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Who's gonna throw the very first stone?

Oh! Who's gonna reset the bone?

(Arcade Fire)

---

"I can't believe we're having this conversation again, Tabitha," my father grumbled. "It's been, what, a week since your last write-up? This can't continue!"

I was too busy working on avoiding eye contact to muster a response. My father paced back and forth in front of me, arms folded across his chest. He came to a stop at one end of his circuit, staring me down. I focused on the floor. Had that stain been there before?

"Look, Tab,"

Fuck. He was doing the tone shift. Time for some soggy rag shit.

"Hon, we know you've been through a lot of late. Your mom and I are so proud of you and how strong and brave you've been,"

He really needed to switch up the speech once in a while. I could practically recite it along with him at this point.

"But this needs to stop. Your record certainly isn't going to be winning you any citizenship awards any time soon, and, well, we can't afford to pick up and move again,"

I opted to roll theatrically onto my back, sprawled on my bed with my eyes fixed at one point on the ceiling. I could hear my father's exasperated sigh. There. Cracked through the façade.

"Okay. I can see this won't be going anywhere any time soon. We're going to have a sit-down tomorrow. You, me, and your mother," I could hear his tone wavering. "And--and no dinner for you tonight,"

I'd almost forgotten about that last bit. It was his final flourish. The final, utterly devastating blow. Dad stalked out of my room. Deciding suddenly that I needed to get in the last word, I rolled off the bed.

Leaning my head around the edge of the door, I snapped, "Yeah, well... whatever,"

Okay. I will admit, not my finest comeback.

I slammed the door, cringing slightly as I heard the faint tinkle of glass. Shit. Needed to stop being so forceful with that. I flopped down on the bed, groaning inwardly. Vicious cycle. It was all a vicious fucking cycle.

Oh! I almost forgot to introduce myself. How rude. I'm Tabitha Crane. But most folks call me Tab. Short and sweet. Granted, it was probably just about the only sweet thing about me. Or short, for that matter.

See, up until about four months ago, I'd been your average ferret gal. My primary concerns had been getting the fuck out of high school (only two quarters to go until graduation) and making sure that nobody broke my discus record in track and field (50.24 meters, suckers).

Unfortunately, life did not remain predictable like that. If high school taught me one thing besides how to take a definite integral, it was that nothing could be taken for granted. Not even the most mundane things. My body's ability to maintain a height of five foot eight, for instance.

Crazy, right? Well, that's basically the only term I can use to describe it. For reasons that I can't really explain (much less any medical doctor that was consulted), I suddenly grew to the height of 90 feet (91'4" if you want to be a stickler for details and want even more numbers slung your way) in the middle of my gym class.

I don't remember much about the whole incident. Just a few minutes of searing, blinding pain and blurred vision, followed by the completely unexpected (and wholly undesired) experience of being totally nude and standing awkwardly in the center of a playfield surrounded by my suddenly minuscule peers. Confused as fuck and humiliated out of my mind, I high-tailed it into the woods next to campus. I spent the remainder of the day just sitting there, rocking back and forth and trying to mentally force myself back to normal size, to little avail.

The whole thing should have been impossible. Nobody should technically be able to be so enormous. It was explained to me some time later that according to this thing called the Rhombus-Pyramid Law or something like that, my body basically should've collapsed in on itself and turned into jelly. But it didn't. Hooray for physical impossibilities!

This whole giant thing was a fucking drag. I was impossibly heavy (I'm technically supposed to avoid walking around on concrete and asphalt if possible--no easy task in a town) and insanely strong (Well, compared with your run-of-the-mill person. Proportionally, I'm still kind of a lightweight). Physical contact with anyone was basically impossible unless I wanted to unintentionally injure them or something of that nature. Everything was just so breakable. I half-expected to start sounding like I'd inhaled a shit ton of sulfur hexafluoride or whatever. Didn't happen. My voice got a damn lot louder and more, well, resonant. But not lower. Thank gods. The one thing I had going for me.

If that was a low point in the Great Saga of Me, the following weeks were no improvement. Suffice it to say, remaining enrolled at Grainger High School, much less maintaining residency in Colville, wouldn't be much of an option.

Everyone was convinced that I was some sort of gigantic fucking monster or something. Gigantic? Sure. But last I checked, I wasn't rampaging around town, smashing buildings and eating cars or something like that. That didn't stop the parents. Nobody wanted their dear little Timmy or Sally going to class with a girl taller than the school building. I also had a super awesome police motorcade escort me to and from campus for those first few weeks. Closest I'd ever get to feeling like the president. The security detail that accompanied me from class to class got a little irritating, though. I guess they wanted to make sure I didn't get into any mischief or something, I dunno. But nothing happened. I was wholly innocent.

