{"id":111,"date":"2025-08-28T12:47:27","date_gmt":"2025-08-28T05:47:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/?p=111"},"modified":"2025-09-09T23:18:04","modified_gmt":"2025-09-09T16:18:04","slug":"poof","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/2025\/08\/28\/poof\/","title":{"rendered":"poof edited"},"content":{"rendered":"

poof, edited version.<\/b><\/h1>\n

Please head over to this link<\/a> to read the finished chapter.<\/b><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Being born with long legs certainly comes with its perks\u2026 <\/span>And quirks<\/span><\/i>. Although the comments from people asking if I play basketball or \u201chow\u2019s the weather up there?\u201d get dull pretty quickly, there is one specific issue I\u2019ve been dealing with. It\u2019s sometimes hard to overcome, too. Well, not <\/span>overcome<\/span><\/i>, in a sense. I can\u2019t control my height, <\/span>unfortunately<\/span><\/i>. But when you\u2019re in a family that has the tradition of giving hand-me-downs instead of going to a store once or twice to buy your son a new pair of pants, jeans, or whatever trousers, they can get small on them pretty quickly. And there\u2019s nothing that I hate more than short pants.<\/span><\/p>\n

I jump, pulling up and adjusting the waistband of the jersey shorts Peter lent me as I catch sight of my own reflection in the mirror. Just by merely shifting my pupils to the right, I can see the owner of said pants sitting on my bed, slouching, and the palms of his hands resting on a pile of my crumpled clothes that are supposed to be in the laundry hamper.<\/span><\/p>\n

Peter\u2019s eyes were\u2026 Looking tired than usual\u2013eyelids hanging low. But that doesn\u2019t mean he\u2019s exhausted; he\u2019s unimpressed. \u201cDon\u2019t pull it up, you\u2019re just making it even shorter on you-\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Why is this so short?<\/b>\u201d I blurt out, initially supposed to be kept inside my head that escaped.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Cause it\u2019s <\/span>shorts<\/span><\/i>, dumbass. It\u2019s supposed to be short.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My eyes took one last careful look at the jersey shorts on my legs. The way the fabric hugged my thighs above the knee makes my leg <\/span>unbreathable<\/span><\/i>, in a way. If I take no more than one step, it will ride up until it reaches my crotch, and I\u2019ve had enough of that embarrassing moment.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut this is <\/span>too <\/span><\/i>short,\u201d I said, jumping up and down to test it. The fabric is already racing up to my crotch<\/span>.<\/span><\/i> \u201cIf I knew your shorts were <\/span>this<\/span><\/i> short, I wouldn\u2019t even ask to borrow yours from the start.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWill you just-\u201d Peter took a sharp breath between his gritted teeth. \u201cCan you just put it on for now and like, what, wrap a jacket around or something? We\u2019re getting late.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He stood up with so much energy that he immediately marched around the room with his head swiveling left to right. He skips over a few comic books I left on the floor, masterfully dodging the controllers a few feet away from the comics, and goes ahead to the corner of my room to dig into my pile of dirty laundry. He is already too familiar with the layout of my room that it has become second nature to him.<\/span><\/p>\n

When Peter is still determined to get that jacket he mentioned, I quickly remove the jersey shorts before swiftly changing into my sweatpants that were just hanging on the edge of my bed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOr can we just skip this one game? Just for once?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Peter finally turned around, not a jacket in his hands in sight. Maybe he gave up, or the thought of cancelling tonight\u2019s game riled him up so bad, he stopped. \u201cMason.\u201d He tilts his head, followed by an exasperated scoff. \u201cCome on. We never skip <\/span>one <\/span><\/i>game. You really gonna let our streak die that easily?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

When do I tell him that I\u2019m not as interested in basketball as he is? I know he\u2019s not the type to associate me with <\/span>being tall = plays\/genuinely adores basketball<\/b>, but he has to understand that dragging me into these games every month slowly makes me want to run off into the woods instead. <\/span>But now\u2019s not the time. <\/span><\/i>Peter was getting antsy as the time passed without us heading into the town\u2019s field. I know it on the top of my head now. He\u2019s tapping his feet like a restless bunny, arms crossed tightly against his chest, and his eyes stare off into the distance into\u2026 Godknowswhere.<\/span><\/p>\n

