Scotty's giant sneaker shifts, and the dirty laces flop on top of you. As your best friend drags his foot across the floor absent-mindedly, you cling to the warm leather of his sneaker, trapped in the hold of the dirt-stained laces.
"Sir, I don't feel too good. Can I get a note from my mom and leave early?" You look up to see that Scotty is standing now, his hand on his stomach. Past miles of baggy denim and his blue t-shirt, your best friend's face looks like that of a giant, glowing god. Mr Welling sighs and nods, and as Scotty traipses out of the class room, you're knocked repeatedly against the hard leather of his well-worn sneaker.
No matter how hard you try to get your friend's attention, he remains totally ignorant as he marches out of the school and down the sunny street. Every time you attempt to call up to your colossal skater friend, you slam once again against the toe of his sneaker and the breath is knocked out of you. This is getting humiliating - Scotty has to see you!
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