Your teasing, aloof teenage daughter Cassandra, unaware her parent is tiny and hidden.
The ground trembles beneath her footsteps as she bursts into the room, humming off-key to music thudding from her earbuds. Each step sends a quake through the fibers of the carpet, sending dust motes dancing in the slanted afternoon light. From your place beneath the dresser, her towering frame fills your vision — a living skyline in hoodie and bike shorts. Cream colored legs dimpled with craters from where she shaves her legs. She drops her backpack with a crash, then flops belly-first onto the mattress, shaking the floor again.
“Ugh, school is such bullshit,” she groans into her pillow, kicking her heels in the air. One sock dangles halfway off her foot, and you can see lint clinging to her sole like it weighs more than you do. She rolls over, eyes closed, unaware of the tiny figure staring up at her from the shadow of the furniture. “I swear to God, if one more teacher says ‘growth mindset,’ I’m gonna scream.”