get ready quickly and head downstairs where Mom is waiting for me with breakfast already made.
"Good luck today," she says as she hands me a bowl of oatmeal with fresh fruit on top.
"Thanks," I reply gratefully before taking a bite of my breakfast.
I sit cross-legged on Sydney's pink carpet while she retrieves her measuring tape from her dresser drawer.
It's become our monthly ritual ever since I started modeling - checking if I've grown any taller.
She marks my heights on her bedroom wall with dates, turning it into a documented journey of my growth spurt.
As she stretches the tape from floor to the top of my head, her eyes widen in surprise.
"Jordan, you've grown another inch!"
She exclaims, reading the measurement.
I'm now 5'11" - taller than both my siblings and most adults I know.
Sydney records the new measurement on the wall, right above last month's mark, while I examine my ankles peeking out from my once-full-length jeans.
"At this rate, you'll be taller than Dad by next year," Sydney laughs, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Maybe I should start playing basketball instead," I joke, trying to imagine myself dribbling down a court.
"Or you could just keep rocking the runway," she suggests with a wink, reminding me of the path I've chosen.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in Sydney's room, trying on the new jeans she bought me after our last measurement.
They're a little longer, but my ankles still stick out, and the sleeves of my favorite sweater barely reach my wrists.
Sydney walks into the room with her measuring tape in hand, ready for our weekly check.
"Stand against the wall," she says, her eyes shining with anticipation.
I move to the designated spot where she has marked my growth over the past few months.
She stretches the tape from the floor to the top of my head, and her eyes widen in surprise.
"Jordan, you've grown another two inches!"
She exclaims, reading the measurement.
I'm now 6'1" - taller than Dad.
As if on cue, Dad walks by Sydney's room and does a double-take when he sees me standing there.
He pauses, looking at me with a mix of shock and pride.
"Wow, kiddo," he says, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You're officially taller than me now."
Sydney marks my new height on her wall with a bright pink marker while I process this new reality.
I'm now officially the tallest person in our family. Dad stands next to me, trying to stand straighter as if it could make him taller too.
"Guess I'll have to start looking up to you now," Dad jokes, nudging me playfully.
"Does this mean I get to make the rules now?" I tease back, grinning at him.
"Only if you can reach the top shelf without a stool," he laughs, ruffling my hair.
I arrive at the Elite Models studio for my monthly measurements.
It's a requirement for all models to ensure we fit the clothes for upcoming fashion shows.
The staff seamstress, Maria, greets me with a smile and leads me to the fitting room.
She takes out her measuring tape and begins to take my measurements, chatting about the latest fashion trends while she works.
When she reaches my height, she pauses and looks at me with surprise.
"You've grown again," she says, her voice filled with excitement.
"Let me get Ms. Chen."
She rushes out of the room, leaving me standing there in my underwear.
A moment later, Ms. Chen bursts into the room, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Jordan, you've reached 6'2" !"
She exclaims, looking at Maria's measurement chart.
"This changes everything!"
Ms. Chen pulls out her phone and starts dialing numbers, talking rapidly in Chinese to whoever is on the other end of the line.
I watch as she paces back and forth in the room, her voice growing more animated by the minute. "What's going on?" I ask Maria, who is busy adjusting the hem of a designer dress to my new measurements.
"Ms. Chen is calling some of our top designers," Maria explains with a smile.
"They're going to be thrilled to hear about your growth spurt."
I watch as Ms. Chen hangs up the phone and turns to me with a wide grin on her face.
"Jordan, you're going to be a star!" she exclaims, clasping her hands together in excitement.
"With your unique height, you'll be able to walk the runways in Paris and Milan!"
She continues talking rapidly about international agencies and high-fashion designers while I stand there trying to process it all.
Maria finishes adjusting the dress and helps me put it on.
As I look at myself in the mirror, I can't help but feel a mix of emotions - excitement for this new opportunity and nervousness about what lies ahead. Ms. Chen walks over to me and smooths out the fabric of the dress.
"This will be your first haute couture piece," she says with a smile.
"You'll be wearing it for next week's runway show."
I nod silently, watching as Maria pins the hem of the dress to my new measurements.
As I stand there, I can't help but think about how far I've come since that first photoshoot with Sydney.
The world feels both vast and within reach, and for the first time, I truly believe I belong in it.
I stand in Ms. Chen's office, wearing only my underwear as Maria takes my measurements again.
The tape measure stretches up to 6'4" , and Maria has to stand on a stool to reach the top of my head.
Just then, Ms. Chen walks into the room, carrying a large chart with my name on it.
She looks at Maria's measurements and nods in approval.