Er, well, maybe not wholly. There was always the matter of the stuff I did do. Let's just say there were a few minor injuries to students (in my defense, only six of them could actually be considered my fault in any way), damage to some school and city property, and one very... impactful... argument with my parental units.

After a few months, it was clear that the downward spiral that was my life wouldn't be going in any other direction. Not that I gave a damn. After such a long time being furious with my situation, I could no longer bring myself to really care. Everyone in town would see me as nothing other than some sort of gigantic monstrosity. I wouldn't be able to do anything to fix that. They'd already made up their stupid little minds. There was no space in town for a giantess.

Eventually, the white flag came out. My parents decided that a scene change would be the best choice for the family and opted to pack up and ship out to scenic Winthrop.

'Shipping out' was a lot easier when your daughter could serve as the moving van. With all the money they'd saved on the move, perhaps it would be feasible to purchase said daughter an outfit that didn't consist of strips of cloth she'd found and wrapped around her more personal regions. Fun fact: they had to rewrite the Grainger High dress code to accommodate me. How's that for a legacy?

My gigantic transformation hadn't been easy at all on my parents. Aside from all the obvious emotional/psychological/whatever issues that arose, there was the Big Green Money Monster to battle. Having a daughter wasn't cheap to begin with. Having a daughter who was nine stories tall was a damn large expense. Didn't mean that pun to be in there.

I mean, look. I still needed food, a place to sleep at night, and all the other necessities of life, just on a much larger scale. Both my parents worked their fingers to the bone day in and day out to make ends meet. And that was before their daughter needed an entire case of pasta from Costmart for a square meal.

The financial nightmare was only just beginning with the move. Winthrop offered homes on larger lots--perfect for a girl of my stature. A home of sorts was built for me in the backyard of my parent's new ranch house. As my father made it abundantly clear, building materials alone were an arm and a leg, to say nothing of the lighting and plumbing costs. Nothing pissed me off more than when my dad guilt-tripped me about that shit. It wasn't like I had any control over the change in living arrangements.

But you know what? Regardless of everything that I'd done and all the shit that had happened because of my new circumstances, Mom and Dad had stuck up for me. They'd really been great. Oh gods, when I thought about it, I'd been such a terrible daughter--sullen and irresponsible and terse.

I needed to make it up to them. Maybe I could convince them I didn't need to transfer schools. I could set things right.

*****

Scratch that last.

"We just think you'll be able to get off on a better foot at Riverbank. It'll be a better environment for you," Mom's tone was saccharine.

"Or you could stop acting like a delinquent and let us do parent-type things that don't involve bailing our daughter out of yet _another_school," Dad interjected, his tone heated.

"But--but... I wanted to try to make this school work," I muttered. "You've always said yourself, 'don't just run away from your problems; try to solve them',"

"Yes. But that was before you... this," Dad spluttered, gesturing at me. Smooth going.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh. So this is okay for an excuse when it's convenient for you. Got it,"

"It's not that way... I... this will just be better. For all of us,"

"Cool. Whatever's best. Until I get on Riverbank's nerves. Then we'll take it from there, right?"

"Tab, honey, that's not what we mean!"

"When do we meet with the principal or whatever?"

Mom and Dad exchanged glances. Dad ran a hand through his hair. "We already took care of that. You can start tomorrow,"

"I went with you guys last time,"

"Well, last time, you threatened to eat the principal if he pissed you off. You need to work on your manner, Tab. And your first impressions," Mom was a bit snappy, a rarity for her. Ferrets have something of a nasty reputation for being snippy, but Mama Crane was one of the sweetest people I knew. Apparently, even she had her limits.

"Hey. If the guy couldn't take a joke..."

"You should probably work on how you introduce your, uh, brand of 'humor' too, hon," Dad added. "Or save it for other, more appropriate venues,"

I supposed he had a point. People should never shout 'fire' in a crowded theatre, and giants should never yell 'rampage' in the middle of a city. Shrugging noncommittally, I studied my hands, which were folded primly in my lap.

"At least try to make a friend. Talk to someone," my father sighed. "It'll do you some good,"

"Really, sweetie. We want this to work for you so badly. But you have to work for it, too,"

I mumbled something unintelligible.

"Okay. Good talk," Dad sighed.

Well, I guess that was over. I rolled over on my bed as my parents clambered down from the platform bolted to the wall and made their way out of my room. It was a pattern I was quite used to by that point. But maybe it was time to break the vicious cycle.

