As I said, all the problems began because of my size, which probably sounds a bit strange.

I’ve always been small for my age, but I’ve never thought about it much. When I see a photo of me with my friends, I’m always surprised to see that I look a bit like their little sister. But so what? It’s one of those things, like some people have blue eyes or red hair or whatever.

Ellie came up with this great nickname for me—Ant, short for Samantha. It’s so good, even Mom and the teachers use it.

But now being small has become a major problem. It began at lunchtime about two weeks ago. We were playing the usual games—soccer, kickball, and jack in the pack (that’s the one where one person, the jack, kicks the ball to the group—if you catch it before it hits the ground, then you become the jack). I’ve added a few rules of my own to make the games better, and because I like making up rules.

Suddenly, Red stops running, right in the middle of the game. Red has outgrown his brain this year—he’s almost as tall as some of the teachers—and sometimes his brain just sort of stops. So we all shout at him to get it moving again.

“What are you doing?” shouts Nick.

“Come on!” I yell.

But he just stands there and he’s so big that we all stop, too.

“What’s going on?” asks Nick, walking over to us and looking angry.

Red looks uncomfortable, then he says, “This game’s just not working anymore.”

He stares down, kicking his foot in the dust, like he doesn’t want to look directly at us. None of us know what he’s talking about.

“What do you mean?” Ellie says. “It’s the same game as always. What’s changed?”

Red looks really uncomfortable, then he says slowly, “Well, it’s more like some-thing hasn’t changed.”

We still don’t know what he means, but sometimes that happens with Red. Then he looks up and stares straight at me and I get a horrible, sinking feeling in my chest. It’s something to do with me

. Everyone looks at me, as though I should know what he means. The sinking feeling changes into a sick fluttering in my tummy, like when I’m in trouble.

Then Red says, “She’s just too slow.”

He looks around at the others and says loudly, “You know what I mean. Playing soccer with Ant is just silly. She’s too small. And slow. It’s like having a kindergartner in the group.”

Everyone is still staring at me. I’m so horrified, I can’t think of anything to say.

“That’s crazy, Red!” Ellie bursts out. “We’ve been playing all this time and now suddenly, just because you’ve grown, you’re picking on Ant.”

“I’m not picking on her,” says Red, looking upset. “It didn’t matter before. But now we’ve grown and she hasn’t, so it’s not working out.”

Suddenly, everyone is shouting, but I don’t join in. It’s not just because I feel so sick. It’s because I know Red is right.

I’ve noticed it a few times and that means Nick and Ellie probably have, too. They’re just taking my side because they’re my friends. For once, Red is right. The others do run faster. While they yell around me, all I can do is stand there like a total loser, my face burning.

I try to imagine what school would be like if I couldn’t play with my friends. It’s hard to imagine. Who would I play with? Where would I fit in? What would I look forward to each morning?