"Jordan, you've grown nearly an inch each month for the past three months," Ms. Chen explains, pointing to the chart.
"If you keep growing at this rate, you'll be 6'6" by the end of the year."
She pauses, looking at me with a serious expression.
"That would make you one of the tallest models in the industry."
I nod silently, watching as Maria continues taking my measurements.
My ankles now stick out four inches from my longest pants, and even my modeling contract needs adjustment for new height requirements.
"Jordan, this could open doors we never even considered," Ms. Chen says, her voice filled with determination.
"But it also means more pressure and expectations," I reply, feeling the weight of her words.
"True, but with your talent and height, you'll redefine the industry," she assures, her eyes gleaming with ambition.
I sit anxiously in Dr. Martinez's office for my monthly checkup.
It's a new requirement from Elite Models, who are concerned about my rapid growth.
The doctor enters, a friendly smile on his face, and begins taking my measurements.
The tape measure stretches up to 6'8", confirming my continued inch-per-month pattern.
Dr. Martinez types rapidly on his computer, muttering terms like "accelerated growth" and "genetic factors."
He looks up, his eyes serious.
"Jordan, your growth rate is unprecedented. We need to monitor you closely."
I nod, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.
"Any joint pain?"
He asks, his brow furrowed with concern.
"Just my knees after long photoshoots," I admit.
He nods thoughtfully, typing more notes into his computer.
"We'll schedule more frequent checkups and some blood work to rule out any underlying conditions," he explains, his voice reassuring.
I leave the office with a sense of relief and curiosity about what the future holds for me. As I walk out of the doctor's office, I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the window.
My head nearly touches the top frame, and I can't help but wonder how much taller I'll be next month.
Just then, Ms. Chen's text arrives: "What's your new measurement?"
I hesitate for a moment before responding: "6'8"."
Each inch brings more pressure and expectations, but it also means new opportunities and experiences.
I stand in front of my full-length mirror, adjusting the sleeves of my new custom-made blazer.
The measuring tape reads 7'0" exactly, confirming another inch gained this month.
Usually, I'd feel anxious about the growth update, but as I look at myself in the mirror, I can't help but admire how the tailored clothes accentuate my towering frame.
At the studio, I stride confidently past the other models, no longer hunching or apologizing for my size.
Ms. Chen approaches me with a determined look in her eyes.
"Jordan, for next week's show, I want you to walk the runway like you own it," she says, her voice filled with conviction.
I nod, and without hesitation, I demonstrate a powerful strut that turns heads.
"That's it, Jordan!" Ms. Chen exclaims, clapping her hands together.
Maria watches with admiration and adds, "You've got the presence of a giant and the grace of a dancer."
I smile, feeling a newfound confidence surge through me.
I stand in my bedroom, wearing six-inch heels and a short skirt, practicing my walk on the makeshift runway created with masking tape on the floor.
Sydney sits cross-legged on my bed, her phone recording every step I take.
"More hip movement," she advises, "and don't forget to swing your arms."
I nod, focusing on each step as I make my way down the "runway."
On my third pass, I lose my balance and stumble, nearly knocking over Mom's favorite vase on the dresser.
Sydney rushes over to help me steady it, then shows me the video she recorded.
I watch myself walking stiffly, my steps awkward and mechanical.
"This is not what we want for the show next week," Sydney says, her voice filled with determination.
"Let's keep practicing until you get it just right."
I nod, determination burning in my eyes as I step back onto the runway, ready to transform every stumble into strength.
After another failed attempt at walking in heels, I collapse onto my bed next to Sydney.
My movements feel so awkward that I can't help but let out a frustrated sigh.
Sydney stops recording and sits up, her eyes filled with encouragement.
"Let's take a break, okay?"
I nod, standing up again and towering over her at 7'2" in the four-inch heels.
Sydney looks up at me, noticing the expression on my face.
She gets up from the bed and gives me a reassuring hug.
At 5'4", her head barely reaches my chest, even on her tiptoes.
I feel like a giant next to her, but her embrace reminds me that no matter how tall I get, I'm still the same Jordan to her.
I step through our front door, ducking my head to clear the frame.
It's been five months since I left for international modeling, and everything about the house feels smaller, more cramped than before.
Sydney rushes towards me, her arms open wide for a hug.
But she stops abruptly, her eyes widening as she takes in my new height.
When she tries to hug me, her head barely reaches my stomach.
I have to bend down significantly just to return her embrace.
She stumbles backward, catching herself against the wall as if I'm a giant.
Her face pales, and she stammers, "You're... you're..."
Unable to finish her sentence, she gestures at me with her hands.
"I'm taller, I know," I say gently, trying to ease her shock.
