So, now that I had established that I was shorter, it was now time to figure out what I was supposed to do about it. People weren't supposed to get shorter; I knew this. And yet, I had.
Mom called to me from downstairs. "Riley, breakfast is ready."
"Can you come up here, Mom?" I called down.
Mom came up. "What is it?"
"I'm shorter."
"Don't be ridiculous, honey; teenagers don't get shorter."
"I'm serious, Mom. Look." I stood by the marks, proving that the tallest mark was taller than I was now.
Mom took the tape measure and checked for herself. "It can't be."
"But it is. What would cause this?"
"I have no idea, Riley. I've never heard of this before." She did some thinking. "Your party's at 2:00. We can get you in to see the doctor, and maybe find out more about this."
"I hope so." Seeing the doctor wasn't my first choice for my 18th birthday, but I needed help.
******************************
Once I was in the exam room, the nurse asked, "What seems to be the problem?"
"I've somehow gotten shorter."
"Shorter?"
"I've been five-eight for years; this morning, when I woke up, I was five-seven."
The nurse looked skeptical, but she checked my chart, and then measured me. "Oh, dear."
"What is it?"
"You're sure you were five-foot-seven this morning?"
"I double-checked," Mom replied. "Why?"
"Because, according to this, you're now five-foot-six."
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