*****

Over the past few months, I had honed my sense of general apathy towards the world to complete and utter perfection. It was easier to deal with my problems by just not caring about anything, or at least pretending I didn't. If I tried to give a damn, I felt I would lose my mind. All the same, I couldn't fight the surprisingly large fraction of myself that actually gave a fuck, or at least part of one.

That part of me actually gave a shit about my first-day wardrobe (Sackcloth tank top or sailcloth blouse? Decisions, decisions...), forced me to smile and wave a little when my first period teacher introduced me, and even dragged me into volunteering an answer in Chemistry (nailed it). Maybe Riverbank High wouldn't be so terrible, after all.

What would be terrible was having every single class outdoors. Seeing as I was taller than the school, the classes I was enrolled in were shifted to locations more conducive to my participation. Something told me I would get to know the school football field and baseball diamond quite well.

The day breezed by at a sprightly clip. Was I having a good time? Damn. Maybe I could get used to this whole settling thing. Before I knew it, it was already time to eat. Classmates glanced nervously up at me as my stomach rumbled.

Lunchtime meant sandwich salad. It was one of my strokes of genius. Making a me-sized loaf of bread was a bit too labor-intensive to be worth the effort. So what was I to do? Naturally, the only thing that made sense was to combine several loaves of sliced bread, a swirl of peanut butter, and (obviously) a healthy-sized dab of Nutella. It wasn't quite the same as the real thing, but I had to make do. Making do was something of a theme in my life anymore.

I found a corner of the courtyard that wasn't too occupied by others. Plopping myself down, I pulled out my lunch pail, a repurposed shipping drum. While I chewed in silence, I glanced down to notice a black-furred mink sitting in the grass near my hip, munching on an apple and staring intently at me.

"What do you want?" I grumbled, looking away.

"Well, for one thing, this area is usually my designated 'eating alone' spot," he replied.

I shifted over a few feet. "If you're trying to get me to shove you down my shirt, walk away now," I snapped.

Some guys at my old school had found it totally hilarious to dare each other to ask me to do that. Pervs. I didn't even have all that much to speak of in the chest department. But high school boys are stupid and gross, and I suppose that I had more than any of the other girls by simple virtue of my size.

The tips of the mink's ears tinged red. "Er, no. That would be a bit more forward than my style. Granted, my 'style' tends towards totally stationary. I think this is the most I've said to a girl in one go in awhile...

"But really. I saw you were new here, and I wanted to see if I could have a little chat with the reason my third period Chem class got moved to the stands by the baseball field. Figure out if my abject hatred is justified or not.

"That was a joke," he added hastily, shifting nervously.

I shot the mink a look, trying to control the grin that was forming at the corners of my mouth.

"Might want to watch what you say to a gal who's like fifteen times your size,"

All the same, I rolled over, stretching out on my stomach and resting my chin on the backs of my hands. A couple of dogs complained loudly as my feet invaded their area. Bitches would just have to deal with it.

Might as well see where the conversation went, I figured. Then I wouldn't have to lie when my parents asked me if I'd been sociable that day.

I could've just picked him up, but I really had a thing against holding other people. It just seemed odd having this little living thing in my hand. Established a weird dynamic between myself and the other person. Besides, if anything went wrong, I didn't want to get my oversized tail sued.

"My name's Tab, by the way. Tabitha," I said.

"Ciaran. That's my name," the mink fumbled.

He extended a hand, realized a handshake wasn't really a physical possibility, and passed the hand through his hair in an attempt to conceal his gesture. I snorted, ruffling Ciaran's fur slightly with the gust of air.

"So, have you always been... like this?" Ciaran asked, hands shoved firmly in his pockets.

My tail twitched. "Labor was a real bitch for my mom," I snorted derisively. "You honestly mean you didn't hear about me? I was the news story a while back,"

Word of a ferretess the size of a small apartment building had spread like wildfire when I'd had my big post-puberty growth spurt. Guess it had been a slow news week or something. My personal favorite headline? "Ninety Story Ferret Girl Lays Waste to Downtown Colville, PC." An utter lie and gross exaggeration on every level. And that's coming from a giantess.

"I guess I saw something on the evening news. But I didn't know you'd moved here," Ciaran shrugged.

"So you missed both the massive building project and the weeks of me attending North Winthrop before I transferred here? Damn. Maybe you should get your eyes checked, dude," I smirked in reply.

"I do wear contacts..." Ciaran shrugged good-naturedly.

I was about to come up with a snappy retort, but the bell rang. Ciaran nearly fell over as I got to my feet. "Well, gotta get to class. But I guess I'll see you tomorrow,"

A small grin crept across my face as I strode off. When they asked about my day, I could even tell Mom and Dad I'd maybe made a friend.