The three of us- Tracy, Mrs Beouf, and I- walked up to the school’s front office. Amazon, and even Tweener steps are longer and therefore faster than Little footsteps, but we’d all long since gotten into a kind of groove. Mrs Beouf took a medium to slow pace; leisurely walking to work but not dilly dallying. Tarnia walked briskly. I was power walking. Any faster and I’d have to at least jog.

I’d long ago mastered the art of conversing while at a near run. I wasn’t winded and I wouldn’t be, not in anyway that would show. “Warm weather’s back,” I said. More small talk.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Tarnia grinned. “You know what that means, right?”

“SPRING BREAK!’ we all said in unison.

“What are you going to do, Mr Gibson?” Tarnia asked me.

I smiled. “Maybe read a book,” I replied. “Other than that, hopefully nothing and love it.” That may or may not have been true. I did love just lazing around the house, but it was just as possible Catherine would take the opportunity for us to get out of the neighborhood and visit one of our friends. “You?”

“New laser tag place opening up. I’m probably going to get lost there,” Tarnia said. “Mrs Beouf?”

“Drinking,” Mrs Beouf said. “A lot.” That’s another reason I liked Beouf. Amazons tended to not talk about things like drinking or going to a lewd rock concert in front of me. It was much the same way an adult might not curse in front of children. As far as the giants wanted Littles to be concerned, all Amazons were the picture of adult responsibility. Beouf talked to me and Tarnia the same way I’d eavesdropped on other Amazons talking to each other: like people. “I just found out that my daughter is pregnant. I’m going to be a grandmother”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But her and her husband are moving back in before the baby is born. So I’m going to enjoy my house while it’s still my house.”

Going up with the two of them was a matter of safety. Keeping up with Beouf was practically my morning exercise, and Amazons had some kind of unwritten rule, maybe instinctual, about snatching up each other’s captives. By being so closely associated with Beouf, most of my coworkers at least subconsciously registered me as “her Little”.

Walking beside one of the giants had additional benefits. If I walked by myself I might be “mistaken” for “getting “lost” or “dawdling” if I was too slow. On the other hand, I might be “hiding something” or “about to have an accident”, if I was going too fast. Don’t get me started on how many justifications I’ve heard involving an Amazon quite literally wanting to give me a lift.
Typical Amazons.

Never once had either of my two companions ever even offered to carry me. Mrs Zoge had brought it up once, and only once. Mrs Beouf had said she’d talk with her assistant about it in private and I considered the matter settled. I never got an apology, but that was years ago and the offer had never been made again. Fair enough.

Other teachers, all Amazons, thought I was being a Helper; cozying up to my future “Mommy” so she’d take it easy on me. Some even thought I was purposefully hoping to get “adopted” and that’s why I’d taken the job teaching Pre-K in the first place.

How did I know all this? Amazons, though incredibly intelligent, didn’t give the shorter peoples enough credit. They were smart enough to clam up around me but never caught onto who might be wandering around and listening to the office gossip first thing in the morning, or during lunch in the teacher’s lounge. With a friend like Tarnia, I knew who my enemies were.

I can’t objectively say if any of my precautions actually worked or if it was just my own paranoia justifying itself; but nothing an Amazon did to a Little was objectively justified. Fair was fair. So was unfair.

Mrs Beouf grabbed the door and ushered us inside the front office. Oakshire Elementary was an open campus, with each grade level sectioned off in separate buildings on either side of a row of communal buildings: the Library, the Cafeteria, and of course, the Front Office. It was there that we went each morning to sign in, just as the sun was starting to crest over the hills, and then wait for the buses up front.

“Mr Gibson. Tarnia,” a coworker, a Tweener, acknowledged us as she passed. “Mrs Beouf.”

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound cheery.

Another familiar ritual.

“Mrs Beouf. Tarnia. Mr Gibson.”

“Mrs Springfield. Mr Renner. Mrs Grange.”

Basic stuff. Thoughtless stuff. If not for Mrs Beouf’s coffee I could still do this in my sleep.