I sighed. \u201cRight. Let\u2019s just go.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Peter\u2019s eyes lit up, and in a second, he was already out of my room.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u02d6\u00a0 \u0741\ud81a\udd54.\u2601\ufe0e.\ud81a\udd54 \u0741 \u02d6<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I followed behind, jumping out of my open windows without bothering to close them. <\/span>I\u2019ll be back in a few hours, anyway<\/span><\/i>. The biting breeze gnaws my skin, reminding me that fall is approaching. The neighborhood is getting quiet, too; it always happens when autumn or winter is near. People don\u2019t get as much out because the sun isn\u2019t there, and it\u2019s too cold to read at the park or walk your dog. Looking forward, Peter is already further away from me. He made it across the backyard and hopped over the high wooden fence. Judging by the sound of his landing, he made it safely.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Mason!\u201d he shouted, as the shuffling of his feet against the grass was heard.<\/span><\/p>\n

Rushing over through the backyard, I arrived before the wooden fence, immediately jumping up to grip the edge, hopping over. <\/span>Thump<\/span><\/i>. It was a lengthy landing, but a safe one. Hopping over the fence for years to sneak out and eat burgers with Peter has made me accustomed to the high landing; it\u2019s all muscle memory. Even Peter has it on muscle memory, too.<\/span><\/p>\n

The town\u2019s basketball field is no more than one block away from ours, so Peter is already dragging his ass as fast as he can to get there before the game starts. I took some time in my strides, looking left and right to see that the houses looked less colored than I remembered. Is it just because the cold season is around the corner? Although the houses don\u2019t look as bright as it was in the summer, warm lights are visible through their windows. In some houses, I can see their shadows or the silhouette of their figures. Passing by Mrs. Grossman’s house, a swift of chocolate chip cookies passes by as I see her slouched figure carrying a tray from her closed curtains. Skipping faster, to catch up to Peter, a pizza delivery guy just dropped a box in front of Bill\u2019s door; his father\u2019s silhouette is sitting on the couch, probably watching TV. It\u2019s impressive how you can witness the routines of individual lives just by peeking through their closed curtains.<\/span><\/p>\n

And just like that, the sound of cheering gradually grew clear\u2026 <\/span>We are near<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n

I speed up my pace until I can see the field.<\/span><\/p>\n

The crowd soars. Every seat in the bleachers was littered with people shouting and jumping. It was weird to see such a small field filled with townspeople I would come across any other day. There\u2019s Todd in the far corner, but he\u2019s not driving his daughter to school. There\u2019s McKenzie in the bottom seat, but she\u2019s not doing random cartwheels in the street while her nanny watches (and worries). There\u2019s also Suzie in the middle, but she\u2019s surprisingly not knitting her half-finished sweater now. Then there\u2019s\u2026 An empty seat. <\/span>Two<\/span><\/i> empty seats.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go, buddy-o.\u201d Peter clawed my arm, pulling my feet off my glued position as he took me to our now designated seats.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u02d6\u00a0 \u0741\ud81a\udd54.\u2601\ufe0e.\ud81a\udd54 \u0741 \u02d6<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The game was <\/span>fine<\/span><\/i>, to say the least. It always has been. There\u2019s nothing much to say about it. People just love to see their friends or their children running around in a field, passing a ball to each other, and trying to throw it in a ring. At least Peter didn\u2019t get any more antsy, even though we were a tad late. But I\u2019ll get what I can have.<\/span><\/p>\n

People rise from their seats, some coming down to hype or congratulate the players, while others immediately walk home. Peter and I stayed in our seats for a while to let the crowd thin out.<\/span><\/p>\n

Silence stretches between us, a rare occasion for us chatterboxes. Usually, Peter would be the one to initiate the conversation, but he was being awfully quiet tonight. It was weird, considering he was just cheering and jumping throughout the whole game.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood game, huh?\u201d Peter <\/span>finally <\/span><\/i>spoke up. Although judging from his tone, it doesn\u2019t radiate so much of Peter-energy.<\/span><\/p>\n

