The sacred last 10 minutes of every class — the time I dedicate to the sole purpose of soaking in the wondrous phenomenon of equality. The tall athletes who usually tower over me hunch over their papers, scribbling away. And my friends, whom I always crane my neck to talk to, slouch in their seats, at long last dignifying me with eye contact. As the relentless third hand of the clock counts down the dwindling seconds before the bell rings, a sense of dread fills my entire soul. 

   Everything around me grinds to an agonizing slow blur as the bell rings. As the rest of my classmates jump to their feet, I painstakingly rise from my seat, standing as straight as I can, summoning my last ounce of courage to hold my chin high for those precious few extra centimeters. When you stand a mere 5 feet, 1.5 inches tall, trust me, you need all the height you can get. Every. Last. Centimeter. Counts.

  Emerging from the safety of my classroom and into the bustling school hallway, I’m immediately engulfed by a sea of looming shoulders and torsos, backpacks hurtling past my head rapidly from every direction. Overwhelmed, I panic and look around for the only thing that could possibly get me to my next class: sophomores Thea Perry and Sophie Saibi. 

   Spotting them in the distance, I dash toward them, latching desperately onto the back of Perry’s backpack like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a lifebuoy. Perry plows through the swarming crowd, parting the human sea as she forces those slightly shorter than her to scramble aside. Right behind me, a determined Saibi follows suit, shielding me from any swinging backpacks or rogue elbows in our path. After two years of high school, I have found that hitching a ride with a designated tall friend is the most effective way to navigate school hallway traffic. 

   Sadly, my fleeting moment of glory always vanishes swiftly. The instant we emerge from the crowd, I am once again cruelly reminded of the struggles of being vertically challenged. A conversation between Perry and Saibi hovers an entire foot above my head, leaving me with only their distant voices.

   The struggles of being short don’t stop at hallway traffic — these obstacles are endless. From scaling the dizzying heights of the art room chairs and the altitudinous red food truck counter, I am forever at the mercy of this towering world.