The Well

Sarah ducked her head under the low ceiling. She'd shot up too many inches in the past few months, and had found her head bouncing on the top of the door frames. But it was smiles all around when she stepped into the room, Steven, Sylvia, Sharon, even little Seuss, who if anything, seemed to be growing shorter with every passing visit.

"What do we have here?"

"Oh, let it rest, Steve. Don't keep going on like it's my fault."

"Why not? Our little Sarah's getting to be all grown up. Maybe you'll be leaving us soon."

"You know nobody leaves but feet first," squeaked Seuss.

"If she's not careful, she'll not herself out on the bunk next time she gets out of bed."

"Come on, Steve. Let it go. It was the one time."

"Yeah Steve, leave her alone." Sylvia patted the empty chair next to her. "Sit by me?"

Sarah stuck her tongue out at the awkward boy and sat down beside her best friend. "Thanks, Syl. So, any news?"

"No news." Seuss shook his head. "We're still stuck in this dingy rat-hole, no sign of a weakness in the warding, or whatever that's keeping our wells from overflowing."

"Damn."

"Sorry."

"No, Seuss, it's not you. It's just..."

"It aches."

"Yeah."

"Well, I suppose there is one thing worth saying."

Everybody slid forward to the edge of their seats.

"You're done growing."

"If I had something I could throw without maiming you, I would. If anybody else had said it, I'd throw you."

Seuss grimaced, uselessly smoothing his wrinkled orange suit. "Sorry, but I'm serious. I figured out where you found your extra foot, and the fact is, I want it back."

"Wait... you... You really are getting--"

"Shorter. Yes."

"And how are you... wait, no, please, not--"

"We're switching bunks."