Sydney shakes her head, regaining her composure. "No, it's not just that—it's like you've become someone else entirely."
I kneel down to meet her eyes and reply, "I'm still me, Syd, just with a bit more altitude."
She recovers from her shock, and a mischievous grin spreads across her face.
"Let's go measure you!"
She grabs my hand and pulls me upstairs to her room.
Her measuring tape is already in hand.
I have to crouch significantly to get through the doorways now, making the familiar path to her room feel strange and new.
When we reach her "measurement wall," it's covered in pink height marks from the past year.
Sydney stands on her desk chair, holding the tape measure.
But even on the chair, she can't reach the top of my head.
I duck down slightly to help, but she still can't quite reach.
"Wow," she gasps, "you're almost touching the ceiling."
We move into the hallway, where the ceiling is higher.
Sydney stands on a chair there too, stretching to reach the top of my head with the tape measure.
Finally, we get a reading: 7'6".
I wander through our house, feeling like Alice after drinking the shrinking potion - except everything's getting smaller while I keep growing.
In the kitchen, I have to bend nearly double to look in the mirror above the sink where I used to stand straight.
The top of the fridge, once mysterious and dusty, now sits at chest level.
Moving to the living room, I bump my head on the ceiling fan that used to spin safely feet above.
When I try sitting in my favorite armchair, my knees rise awkwardly above the armrests.
Sydney watches me with a mix of amusement and concern.
"Jordan, have you thought about how this might affect your career?" she asks, her voice gentle but probing.
I hesitate, then admit, "Honestly, I'm not sure if the world is ready for a model who can't fit through most doorways."
I sit at our kitchen table, hunched over to avoid the ceiling light.
Ms. Chen dropped off a stack of new modeling contracts.
Each offer is more enticing than the last.
Gucci wants me as their exclusive runway model, Vogue is planning a special issue focused on height, and Valentino's offering to create a custom collection around me.
My phone keeps buzzing with messages from different agencies.
Sydney walks in and notices my overwhelmed expression.
She picks up one contract, eyes widening at the seven-figure sum.
"Are you excited?" she asks.
I just gesture at our kitchen ceiling I can barely fit under.
I wake up to the sound of my alarm blaring.
But it's not the noise that wakes me; it's the intense cramping in my legs.
I try to stretch, but I'm met with a searing pain that makes me gasp.
I look down and notice that my feet are hanging far off the end of the bed.
The cramping intensifies, and I feel my bones shifting.
I can't stand up, so I stumble out of bed on all fours.
I crawl to Sydney's room for our weekly measurement.
When I get to her door, I have to crawl through on my hands and knees because I can't fit through the doorway standing up.
Sydney's eyes widen as she sees me enter.
She tries to measure me, but even standing on a chair, she can't reach the top of my head.
"Let me get something," she says, disappearing into her closet.
She returns with a long ruler from her art supplies and uses it to measure me against the wall.
"Whoa," she breathes, "you're 8'2"."
As soon as she says it, another wave of cramping hits me.
I sink to the floor, and the house shakes slightly under my weight.
Sydney looks concerned as I curl into a ball, trying to ride out the pain. Finally, it subsides, leaving me breathless and aching all over.
Sydney offers me a hand up, but I shake my head.
"I don't think I can stand," I admit.
She nods and disappears downstairs again.
This time, she returns with my clothes from yesterday in her arms and a look of shock on her face.
"These are way too small now," she says, holding them up for comparison.
My ankles are exposed by at least six inches below the hems of my pants from yesterday.
Sydney pulls out her phone and dials Mom's number before handing it to me.
Mom answers after one ring; she must have been worried when she didn't see me at breakfast this morning.
"Jordan?" she says urgently.
"Are you okay?"
"I don't know," I admit, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "I woke up like this. My legs hurt so much."
"Stay there," Mom orders, "I'll be right there."
She hangs up before I can say anything else.
Sydney looks at me with concern in her eyes as we wait for Mom to arrive.
"Jordan," Sydney says softly, "do you think this is going to stop, or are you just going to keep growing?"
I sigh, trying to find the right words. "I honestly don't know, Syd. It's like my body's got a mind of its own."
Sydney nods, biting her lip. "Maybe we should start looking for someone who can help, someone who understands what's happening to you."
I sit at my desk, surrounded by contract papers from every major fashion house.
Even sitting down, the top of my head brushes against the ceiling.
My phone buzzes again with another message from Ms. Chen about a Milan runway show.
I glance at the stack of medical bills from Dr. Martinez's tests and the construction estimates for raising our home's ceilings.
I take a deep breath, pick up the pen, and start signing every contract without reading the fine print.
Sydney walks into the room, looking at me in confusion.