I face his direction, reading his face. <\/span>Yeah, this is only small talk<\/span><\/i>. \u201cYeah. Good game.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Another few seconds of stillness.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs there something you wanna tell me?\u201d I asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

His face contorts. \u201cNo.\u201d <\/span>Liar<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n

I kept quiet for a moment, letting him contemplate his thoughts. \u201cPete?…\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A gentle scoff. \u201cFine. You wanna go grab a bite? I\u2019m starving.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My brows meet together out of habit; they always do whenever Peter says something too obvious or borderline stupid. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you just say so earlier?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Cuz I know I already ruined your mood by dragging you into this game. I know you just wanna crash in your bed now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I blinked. \u201cYou\u2019re not wrong,\u201d I said. \u201cFine. What about tomorrow?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure. We can have breakfast.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m totally sleeping in. Brunch?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Peter scoffed, almost too dramatically. \u201cWho are we, Mrs. Grossman and her friends? Let\u2019s just get lunch.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAsshole. Being Mrs. Grossman\u2019s friend and having brunch with her doesn\u2019t sound so bad, y\u2019know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u02d6\u00a0 \u0741\ud81a\udd54.\u2601\ufe0e.\ud81a\udd54 \u0741 \u02d6<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The walk back to our houses is now more composed and collected, but there was still a rush that goes into it, at least for Peter. Or maybe he\u2019s just a fast walker overall; I always seem to get behind.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u2026\u201d I skipped forward until I was walking alongside Peter. I swear to God, if he leaves me for another second, I might as well get kidnapped, and he won\u2019t even notice. \u201cLunch, tomorrow?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. The usual place.\u201d He didn\u2019t even look me straight in the eye.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGot it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The loud breeze made it seem that the town was whispering us secrets, or maybe warnings. But Peter didn\u2019t take it seriously; he walked even further from me.<\/span><\/p>\n

He finally stopped, and he went quiet for a moment. \u201cText me when you get back.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Huh?<\/span><\/i> \u201cWe live one block away.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t hurt,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd thanks for coming along.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u02d6\u00a0 \u0741\ud81a\udd54.\u2601\ufe0e.\ud81a\udd54 \u0741 \u02d6<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Icky petey<\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today<\/span><\/p>\n

Home already<\/span><\/p>\n

Delivered<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Beat you to it<\/span><\/p>\n

Delivered<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u02d6\u00a0 \u0741\ud81a\udd54.\u2601\ufe0e.\ud81a\udd54 \u0741 \u02d6<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Icky petey<\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Yesterday<\/span><\/p>\n

Home already<\/span><\/p>\n

Delivered<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Beat you to it<\/span><\/p>\n

Delivered<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pete?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Delivered<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

If you\u2019re not gonna text back in the next 10 minutes, i\u2019m gonna go get brunch with Mrs. Grossman and her friends\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Delivered<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the fuck?\u201d I mumbled, rubbing the exhaustion out of my eyes as I attempted to sit up.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was already late in the afternoon, judging by how the sun was judging <\/span>me <\/span><\/i>through my open windows. Although the UV ray kills, the cold breeze also seems to penetrate through my body as well. What a time to be alive\u2026 And awake.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAsshole,\u201d I mumbled again, clicking the CALL icon beside Peter\u2019s name.<\/span><\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

Not even ringing?<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Again, to read the finished chapter, check the link I have attached in the beginning.<\/b><\/h1>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

poof, edited version. Please head over to this link to read the finished chapter.   Being born with long legs certainly comes with its perks\u2026 And quirks. Although the comments from people asking if I play basketball or \u201chow\u2019s the weather up there?\u201d get dull pretty quickly, there is one specific issue I\u2019ve been dealing […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22420,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,10,6,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-111","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-creative-writing-class","category-english","category-short-story","category-wip"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22420"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=111"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":159,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111\/revisions\/159"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=111"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=111"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=111"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}