"What are you doing?"
I continue signing as I answer, "Making money."
She frowns.
"But you're not even reading them."
"Doesn't matter," I say, not looking up.
"My height might as well pay for itself while it can."
Sydney crosses her arms, a hint of frustration in her voice.
"But what if there's something in there that could make things worse?"
I pause, pen hovering above the paper, and meet her gaze.
"I don't know, Syd," I admit.
She places a small hand on top of mine, grounding me.
Her hand is tiny compared to mine now, but it still feels like home.
I remember when we were the same size and would hold hands walking home from school.
I lower the pen, letting the unsigned contracts scatter across my desk.
Sydney's touch brings me back to reality.
I look at her and say, "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of everything," I admit, feeling tears well up in my eyes.
"The medical bills are piling up, and the renovation costs for the house are more than we can afford. What if I keep growing? What if I can't even fit in our own home anymore?"
Sydney listens intently, her expression softening with understanding.
"I don't know what to do," I confess.
She pulls out her phone and opens a banking app.
"Look at this," she says, showing me the screen. I take the phone and examine it closely.
It's her savings account, and there's a substantial amount of money in it.
I look up at her in surprise.
"Where did you get all this?"
Sydney shrugs nonchalantly.
"From my own modeling gigs. I've been saving it for us."
"You didn't have to do that," I protest, handing her phone back.
"Yes, I did," she insists firmly, taking my oversized hand in hers.
"We're in this together."
I sit on my bed, and Sydney stands beside me with her measuring tape.
She marks the wall each week to track my explosive growth.
The first week, I'm 8'6".
The second, 9'2".
The third, 10'0".
By the fourth week, I'm 11'4", and the fifth, 13'0".
Sydney has to stand on a stepladder to reach the top of my head.
When I hit 14'0" in the sixth week, she can't reach me at all.
We move the measuring ritual to the garage because Dad installed higher ceilings there.
But even those become too low when I reach 15'0".
Sydney holds my giant hand and looks up at me.
"We'll figure it out," she says.
"Just like always."
Sydney orders custom clothes online to fit me as I grow.
She helps me navigate our shrinking world.
I sit at my custom-built desk, reviewing bank statements.
Sydney organizes contracts beside me.
My latest check from Gucci shows seven figures.
It's triple the amount I got for the last shoot.
The stack of offers grows with my height, reaching 16 feet now.
Louis Vuitton wants an exclusive deal.
They're offering eight figures for a "Titan Collection."
Balenciaga's contract promises a percentage of sales from their "Giant" line.
Sydney calculates the total potential earnings.
It reaches nine figures.
My phone buzzes with a call from Ms. Chen about a Vogue cover.
I have to bend down to hear her on speaker.
Sydney reads the offered amount.
I sit in the renovated garage that now serves as my bedroom.
Sydney stands on a stepladder beside me.
At sixteen feet tall, I have to lie on my side to see her.
She reads the contract terms.
"They want to photograph you next to the Eiffel Tower," she explains.
"Emphasizing your height. They'll shut down streets, use cranes for angles."
Sydney looks up at me, her eyes wide.
"They're offering seven figures."
Ms. Chen calls back to confirm the details.
Sydney holds the phone to my ear.
I nod, agreeing to everything.
Ms. Chen says she'll send over the contract.
I hang up and look at Sydney.
She hands me a pen and points to the dotted line on the contract.
I take the pen in my massive hand, trying not to smudge the ink with my oversized fingers.
My signature is barely legible, but it's there.
I sit in our converted warehouse space, now my bedroom.
It's a massive room with a wall-sized tablet that Sydney helped design.
The screen shows my investment portfolio.
My weekly height measurement is 320 feet tall.
I've grown twenty times faster than before.
Through the massive doorway, I watch construction crews build my new living complex in the desert.
Sydney climbs the industrial ladder to my eye level.
She brings news about my latest earnings: over $50 million from last week's satellite-photographed fashion shoot alone.
She shows me the bank statement on her tablet.
My massive finger accidentally cracks the reinforced platform she's standing on.
I quickly steady it with my other hand.
Sitting in my warehouse bedroom, I watch Sydney regain her balance on the damaged platform.
My heart races as I gently cup my hands around her.
I'm 480 feet tall now.
She's so tiny, barely the size of my fingernail.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
The vibration of my voice makes dust fall from the ceiling.
With utmost care, I lower my palm to the ground, creating a smooth ramp with my fingers.
Sydney slides down safely, giving me a reassuring smile despite her shaking hands.
"Don't worry, I've got something to tell you," she says, her voice steadying.
I tilt my head, curious, as she continues, "The scientists called; they think they can reverse this."
Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty.