Kayla Episode 31: A Smallara Side Story – Bonus Edition

Kayla Episode 31 – Bonus Episode –  November 15th 2020 – New York City, Alternate Earth _ Wallace Household – Kayla’s Room 
 
Kelli was awoken by Kayla turning over in bed. The mattress groaned under her weight, the squeaking of the frame followed by the deep, thunderous boom of her shifting. Every movement reverberated through the room like a miniature earthquake. Kelli flinched instinctively but didn’t bother to sit up yet. This was her life now. 

The room smelled like Kayla, an unmistakable blend of sports, skateboard decks, and worn-out hoodies. Not bad, exactly. Just… not hers. Gone were the soft floral fragrances of her own room, the warm vanilla, cherry blossom, or eucalyptus scents from Bath & Body Works she used to cycle through with pride. Now, she lived in her little sister’s space, a space designed for someone full-sized and carefree. The air was thick with Kayla’s reality. And Kelli had no choice but to breathe it in. 

The ever-present rumble of thunderstorms played softly from Kayla’s bluetooth speaker near her bed. It was the white noise she preferred to fall asleep to, but to Kelli, it was something else entirely. A new miasma. A constant reminder that this wasn’t her bed, her room, or her life anymore. It wasn’t even her body. Some mornings, like this one, she woke up feeling like she’d stepped into someone else’s fictional nightmare. Only it was real. And she was six inches tall. 

Kelli stretched out in the bed Kayla had gotten her, a dog bed, technically. That fact alone had nearly made her explode when she found out a few weeks ago. But it was hard to stay mad when the damn thing was so comfortable. Kayla had chosen a good one. It had a memory foam insert and a soft fleece lining. She could sprawl, lounge, and curl up in it. It was probably nicer than any bed she’d had in college. 

Still, it was humiliating that it sat at the foot of Kayla’s bed on the floor. Like she was some kind of glorified pet. But Kayla’s room didn’t have a ton of open space, and this spot near her bed and desk, where Kayla spent most of her time, was deemed the most logical. 

She hadn’t fallen back asleep. Instead, she lay there quietly scrolling through her tablet, a gift from their parents. They’d meant well, and it was a good device, but everything ran through Kayla. Every search, every message, every app download. Kayla said she didn’t check anything. Said the restrictions weren’t her doing. That it was just part of the Guardian software package. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Kayla could look. Any time she wanted. If they got in a fight, if she got curious, if she just felt like it. 

That lack of privacy ate at Kelli the most. More than the size, more than the loss of mobility or independence, it was the knowledge that she could be monitored. Judged. Shut out with a single tap. 

The soft ambient sounds of Kayla’s sleep filled the room, her breathing, her occasional mumble, the shuffle of blankets. Kelli slid on her headphones, craving some kind of autonomy. Liv Dangerously’s latest track filled her ears, pulsing with confidence and attitude. It helped. 

She scrolled through LittleGram, the scaled-down social network designed just for Littles. It had a different vibe than the platforms Kayla used. You could only connect with other verified Littles you knew. For Kelli, that meant a short list: Jordy, Gavin, and a couple of Little-focused entertainers and advocacy groups. She followed Echo Riot and Liv Dangerously, of course. But she could also follow non-Littles—people like Kayla, Sara, Mallory, Talisa. 

Any time they tagged a post as “Little-Appropriate,” it would show up on her feed. That was the part that twisted the knife a little. “Little-Appropriate.” Like she needed a filter. Like the real world had become unsafe for her eyes now too. She couldn’t help but wonder what didn’t make it to her timeline. 

She could use Kayla’s phone to find out, theoretically. But she’d need Kayla to put it in Little Mode for her. And Kayla was… weird about her phone. Always had been. Kelli used to tease her about it—joke that she must be hiding government secrets, or worse, her search history. Back then, it was easy. She’d just snatch it out of Kayla’s hand. Bigger, faster, more athletic. It was no contest. 

Those days were over. 

Now, even the idea of grabbing Kayla’s phone was absurd. Kelli was six inches tall. Kayla could hold it high over her head like a bully holding lunch money. She could put it in her pocket and Kelli would never be able to retrieve it. She could lock Kelli out of everything with a few taps,  and Kelli wouldn’t even be able to reach the screen to stop her. 

Kelli closed her eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over her. She didn’t want to resent her sister. Kayla had been… decent, all things considered. But resentment didn’t care about fairness. It crept in anyway. Quietly. Consistently. And on mornings like this one, it was hard to keep it at bay. 
 
Kelli smiled as she read a message from Jordy.  It was a picture with a few of Sara’s hair scrunchie’s and him standing the middle. 
 
“Tried to raid the sacred nest of the Scrunchie Beasts. Only barely made it out alive. Send reinforcements… or snacks.” 😤🧁🌀 
P.S. Do these things multiply at night? I swear there’s more every morning. 
 
 
Kelli chuckled before responding: 
 
Bold move standing in the middle. That’s basically a Little summoning circle. 🔮 
If a hairbrush shows up, run. Or call me. I’ll save you… eventually. 😉 
 
Kelli scrolled through her timeline before looking at requests sent to her old friends. They all were still pending. She was a little now. While she expected this it didnt make it any easier. She wasn’t one of top ranked collegiate athletes in soccer anymore. She wasn’t able to go to parties or live her lifestyle anymore.  A part of her thought not being able to connect with her old friends was probably for the best. Why be reminded of a life you can never live. Parties you can’t ever go to. Inside jokes you’re not a part of. Hangouts that you wouldn’t be a part of. 
 
Kayla’s alarm then went off just after that thought. Kelli nearly jumped a foot in the air as she heard Kayla grumble and then roll back over. Kelli sighed knowing that was only the first alarm and it was a Saturday. The odds of Kayla getting up before 10 are slim. She wasn’t even sure why Kayla set the first three alarms. As it was annoying enough when she was full sized and on the other side of the wall. Now being six inches tall and in the same room being forced to live through it every weekend was a whole nother level of annoyance.  

“KAYLA !!! GET THE FUCK UP!!!” Kelli shouted after Kayla silenced the second alarm. “You are so lucky I’m too small to march up there. I swear to God, I would give you the thrashing of a lifetime. I may be small, but your nose and cheek would feel it.” Kelli added as she heard Kayla already snoring again.  
 
“Thats it. I’m not doing this. You forced this on yourself.” Kelli said as she opened her tablet and messaged her mother.  
 
URGENT 🚨 
Kayla has FAILED as a Guardian. I’m currently stranded on the floor like a forgotten sock, no food, no water, no morning cuddles. 
If this were the wild, I’d be dead already. 😵 

Please advise. Or just come in here and make her get up. Preferably with cold water. 

Love, 
Your neglected, miniature daughter ❤️ 
 
Kelli waited a few moments and saw the bubbles that her mother was typing a message. A Minute later her mom replied: 
 
Oh no. Not my tiny starving baby. 😱 
Hold tight. Mama’s bringing justice (and maybe toast). 

Kayla’s about to experience a full-volume Saturday Surprise Wake-Up. 

Survival level: Engaged. 🩷🦸‍♀️ 
 
Kelli didn’t hear her mom’s footsteps at first, just the crash of the bedroom door slamming open like a battering ram. 

“Guardian Wallace, report for duty!” her mother’s voice rang out, loud and commanding, filled with theatrical outrage. “You’ve got a Little on the floor and she’s dying of neglect! Where is my tiny child?“ 

Kelli smirked from her curled-up position near the edge of the dog bed, where she’d dramatically slid down after sending the emergency text. She could barely see her mom from this angle, but she could picture it perfectly: the stance, the narrowed eyes, and, yep, the glass of ice water in her hand. 

There was a groan from the bed above. A lump under a blanket shifted. 

“Ugh, Mom… it’s Saturday…” Kayla’s voice mumbled, thick with sleep and protest. 

“And it’s Judgment Day, sweetheart,” their mom replied without missing a beat. “You had one job. One. And that job was, and I quote, ‘don’t let your tiny sister become a sad, floor bound orphan.’ Now look at her!” 

Another groan. The lump tried to retreat deeper into the blankets. 

Kelli held in a laugh. 

“She could’ve used the tablet,” Kayla muttered, barely audible. 

“Oh, she did use the tablet,” their mom shot back. “She sent me a heartfelt message about being abandoned like a sock behind the dryer. No food. No water. No cuddles. Do you want that kind of trauma on your record?” 

She marched toward the bed and, with the ease of a seasoned mom, yanked the blanket completely off in one dramatic motion. Kayla yelped and curled into a ball against the sudden cold. 

“You can sleep after you rescue your miniature sister and maybe make her some breakfast. Something cute.“ 

“Tell her I want pancakes cut into letters that spell ‘I’m sorry,’” Kelli called up from the floor, grinning now. 

“I’m texting her that now,” her mom replied, pulling out her phone with dramatic flare. “And if I don’t see whipped cream, we’re having words.” 

Kayla sat up finally, rubbing her eyes with one hand and glaring toward the ceiling like the entire universe had personally betrayed her. “You guys are the worst.“ 

“Incorrect,” their mom said, stepping aside to gesture toward Kelli like a proud lawyer presenting evidence. “We are your responsibility. Now go pick her up off the floor before I call Grandma and tell her you’re failing your Guardian duties. You know she’ll bring charts.” 

That got Kayla moving. Grumbling under her breath, she slid off the bed and crossed the room barefoot, her movements sluggish. 

“I want to hear the words ‘I’m sorry for letting you emotionally starve this morning,’” their mom added, walking out of the room with a satisfied smirk. “Or there will be consequences.” 

Kayla rolled her eyes and crouched near Kelli’s bed. 

Kelli folded her arms and raised a brow. “And don’t forget the pancakes,” she said, smirking up at her now very-awake sister. “With the apology spelled out. Maybe in syrup.” 

Kayla didn’t respond. She just held out her hand, palm up, with a tired groan. 

Kelli stepped on, smug satisfaction glowing behind her smile. Best Saturday morning in weeks. 

Kayla carried Kelli in her palm like a delicate object she wasn’t fully awake enough to trust herself with. She plodded down the hallway, feet dragging, the oversized T-shirt she slept in still clinging to her shoulder on one side, falling off the other. 

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Kayla mumbled. 

“Oh, very,” Kelli replied, sitting cross legged in the middle of her sister’s hand like it was a lifeguard raft. “Your dramatic failures make excellent entertainment.” 

Kayla gave her a side eye but didn’t answer as they entered the kitchen. She set Kelli gently down on the counter, next to a small silicone placemat and Kelli’s custom cup Kayla had made her, already filled with water, probably by their mom last night. Of course. 

Kayla reached for a mixing bowl. 

“Are you actually gonna spell it out?” Kelli asked, amused. 

“No,” Kayla muttered. “I’m not writing ‘I’m sorry’ in pancake letters. You’re lucky I’m cooking at all.” 

“Aw,” Kelli said with a pout. “You used to do cute things for me when I helped you with math homework.” 

“You used to be normal sized.” 

“Wow. Hurtful.” 

Kayla shot her a glance. “You know what I meant.” 

They fell into a stretch of silence. Kayla cracked eggs into the bowl and started mixing, her movements stiff but careful. The morning light poured in through the windows, giving the whole kitchen a golden warmth. The worst of the chaos had passed. Now came the quiet. 

Kelli sipped from her cup and watched her sister with a thoughtful expression. 

“Do you hate it?” she asked after a moment. “Having to take care of me?” 

Kayla didn’t stop whisking, but she went quiet again. For a second, Kelli thought she was going to pretend she didn’t hear. 

“No,” Kayla said finally, voice soft. “I don’t hate it. I just… didn’t expect it. You were always the strong one. I mean, you were the one who taught me how to do eyeliner. Who snuck me junk food during Mom’s gluten free phase.” 

Kelli smiled faintly. “You were such a gremlin back then.” 

“I still am,” Kayla said, smirking. “Now I just keep the snacks in your drawer.” 

They both laughed, briefly. It helped. 

“But seriously,” Kayla continued. “It’s not that I hate it. I just… I feel like I’m constantly trying not to mess up. Like if I’m not perfect, I’m gonna screw something up and you’re gonna get hurt. Or worse.” 

Kelli looked down at her hands. “I get that. But I don’t need you to be perfect. Just… human.” 

“You say that,” Kayla said, pouring batter into a pan. “But I sleep through one alarm and suddenly you’re texting Mom that you’re a neglected orphan on death’s doorstep.” 

“You were ignoring two alarms,” Kelli pointed out. “And I was on the floor. Alone. Cold. Unloved.” 

“Next time I’m putting you on the dresser,” Kayla muttered. 

Kelli grinned. “High ground. Excellent choice.” 

A few more moments passed. The scent of pancake batter filled the air. Kayla flipped the first one onto a plate and slid it onto the counter near Kelli’s spot. It was still warm. Butter melting at the center. 

Kelli looked up, surprised. “Wait… you made a normal one?” 

“Yeah, but…” 

Kayla opened the cabinet above her, took out a bottle of chocolate syrup, and began carefully writing on the pancake with the nozzle. 

“…I’ll write the apology,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

Kelli watched, her chest tightening in a way she hadn’t expected. Not from the pancake. From the fact that her little sister, sleepy, grumpy, hair mussed Kayla, was actually trying. 

By the time she finished, the syrup words were barely legible but definitely there: 

“I’m Sorry (But You’re Still Dramatic).” 

Kelli burst out laughing. 

Kayla smiled despite herself and sat down across from her, resting her head in her arms on the table. 

They stayed there a moment, guardian and little, sister and sister, letting the absurdity of the morning fade into something that felt a little more like love. 
 
 
——- November 15th 2020 – New York City, Alternate Earth – The Wallace Household – Noonish 
 
 
Breakfast had finished, and Kayla carried Kelli back upstairs cradled gently in one hand. Her fingers curled just enough to keep Kelli steady but not so tight that it felt like a cage. The morning light streamed through the hallway window, and Kelli caught a glimpse of the picture frame on the wall, one from when they were kids. Halloween. Kelli had gone as a witch. Kayla, six years old at the time, was a tiny pumpkin. Kelli remembered how she used to be able to actually lift Kayla. Now the roles had flipped, only in the most literal of ways. 

Kayla gently set her down on the desk beside her computer. The surface was cluttered but lived in: an open notebook, her computer, a trail of small snacks from the night before. The desk had become a second home for Kelli; she could navigate it like a street map now. 

Kayla let out a wide yawn as she crossed the room, dragging her hand through her messy hair. She opened her closet and pulled out a pair of olive green cargo pants and a navy blue hoodie. Kelli watched from her perch, resting her chin in her hand. 

“Classic Kayla,” Kelli muttered to herself. 

The cargo pants had so many pockets they could each hold Kelli with room to spare. And the hoodie? Faded, from her middle school soccer team. She hadn’t grabbed it yet, but Kelli was already certain a beanie was going to be next. It was the Kayla starter pack: practical, shapeless, and zero concern for aesthetics. 

Kelli rolled her eyes fondly. She used to try to “fix” Kayla’s fashion sense, drag her to the mall, dress her up in skirts or sun dresses. Kayla had suffered through a few outings before eventually refusing to wear anything that didn’t have “pocket utility.” That had led to a fight or two. And back then, Kelli could win those fights. She was the big sister. Taller. Louder. More confident. 

But now? Now tact was essential. Kelli couldn’t boss her way through decisions anymore. If Kayla didn’t want to do something, it didn’t happen. There were no more “Kelli overrides.” 

Kelli leaned back against the base of Kayla’s monitor stand, crossing her legs and watching her sister shuffle around the room like a half-dressed zombie. 

“So, I was thinking…” Kayla said mid yawn, grabbing the hoodie and pulling it over her head. “We do a little shopping today.” 

Kelli blinked. Her jaw dropped slightly. 

“I’m sorry, what?” she said, straightening up. 

Kayla turned, brushing hair out of her eyes. “Shopping. You know. Malls. Clothes. Human commerce.” 

Kelli’s face lit up in disbelief. “No way. Yes. What have you done with my sister?!” 

Kayla gave a half smile and grabbed her beanie off the bedpost, confirming Kelli’s earlier prediction. She yanked it on and shrugged. 

“She’s being temporarily replaced by a semi responsible Guardian trying to do something nice. Don’t get used to it.” 

“I mean, I’m not going to argue,” Kelli said, standing and pacing along the edge of the desk like it was a runway. “Just, are we talking online shopping? Or, like, actual shopping?” 

“Actual,” Kayla replied. “LittleMart has a new expansion wing at the mall. I figured we could check it out. See if they have any what did you call them…‘cute seasonal looks.’” 

Kelli gasped like she’d just been handed an Oscar. “Oh my god. We are going to the mall. You never want to go to the mall. You fake back injuries to avoid the mall.” 

“Yeah, well… I figured you’d enjoy it. You’ve been kinda stuck in here a lot lately,” Kayla said with a shrug. “Thought it might be nice to get out for a while.” 

Kelli blinked. That wasn’t sarcasm. That wasn’t teasing. That was… thoughtful. 

“You’re weirdly sweet today,” she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Are you dying?” 

Kayla smirked. “Honestly? I figured if I was gonna spend the day with someone, it might as well be my way cooler, fashion-obsessed big sister. Way better than spending my Saturday knee deep in a storage unit helping Dad decide which cracked lamp is a family heirloom.” Consider this both a favor to you… and an escape plan for me.” 

Kelli grinned. “So we’re enabling each other.” 

“Exactly.” 

There was a warm pause. 

Kelli sat back down, swinging her legs over the edge of the desk. “Thanks,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to, but… thanks. It means a lot.” 

Kayla didn’t say anything right away. She just nodded, grabbing her phone from the charger and stuffing it into one of her many, many cargo pockets. 

“Let’s just find you something ridiculous to try on so I can make fun of it. I feel like that’ll balance the energy out.” 

“Oh, we’re doing that and a food court stop,” Kelli declared. “I want pretzels. And one of those lemonade things with the crushed ice.” 

“You know that means I have to carry you around like a purse all day, right?” Kayla said, walking back over to the desk. 

Kelli stepped into her waiting hand. “That’s the price of sisterhood,” she said with a smirk. 

Kayla lifted her up gently, tucking her safely against her chest. 

“Do I get Guardian points for this?” she asked. 

“I’ll let you know after the pretzel,” Kelli said. 

Kayla set Kelli down on the desk again and rummaged through a small plastic drawer built into the side of it. It was one of those craft organizers—repurposed, like half the things in Kelli’s new life. Kayla had labeled it with marker: Clothes – Tops, Bottoms, Shoes, Accessories. In her loopy, uneven handwriting, she’d even drawn a tiny smiley face next to Jackets. 

Kelli watched, already sensing trouble. 

Kayla pulled out a tiny hoodie—navy, with a fake little zipper—and a pair of carg pants with miniature pockets stitched into the sides. Little-sized skate shoes followed, complete with real laces no bigger than threads. 

Kelli stared at the outfit. 

Then she looked up at Kayla. 

Then back at the outfit. 

Kayla was grinning like she’d nailed it. “So, I figured we could match,” she said, holding the tiny beanie up between two fingers. “Cute, right?” 

Kelli blinked. Her stomach did a slow, rolling turn. She hated it. Not because it was ugly, although, yeah, it was aggressively Kayla, but because it screamed sidekick. It screamed little mascot version of my cool skater sister. 

She imagined herself sitting in Kayla’s palm, dressed like her mini me, getting shown off to some salesgirl at LittleMart like, “Look! We match!” 

Kelli clenched her jaw, biting back her first instinct, to roll her eyes, toss the outfit across the desk, and say something snide like “I’m not your doll.” 

But she didn’t. 

She didn’t because Kayla was trying. Really trying. And for once, she was trying to include her, not just accommodate her. And if Kelli threw a fit right now, Kayla would shut down. The trip would be off. They’d both go sulk in separate corners of the house. 

So instead, Kelli breathed in through her nose and forced a smile she hoped didn’t look too plastic. 

“It’s… very you,” she said, carefully. 

Kayla looked a little uncertain now, picking up on the hesitation. 

“I just figured,” she said, “if we’re going out together, it might be fun. I mean, you always used to try to dress me when we were younger.” 

“I tried to make you look like you belonged in a human society,” Kelli muttered. 

Kayla snorted. “And now you’re resisting pants the size of a gum stick. Life’s funny.” 

Kelli laughed despite herself. The tension eased slightly. 

“I’ll wear it,” she said finally, reaching for the hoodie. “But you owe me something cute when we get to the store.” 

Kayla’s face lit up, all cautious optimism turned into a relieved smile. 

“Deal,” she said. 

Kelli pulled on the hoodie, the sleeves just a little too long, it was cute in the way all Little clothes tried too hard to be, like someone had shrunk down the concept of “practical fashion” and made it pastel. The cargo pants weren’t awful, but the matching look made her feel more like a team mascot than a sister. 

Kayla crouched down to Kelli’s level, giving her a thoughtful once over. 

“You look good,” she said genuinely. “Like… you could totally rob a tiny bank or something.” 

Kelli smirked, smoothing her hoodie down. “You’re lucky I like you today.” 

“I’m taking full advantage of it,” Kayla said, gently reaching out her hand. 

Kelli stepped into her palm again, and this time, didn’t feel quite so small as Kayla carefully carried her towards the door as she grabbed her purse. Kelli looked at Kayla’s small purse.  

Kayla was already slinging the small black crossbody bag over her shoulder when Kelli spotted it. 

“Oh no. Kayla, don’t you dare put me in that again.” Kelli’s voice rose an octave as she pointed an accusing finger from her perch on the desk. “It’s too small. I could barely breathe last time. You need a bigger purse.” 

Kayla paused mid sling and gave her a look, half tired, half incredulous. 

“I don’t have anything bigger,” she replied, adjusting the strap across her chest. “And no one wants to cart around some giant purse like the Jesus of Nazareth forced to carry his own damn cross.” 

Kelli stared, blinking slowly. “Did you just compare carrying a purse to crucifixion?” 

Kayla shrugged, unfazed. “You’ve seen that bag. It’s barely bigger than a shoe box. It’s a lot of responsibility.” 

“I’d rather be carried in a literal shoe box,” Kelli shot back, folding her arms. “At least that would have space.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Kayla said, waving her off. 

“I had a cramp in my ribs for two hours last time. I had to sleep with a heat patch the size of a mattress. You stuffed me in there like I was spare gum.” 

“Okay, drama queen,” Kayla muttered, flipping open the bag’s flap. “It’s not like you were folded in half.” 

Kelli narrowed her eyes. “I was bent like a croissant. A sad, underfed croissant.” 

Kayla snorted. “Well excuse me, Your Majesty. Some of us aren’t trying to carry the Ark of the Covenant on a mall trip.” 

“You’re the one who called it crucifixion!” 

“And I stand by it.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“You’re adorable when you’re squished.” 

“Kayla.” Kelli’s voice dropped into warning territory, her tone laced with just enough real frustration to shift Kayla’s smile into a slight wince. 

“Okay, okay. Fine,” Kayla sighed. She tossed the purse aside and turned toward her closet. “I’ll bring the backpack.” 

Kelli blinked. “The one that smells like gym socks and old gum wrappers?” 

“It has space.” Kayla didn’t even turn around as she pulled it out. “And beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Kelli groaned. “If I find another granola bar crumb stuck to my butt, I’m filing an official complaint with Guardian Services.” 

Kayla zipped open the backpack and held it toward her like an offering. “Joke’s on you. I’m the only one they’ll listen to.” 

Kelli muttered something under her breath as she stepped onto Kayla’s outstretched hand. 

She didn’t say thank you, but she also didn’t complain again. 

 
Kayla carefully lifted Kelli and lowered her into the front pouch of her backpack. The inside was surprisingly clean, soft from a folded microfiber cloth Kayla must’ve stuffed in as padding. It still had that faint Kayla scent: detergent, peppermint gum, and the unmistakable trace of yesterday’s stress. 

“Happy now?” Kayla asked, zipping the pouch halfway. “Plenty of legroom. Five-star accommodations. All we’re missing is a minibar and one of those tiny hotel robes.” 

Kelli adjusted herself with dramatic flair, patting the cloth beneath her like she was assessing thread count. “Four stars. Maybe five if the minibar includes boba and a weaponized hairpin.” 

“No pleasing you.” 

“Correct. You’re finally catching on.” 

Kayla checked again making sure she head her phone and slipped it into a side pocket, then held up Kelli’s tablet, Little sized, lightweight, and very pink, thanks to the “guardian approved” silicone case Kayla had ordered. “You bringing this?” 

“Obviously,” Kelli said, reaching for it. “We’re FaceTiming each other during the trip.” 

Kayla blinked. “We’re what now?” 

“Do you want to be that girl walking around talking to her backpack like a psycho?” 

Kayla gave her a blank look. 

“Exactly,” Kelli continued, “So I’ll call you, and we can talk like normal people. You know. Sisters. In different tax brackets.” 

Kayla sighed. “Fine. But if my phone dies halfway through the trip because you’re livestreaming your commentary on mall fashion, I’m dropping you in the sale bin at LittleMart and telling them it’s a return.” 

Kelli smirked. “You’d miss me before they even found the tag.” 

Kayla rolled her eyes, but her grin slipped in anyway. She double checked the tablet’s Wi-Fi settings, then gently set it into the side pouch of the backpack, angled so Kelli could reach it easily. 

“Please don’t use this to record a whole season of Little & Afraid from my purse,” she said. 

Kelli gasped. “I should! Oh my god. We’d be famous. Episode One: ‘Trapped in the Cargo Pouch of Doom.’ Featuring bad lighting and questionable air circulation.” 

“More like ‘Sass in a Sack: The Downfall of My Sanity.’” 

They both laughed, Kayla reaching for the front door with her free hand, keeping the bag steady with the other. 

“You good?” she asked as they stepped out into the late morning sun. 

Kelli peeked up from the pouch. “Define good.” 

Kayla raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean,” Kelli clarified, “do I have water, visibility, Wi-Fi, and a sister who doesn’t stuff me into a makeup bag today?” 

Kayla gave her a sarcastic thumbs up. “Check, check, check, and… working on it.” 

Kelli flipped open her tablet and started dialing. “Driver, take me to the mall.” 

Kayla glanced down. “You really calling me?” 

“You said I could. And now you have to talk to me the whole time like I’m a person.” 

The call connected with a ping, and Kayla’s phone lit up in her pocket. She put in her AirPods with a sigh. 

“This feels ridiculous.” 

“And yet… so practical,” Kelli said, her voice now coming through Kayla’s earbuds. “Look at us. Two tech savvy girls, one in a pouch, one emotionally stunted.” 

Kayla chuckled as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “If you start vlogging this, I’m charging you rent.” 

“Too late,” Kelli said. “Episode Two: ‘Suffocated but Make It Fashion.’ Coming soon to LittleFlix.” 

“God help me.” 
 
Kelli lounged in the front pocket of Kayla’s backpack like she was royalty in transit, one leg crossed over the other, tablet balanced lightly across her knees. The rhythm of Kayla’s footsteps sent her gently swaying from side to side, the fabric around her shifting with every motion. It wasn’t exactly luxury travel, but it was stable, warm, and, for now, mostly comfortable. 

As they moved down the hallway toward the elevator, Kelli let out a dramatic sigh. 

“So,” she said, without looking up, “when does the snack cart come through? Because the last time I traveled with this service, the amount of attitude and snark I received was unacceptable. And I still never got my cheese plate.” 

Kayla’s footsteps didn’t slow, but her tone was dry enough to match Kelli’s sarcasm. “Kelli, I’m not a ride service. And there are no snacks on the way to the mall.” 

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Kayla stepped inside, adjusting the weight of the backpack slightly on her chest. Kelli swayed with the motion, letting her head tilt dramatically to one side. 

“I’m just saying,” she replied, tapping her tablet screen with one finger. “A cheese and cracker tray goes a long way. Maybe a little sparkling juice. Would it kill you to add some ambience?” 

Kayla smirked at the reflection in the elevator’s brushed metal walls. “You’re lucky I didn’t stuff you into the side pocket with my gum wrappers and spare change.” 

“I saw a Tic Tac in there once that looked like it had lived through the Great War.” 

“It probably had. Still fresh, though.” 

Kelli wrinkled her nose. “I swear, when I was big, I had standards.” 

“You had a purse full of crushed receipts and lip gloss. Let’s not rewrite history.” 

The elevator gave a soft lurch as it began its descent, the low hum filling the silence between their teasing. Kelli looked up from her tablet, watching the numbers blink down one floor at a time. 

“You know,” she said, her voice softer, “this is kinda nice.” 

Kayla raised an eyebrow. “Being stuffed into a bag and dragged through the mall?” 

Kelli rolled her eyes. “No. I mean… us. This. Hanging out. Joking around.” 

Kayla looked down at her for a moment, her expression unreadable. 

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s nice.” 

The elevator doors slid open to the underground parking garage, and the warm fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead. 

“Still not getting you a snack cart,” Kayla added as they stepped out. 

Kelli smirked. “I’ll be filing a formal complaint.” 

“Add it to the list,” Kayla muttered, adjusting the strap. 
 
“So how are we getting to the mall? We better not be skateboarding.” Kelli said as she stretched her legs out.  
 
“We aren’t skateboarding. I don’t have the patience to hear you gripe the whole time.” Kayla teased.  
 
“Well, its bumpy and you’re moving a lot.” 
 
The navy blue SUV pulled up to the curb with a soft purr, freshly cleaned and smelling faintly of lemon-scented wipes and quiet responsibility. Kayla recognized it immediately, it was the Bak family’s car, the same one that had carried Mallory to soccer games, school events, and late-night study sessions. 

The back window rolled down, and Mallory’s dad leaned over with a warm smile. “Kayla! Come on, hop in. We’ll get you to the mall in no time.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Bak,” Kayla said, opening the rear door and climbing in with her backpack, where Kelli was nestled comfortably in the front pouch. 

Mallory turned in the front seat with a bright smile. “I told Appa you’d be running, like, five minutes behind.” 

“Rude,” Kayla muttered, but she was already grinning. 

“I’m right though.” 

From the pouch, Kelli poked her head out. “Wait, this ride came with free sass? Excellent. Five stars already.” 

Mr. Bak let out a chuckle. “Ah, Kelli. You always have something to say.” 

“She’s chatty,” Mallory said, still smiling. “Like, constantly.” 

“I am right here, you know,” Kelli said. 

“And we’re delighted,” Mallory replied sweetly. Then, with a shift into perfect Korean, she told her dad, “그녀는 늘 말이 많아요. 아주 귀엽긴 한데요.” 
(She’s always talking. Very cute though.) 

Kelli blinked. “I have no idea what you just said, but I’m choosing to assume it was flattering.” 

“It was,” Mallory said, switching seamlessly back to English with a teasing grin. 

Kayla rolled her eyes and buckled her seatbelt. “Remind me to install a translation app next time.” 

“I could teach you,” Mallory offered. “You’d pick it up faster than you think.” 

Mr. Bak pulled smoothly into traffic, humming along with the soft instrumental music playing through the stereo. His driving was calm and deliberate, like he approached weekend errands with the same energy as a guided meditation. 

“Thanks again for the ride,” Kayla said. 

“Of course. I’m heading to the groccery store. You’re on the way.” 

Kelli nodded in approval. “Now that’s the kind of errand I respect. Please buy something spicy and impossible to pronounce for me.” 

Mallory laughed. “She wants tteokbokki.” 

“Tell her I accept that energy,” Kelli said with mock elegance. 

Kayla synced Kelli’s tablet with her phone, starting up FaceTime as usual. The tiny screen popped up in the corner of her phone. 

“You guys and your little surveillance network,” Mallory teased. 

“It’s for communication,” Kelli said primly. “And also so I can make fun of Kayla’s expressions in real time.” 

Mallory reached over to sip her smoothie. “You’re a menace, and I respect it.” 

Mr. Bak passed back two small snack pouches from the center console, one with dried mango slices, the other with crackers. Mallory grabbed them and handed the mango to Kayla. 

“Here. Appa keeps emergency snacks stocked.” 

“You’ve raised a good man,” Kelli said dramatically. “A hero.” 

Mr. Bak glanced back in the mirror, chuckling. “She reminds me of your cousin, Mal. The one who used to sing to herself and steal all the shrimp crackers.” 

Mallory laughed. “Oh my god, she still does.” 

Soon the mall came into view, looming ahead with its towering signage and weekend parking chaos. Mr. Bak smoothly turned into the quieter service lane behind LittleMart mall entrance and found a perfect spot by the curb. 

He put the car in park and smiled back. “Alright. Have fun, girls. Don’t let the mall eat your wallets.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Bak,” Kayla said as she opened the door. 

“감사합니다!” (thank you)Kelli called cheerfully, pronouncing it surprisingly well. 

That earned a wide smile from Mr. Bak. “잘했어요,(well done) Kelli. Very good.” 

Kelli beamed. 

As the SUV pulled away toward the grocery store, Kayla adjusted the backpack strap and looked down at her sister in the front pouch. 

“You trying to win over everyone’s parents now?” 

“Obviously,” Kelli said. “One snack pouch at a time.” Kelli said sarcastically. 

 
—————–  New York CIty, Alternate Earth – The mall/Shopping Center 
 
 
“You know,” Kelli said from inside the pouch, shifting slightly, “I just realized Gavin wasn’t there. I thought Mal brought him everywhere.” 

Kayla stepped into the mall, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the tile. “He’s hanging out with Sara today. She posted about it, I thought you followed her?” 

“I do, but I’m stuck on Littlegram,” Kelli huffed. “Unless you guys tag your posts as ‘Little-friendly,’ I get nothing. It’s like living in social media quarantine.” 

Kayla winced, rubbing the back of her neck. She felt slightly less awkward talking aloud to her backpack now, thanks to the FaceTime link in her earbuds, but Kelli was definitely going to lord that win over her later. 

“Yeah, Chloe mentioned it’s some government regulation thing,” she said. “You have to tag every post as Little-appropriate, or it doesn’t show up. And if it isn’t tagged, you get blocked by default. There’s like a whole terms of consent system behind it. Total pain.” 

“I feel like I need a lawyer to view memes,” Kelli muttered. 

“Seriously. Nobody’s trying to leave you out,” Kayla added. “It’s just… easy to forget, sometimes.” 

She didn’t say what she was thinking: that Kelli was usually invasive, not excluded. The kind of girl who used to burst into rooms and group chats without knocking. Seeing her on the outside of something, even something dumb like a trending post, felt strange. Off balance. 

“Well,” Kelli said with a long, slow sigh, “if you’d just make me a Shard account, none of this would be a problem.” 

Kayla actually laughed. “Shard? You’re kidding, right?” 

“I’m dead serious.” 

“They do biometric ID scans when you sign up,” Kayla said. “Like, you blink at your screen, and it links your profile to your Flow record, your guardian license, your Little status. You can’t even sneeze on Shard without it filing paperwork.” 

Kelli groaned like someone being dragged down a hallway by their ankles. “It’s so unfair. Everything cool happens on Shard now. PulseFeeds, EchoLoops, the real-time drops… Even Gavin went viral last week because someone filmed him vibing in a coffee cup holder.” 

Kayla grinned. “That was Chloe’s post. She tagged it #cupcore. It blew up so fast he got invited to a sponsored mini set livestream at the shard studios. He was in a mug. On beat.” 

 

About Shard: 

Everyone used Shard. You didn’t ask if someone was on it, you asked how many feeds they followed and how many EchoLoops they posted a day. 

Born out of Generitech’s total ecosystem vision, Shard had consumed every platform before it like some beautiful, unhinged algorithm god. Twitter, TikTok, Instagram? Ancient bones. Shard was the stream, the mirror, and the market. 

It was everywhere: baked into every screen, watch, lens, and fridge panel across the country. Even vending machines streamed Shard’s trending bar. 

PulseFeed™ could make you famous, or irrelevant, by breakfast. 
EchoLoop™ was where memes mutated and caught fire, reshaping music, fashion, news cycles. 
Threadsync™ translated drama across languages in realtime, so no fight was ever too foreign to go viral. 
Flow Integration made it easy to tip artists mid-performance or buy their outfit mid-scroll. 

It wasn’t just a platform. It was how people lived, curated, looped, filtered, monetized. 

For some, Shard was a stage. 
For others, a trap. 
But for everyone, it was unavoidable. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Sara said Generitech’s working on a Little version of Shard,” Kayla added as they passed a massive display screen showing a looping ad. “It ties to your Little ID and it’s supposed to integrate but stay separate. No tagging needed. The system just knows what you can see and filters it naturally.” 

Kelli was silent for a second. 

“Okay… that sounds cool. But also creepy. Like, cool creepy. Creepy cool.” 

“Yeah, that’s how most Generitech stuff feels,” Kayla said. “Sara said the beta’s still glitchy, though. Like, it accidentally blocked a cooking video because someone used sharp knives.” 

Kelli gasped. “Knives? In a kitchen? Think of the Littles!” 

They both laughed, the tension finally lifting a little as the mall air swirled around them, sweet with food court grease and perfume samples. 

Kelli peeked over the edge of the pouch again. “So… are we hitting LittleMart first? Or are we going full Kayla core and sprinting straight to the hoodie wall?” 

Kayla smirked. “You joke, but I do need a new beanie.” 

 

Kayla slowed to a stop in front of the familiar orange and white counter of orange julius, her eyes scanning the glowing overhead menu. The scent of citrus and fruit punch hit her instantly, sweet and fruity in a way that felt nostalgic. She tucked her hands into her hoodie pockets as she stepped forward, then glanced back at the teen manning the register. 

“One strawberry Julius,” she said, already pulling out her phone to pay. 

As the blender kicked on in the back with a thunderous whirr, the sound of Kelli’s voice crackled through her AirPods. 

“Get a Little smoothie,” Kelli said, her tone suspiciously chipper. 

Kayla let out a slow breath, already bracing herself. 

“You know those are way too cold for you,” she said, shifting the strap of her backpack. “You’ll end up complaining about brain freeze and how your hands hurt. Again. Smoothies are not Little-friendly. We’ll grab you something at LittleMart, okay?” 

There was a dramatic pause. 

Kayla could practically feel Kelli’s tiny offended glare through the FaceTime window. 

“You just don’t want to buy me one,” Kelli accused. “Wow. I see how it is. All those years I paid for your snacks, invited you out when my friends bailed, funded your high school vending machine addiction, might I add, and now that I’m a Little, suddenly I’m too ‘delicate’ for frozen fruit?” 

“You are too delicate for frozen fruit,” Kayla muttered, taking the frosty drink as it was handed to her. Condensation was already slipping down the side of the cup. 

“Wow.” 

Kayla leaned against the low wall beside the juice stand and unwrapped her straw. “First of all, I never asked to be dragged on those mall trips of yours.” 

“You loved those trips.” 

“I tolerated those trips.” 

Kelli made a loud “ha!” sound through the mic. “You always begged me to buy you something.” 

Kayla took a long sip of her drink before replying, the cold sweetness hitting the back of her throat like a sweet-charged slap. “See how I can drink things without risk of hypothermia. You, however, are six inches tall. This cup is the size of a pool to you. You’d fall in and get frostbite trying to drink your way out.” 

“I am not going to fall in.” 

“You totally would.” 

“I have dignity, Kayla!” 

“You spilled applesauce on your own leg last week.” 

“Fake news, pics or it didn’t happen plus you had it heaping” 

Kayla laughed quietly, shaking her head as she set the cup down beside her on the ledge. “Look, I’d give you a little, but you’d just end up sticky and cold and blaming me for it. Again.” 

There was a short silence. 

Then, Kelli’s voice came through in a half-whisper. “…Maybe just a tiny spoonful.” 

Kayla smiled to herself. 

“One sip,” she said, “but I’m pouring it into a bottle cap first. And you’re using the world’s tiniest straw.” 

“Acceptable,” Kelli said proudly. “Finally, some justice in this world.” 

Kayla sat on the bench beside the Orange Julius stand, her drink sweating into a growing ring of condensation on the table beside her. The mall crowd buzzed around them, teenagers in oversized hoodies, moms pushing strollers, old men power walking past the food court like they were on a mission. 

Kelli’s voice came through Kayla’s AirPods again, smug now. “You know this is a public smoothie promise. If you back out, it’s going in the group chat.” 

Kayla exhaled dramatically, already fishing around in her backpack for something, anything, to serve as a Little sized smoothie vessel. She pushed aside her sketchbook, an extra pair of socks, and her emergency gum stash before finally finding a small plastic cap from a lip balm tube. 

She held it up. “Bottle cap. This is what I’m working with.” 

“It’ll do,” Kelli replied, her voice filled with mock reverence. “Let the chalice be filled.” 

Kayla raised her eyebrow. “You’re not getting a chalice. You’re getting the world’s most embarrassing sip.” 

Still, she carefully twisted the cap off the lip balm, wiped it clean with the inside of her hoodie sleeve, and reached for her smoothie. She gave the cup a gentle tilt, tongue between her teeth in focus, pouring just enough of the strawberry drink into the cap to make it shimmer pink at the edges. 

“Okay, there. That’s enough to drown in at your scale.” 

“Perfect,” Kelli said. 

Now came the hard part. The straw. 

Kayla looked around the Orange Julius stand, then spotted the tiny sample straws sitting near the napkins, short, thin, like the ones used for smoothie samples. Normally ignored by anyone with dignity. But to a Little? 

A treasure. 

She plucked one up and waved it at the camera. “Behold, your noble straw.” 

Kelli gasped theatrically. “A sample straw? You shouldn’t have.” 

“Oh, I didn’t,” Kayla muttered. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

Carefully, she pulled Kelli out of the pouch and set her on the table beside the bottle cap. The air conditioning hit Kelli immediately, and she gave a visible shiver. 

“Ugh. It’s like the Arctic out here.” 

“You haven’t even touched the smoothie yet,” Kayla said. 

Kelli looked at the cap like it was a swimming pool. “You poured me a hot tub.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Kelli wrapped her arms around herself for dramatic effect, then approached the cap, dipping the tiny straw in with all the ceremony of someone drinking a cursed potion in a fantasy film. She took a sip. 

And immediately made a face. 

“Too cold?” 

Kelli didn’t answer right away. She just nodded solemnly, eyes slightly wide. 

Kayla folded her arms. “Told you.” 

Kelli shivered, but grinned. “Worth it.” 

A nearby middle-schooler slowed as he passed, doing a double-take at the sight of the tiny girl on the table sipping from a bottle cap with a mini straw. 

Kayla saw the look, raised a hand, and said flatly, “Yeah. She’s real. Move along.” 

The boy scurried off, muttering, “Cool,” as if he’d just seen Bigfoot with better posture. 

Kelli was too distracted with her smoothie moment to notice. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin corner Kayla tore off for her. 

“I’m gonna be honest,” Kelli said, leaning back like she’d just conquered Everest. “I feel weirdly powerful right now.” 

“You’re drinking a capful of sugar sludge.” 

“And yet,” Kelli said, crossing her arms, “I’m glowing.” 

Kayla laughed. “Alright, Queen of the Food Court. You good now?” 

“I’m perfect,” Kelli said with a grin. “Let’s go melt my dignity further by shopping in the clearance aisle.” 
 
Kayla scooped her gently back into the pouch, carefully placing the tiny straw and empty cap in her hoodie pocket like they were ancient artifacts. 

As they started walking toward LittleMart, Kayla smirked and said, “You know I’m telling Jordy about the bottle cap.” 

“You do and I tell Sara you cried at that episode of Terra Hearts.” 

Kayla gasped. “That was an emotionally complex scene!” 

Kelli patted her arm through the pouch. “Sure it was.” 

 

As the mall hallway curved into a quieter side corridor, Kayla slowed her steps. The signage ahead was sleek and polished, standing apart from the flashier logos and neon storefronts that dominated the rest of the complex. 

LittleMart – Pilot Location 
A Gracewood Initiative — National Launch Coming 2021 

Kayla looked down at the text and gave a low whistle. “Guess Chloe wasn’t kidding. This is the real deal.” 

The glass doors slid open with a subtle pneumatic hiss, revealing a clean, modern interior that felt more like a high end boutique than a chain store. Shelves lined the walls with neatly organized Little products, clothing, tech accessories, care kits, all laid out in a way that invited browsing at both Little and full-scale heights. 

Kelli peeked out from Kayla’s hoodie pouch, her eyes going wide. “Whoa.” 

Kayla chuckled. “Yeah. This is way fancier than I expected. I thought it’d be more like a pharmacy aisle with pastel branding.” 

“This looks like a flagship. For me,” Kelli said, her voice full of awe, and a tiny thread of something more complicated, something softer. 

Kayla gently reached in, lifted Kelli from the pouch, and placed her on the smooth Little-designated pathway that bordered the main walkways. The flooring even had its own texture, giving Littles better traction beneath their small feet. 

Almost immediately, a chipper voice approached. 

“Hi! I’m Tina. Thank you so much for coming in today!” the woman said brightly as she walked over. 

She was tall, normal sized, and dressed in a sleek LittleMart uniform: fitted slacks, a branded cardigan, and a tablet in hand. She was smiling warmly. 

And she was talking directly to Kelli. 

Kelli blinked. She wasn’t used to this. Ever since she’d shrunk, people didn’t talk to her. They talked to whoever was carrying her, or holding her, or pushing her in a carrier. At best, she got a nod. At worst, she was invisible. 

But Tina was looking her in the eye. Like she mattered. Like she was still a person. 

“H-hi,” Kelli stammered, caught slightly off guard. “I’m Kelli.” 

“Well, it’s great to meet you, Kelli. Is this your first time in a LittleMart?” 

“Yeah,” Kelli said. “First time it’s even existed, right?” 

Tina smiled. “That’s right. This is our pilot store our very first location. The Gracewood family is helping us trial all our equipment, layouts, and systems before the full rollout next year.” 

Kayla stepped closer, standing behind Kelli protectively but letting her sister keep the moment. 

“We’re testing real-world shopping flow,” Tina continued. “So any feedback you have as a Little is really valuable.” 

“Oh, I’ll have opinions,” Kelli said, her confidence returning fast. “Just wait until we hit the shoe section.” 

Tina chuckled. “Looking forward to it. And who’s your Guardian today?” 

Kelli tilted her chin up, deadpan. “This is my little sister, Kayla.” 

Kayla sighed, already regretting this trip. “You really have to say little sister every time?” 

“Accuracy matters,” Kelli replied smoothly. “Tina should know your proper designation: Kelli’s little sister, Kayla.” 

Tina laughed as she tapped her tablet. “Noted. I’ll make sure your name badge reflects that.” 

“Do you offer trade-ins on Littles?” Kayla deadpanned. “This one is way too high maintenance.” 

Kelli placed a hand on her chest. “Excuse me. I am a first edition. A collector’s item.” 

Kayla looked at Tina. “See what I’m working with?” 

Tina grinned. “Looks like a classic sibling bond to me. Let me know if you’d like a tour or any help browsing. We’ve got some seasonal stock you might like, plus samples for both Littles and Guardians.” 

As Tina walked away, Kelli turned back toward Kayla and whispered, “I like her. She didn’t call me a pet, a dependent, or a legal liability.” 

Kayla snorted. “She’ll regret it after five minutes in the same aisle as you.” 
 
Kayla strolled slowly through the Little clothing section, trying not to look too much like a bored sibling on babysitting duty, even though that’s exactly how she felt. The space was cleverly designed: long rows of miniature racks and displays with stylish but functional layout, everything scaled down for ease of access. Walkways were just wide enough for Littles to move freely between tables on their own, while full sized Guardians had generous clear paths running the perimeter, giving them room to follow along without stepping over or in the way. 

It was one of the only places Kayla had ever seen where the design actually centered Littles instead of just accommodating them. 

She looked down just in time to see Kelli walking confidently ahead, arms already overflowing with tiny hangers. A doll-sized maroon jacket, a cropped puffer vest, a folded skirt with embroidered detailing, a fuzzy sherpa hoodie, all held in one arm like she was preparing for a fashion magazine shoot. 

“This is so super cute, Kayla,” Kelli called out, spinning on her heel and holding up a pair of high-waisted corduroy pants against herself. “Seriously. I hope you packed a lunch or at least rationed your patience. We’re going to be here a while. You never take me anywhere like this.” 

Kayla raised an eyebrow as she followed slowly behind, hands shoved into the pocket of her hoodie. “You act like I don’t let you go places. You literally live on my desk like a gremlin in a pile of headphones and snack crumbs.” 

Kelli ignored her, moving with purpose between the racks. “That’s not an outing. That’s a sentence.” 

Kayla exhaled. “Okay, but let’s not make this take seventeen years. Like, maybe if this doesn’t become an episode of ‘Project Runway: Doll Edition,’ we could come again.” 

Kelli stopped mid step, one boot tapping the floor thoughtfully. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in faux calculation. 

“So, if I behave and make this not a theatrical, drawn out meltdown of indecision… you’ll bring me shopping again?” 

Kayla smirked. “That’s the idea.” 

Kelli pursed her lips, like she was considering whether she could resist her natural flair for chaos. “Fine. I’ll try. But I’m keeping it to a tight fifteen.” 

“Fifteen outfits?” Kayla echoed, eyes wide. 

“Outfit bundles,” Kelli clarified. “Not individual pieces. Let’s not be dramatic.” 

Kayla gave a long suffering sigh as Kelli marched toward the Little-sized changing rooms, chic little doors built into the wall with privacy curtains, full-length mirrors, and even a sliding panel system that allowed Guardians to safely assist with dressing if needed. The place was absurdly well thought out. Leave it to Generitech. 

Kelli turned back and looked up at her. “You’re not allowed to hover. Stand like… two aisles back.” 

Kayla arched an eyebrow. “You need help with the zipper on that sherpa hoodie, don’t you?” 

“…Maybe. But you’re still not allowed to judge me while I wrangle these pants.” 

“I’ll keep my mocking internal.” 

Kelli paused just before disappearing into the dressing room. “Hey, Kayla?” 

Kayla looked down. “Yeah?” 

Kelli’s voice was softer now, sincere in a way that caught Kayla slightly off guard. “Thanks for bringing me.” 

Kayla blinked, then offered a small smile. “You’re welcome, drama queen.” 

“Gremlin,” Kelli corrected with a wink as she tugged the curtain closed behind her. 

Kayla leaned back against one of the railings, arms crossed, sipping the last bit of her smoothie through the straw. Despite herself, she was actually kind of enjoying this. 

 Kayla leaned against the wall near the dressing rooms, half-watching shoppers pass by, half-scrolling Shard on her phone. She tried not to seem impatient, but after outfit number five, she had resorted to internally rating each of Kelli’s looks using a mental scale that went from “Okay, that’s not terrible” to “Looks like a sentient cupcake.” 

The curtain pulled back again. 

“Okay,” Kelli said, stepping into the soft light with a small flourish. “This one’s giving brunch-with-power-friends energy.” 

She wore a blush-colored trench-style coat cinched at the waist with a metallic belt, paired with cropped black slacks and a structured shoulder bag that looked like a downsized designer piece. 

Kayla tilted her head. “You look like a very tiny CEO who threatens to cancel people for sneezing.” 

Kelli beamed. “So… ten out of ten?” 

Kayla shrugged. “I mean, it’s clean. Put-together. Not my thing, but if brunch intimidation is the vibe, nailed it.” 

Kelli spun once and ducked back behind the curtain. 

Another moment later, she emerged again, this time in a layered tulle skirt, combat boots, and an oversized graphic sweater that read “HUMAN, NOT AN ACCESSORY.” 

Kayla smirked. “Okay, that’s a power move.” 

Kelli placed a hand on her hip. “Statement fashion and rebellious energy.” 

“You look like if a protest and a fashion blog had a baby,” Kayla said. “I approve.” 

Next outfit: high waisted wide leg trousers, a cropped button up shirt tied at the waist, and a teeny faux-leather jacket over top. 

Kayla blinked. “Is that a Tiny Greaser look?” 

Kelli winked. “I call it Shrinks and Rebels.” 

“You look like you lead a gang of Littles who run a rooftop speakeasy in a dollhouse.” 

“I love that. Trademarking it.” 

Then came the outfit Kayla actually had to pause for. 

A soft knit sweater tucked into a plaid skirt, paired with tights and heeled booties. The color palette was cozy, muted green, caramel, cream, and it made Kelli look effortlessly put together, even though Kayla could tell she’d agonized over every part of it. 

Kayla lowered her phone. “Okay… that’s actually really good.” 

Kelli blinked, surprised. “Wait, really? No snark?” 

Kayla nodded, arms crossed. “You look like yourself. Like how you dressed before. Just… mini.” 

Kelli smiled, softer this time. “Thanks. I kinda feel like me in this one.” 

“You don’t need fifteen outfits,” Kayla said. “Just that one. Times seven.” 

Kelli rolled her eyes. “You wear the same hoodie three days in a row and suddenly you’re a fashion minimalist.” 

“Function over fashion,” Kayla shot back. “I can climb a fence in my outfit. Can you even breathe in that jacket?” 

“No, but I look amazing. Which is the point.” 

Kayla chuckled. “Fair.” 

Kelli turned back toward the dressing room. “Alright, last two coming up.” 

Kayla called after her, “Please no glitter this time. I’m still finding sparkles in my bed from that sequin top you tried on last week.” 

“You’ll live.” 

As the curtain swished closed again, Kayla leaned back and shook her head, smiling. As annoying as Kelli could be, seeing her light up like this, confident, playful, a little dramatic but entirely herself, it made the whole trip worth it. 

Even if she’d rather be in sneakers and sweats, browsing the skateboard shop next door. 

 
Kayla scrolled through the final outfit photos Kelli had asked her to take,  while watching a video of Sara and Gavin titled dont tell Mal with a wink emoji before she glanced down at her sister, now standing next to her with a hopeful look and an armful of impossibly small clothes. 

“Well,” Kayla said, voice casual, “pick your favorite two outfits and we’ll get those.” 

Kelli blinked. “Wait, just two?” 

“I borrowed some money from Mom and Dad,” Kayla added quickly, like she didn’t want to linger on that detail, “and between that and my last paycheck, we’ve got enough for two full outfits.” 

She didn’t say how much effort that had taken. How she’d had to explain what she wanted the money for without triggering one of their mom’s “concerned lectures” or their dad’s passive-aggressive Well, maybe you should spend less on video games jabs. 

She hated asking for money. Always had. Even when they were kids, Kayla had hoarded her allowance in envelopes with scribbled labels like SKATE SHOES and CHRISTMAS PRESENT FOR KELLI – DO NOT SPEND. She hated owing anyone. Especially her parents. 

“I know it’s not ideal,” she continued, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pocket. “But we can come back later and get another one. I’ll save up. Maybe after the holidays, when I pick up more hours.” 

Kelli didn’t say anything at first. 

She looked up at her sister, watching the way Kayla avoided eye contact now, clearly bracing for disappointment or one of Kelli’s infamous dramatic sighs. And truth be told, Kelli had wanted more. There were five outfits she’d mentally circled as “must-haves” and another three she was already building imaginary Instagram posts around. 

But the moment clicked. 

Kayla had asked their parents for help. She’d gone out of her comfort zone,. for her. Not because she was told to. Not because it was expected. But because she wanted Kelli to have something nice. Something normal. 

That meant more than any jacket or pair of boots ever could. 

Kelli gently set one of the outfits down and ran her fingers along the tiny zipper of the sherpa hoodie she’d fallen in love with. Then, she folded it carefully and nodded toward the plaid skirt and sweater combo she’d modeled earlier. 

“These two,” she said quietly. “They’re perfect.” 

Kayla raised an eyebrow. “You’re really not gonna give me a speech about injustice or limited fashion access?” 

Kelli smirked. “I mean, I could, but I figured you earned a break.” 

Kayla exhaled, visibly relieved. 

Kelli added, voice softening, “Thank you, Kayla. For real. I know this wasn’t easy.” 

Kayla shrugged, trying to keep her cool. “It’s just clothes.” 

“No,” Kelli said. “It’s not.” 

They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by the pastel racks and the distant hum of the store’s quiet background music. 

Then Kayla muttered, “You’re gonna make me all weird and sentimental, aren’t you?” 

Kelli grinned. “Yep.” 

Kayla nudged her with the tip of one finger. “Pick your accessories and let’s go before I start crying in front of corporate security cameras.” 

Kelli giggled. “They’d probably use it in the marketing campaign. Guardians: Real Tears, Real Love™.” 

Kayla groaned. “That sounds like a soap commercial.” 
 
Kayla slowed her steps as they passed from the clothing section into a quieter part of the store, her hand gently cupped around Kelli to keep her steady. The lighting shifted subtly here—softer, more muted—and the displays were spaced farther apart, surrounded by calming tones and signage written in that gentle, euphemistic language so many stores used when they didn’t want to say what something really was. 

“Safe Space Habitats: Comfort, Security, Routine.” 

Kelli immediately tensed. 

She didn’t need to read the sign. The glass enclosures were impossible to mistake. Row after row of sleek, pastel-colored habitats lined the shelves, with soft bedding and feeding stations, multi-tier levels, and faux-wood paneling. A few were even staged like little studio apartments. All disturbingly beautiful. All disturbingly cage-like. 

Her lips curled into a sneer. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Kayla didn’t respond, she kept walking, guiding them through as quickly as possible. 

But Kelli kept her eyes locked on the displays as they passed. All she could imagine was herself in one of those sterile little cubes, trapped behind transparent plastic on Kayla’s desk. Waiting. Like a gerbil her kid sister fed once a day. The idea made her stomach turn. 

She was a no habitat girl. Period. 

A moment later, Kayla stopped beside a white-and-teal display counter near the far end of the section and gently set Kelli down. 

Kelli adjusted her footing on the smooth surface, brushing her skirt flat again. “Okay, we’re stopping. What is this? Accessories? Ooh, do I get to pick out a bag…?” 

Her voice trailed off as she looked up. 

It wasn’t accessories. Not really. 

It was a collaring station. 

A clean, glossy counter lined with rows of miniature collars, each resting delicately on velvet displays. Some were simple, just soft bands of fabric or synthetic leather with engraved ID tags. Others were more elaborate: little charm attachments, buckles, color coded designs for different levels of Guardian registration. At the back of the display was a small touchscreen kiosk, softly pulsing: 

“Link Collar to Registered Guardian Begin Scan.” 

Kelli’s breath caught. 

She turned slowly to Kayla, eyebrows raised. “Wait a minute…” 

Her voice was still light, like maybe she was misreading this. 

Kayla said nothing. 

“The clothes… the strawberry Julius…” Kelli pointed to the collars, realization crashing down in full. “Was this all a setup?” 

“Kelli—” 

“You brought me here to put me in a collar?” Her voice sharpened. “I told you, Kayla, I’m not a pet. This is exactly what I didn’t want.” 

“It’s not a setup,” Kayla said quickly, voice tight. “I swear. I really did want to take you shopping. I worked extra hours to make this happen. I borrowed money so you could get real clothes that were your style.” 

Kelli crossed her arms. “And now you’re putting a jingling tag around my neck.” 

“It’s not about me!” Kayla said, exasperated. “It’s the law. The national regulation passed a couple months ago. By the end of the year, every uncollared Little gets tagged as a stray and gets pulled into government housing, or worse. You know that. I would never make you do this if I had a choice.” 

Kelli stared at the counter. 

She saw the small collar labeled “Guardian: Kayla Wallace.” 
And beneath that, her name. “Little: Kelli Wallace.” 

Her throat tightened. 

“Kayla, it has your name on it. It’s going to jingle when I move. Like I’m someone’s keys. Or pet cat. You want to make it official? Go ahead. Let’s just buy the damn habitat too. Maybe I can sleep in a little ball of shredded newspaper on your desk.” 

Kayla flinched at that. “Kelli, come on…” 

“Why stop at two outfits?” Kelli snapped. “Let’s get me a wheel to run on. Maybe a water bottle I can lick from the side.” 

“It’s not like that,” Kayla said, her voice shaking now. “It’s just a collar. A dumb regulation. But it doesn’t change you. You’re still my big sister. You’re still Kelli. It doesn’t take that away.” 

Kelli turned to look up at her. “It does, Kayla. It does for everyone else. You know what people see when they see a collared Little? They don’t think ‘Oh look, someone’s sister.’ They think ‘Oh look, someone’s property.’” 

Kayla’s hands curled into fists in her pockets. 

She couldn’t argue with that. Kelli was right. 

But that didn’t change what had to happen. 

And it didn’t change the fear Kayla felt—deep and primal—about what would happen to her sister if they didn’t do this. 

“I can’t protect you without it,” Kayla said softly. “The second you’re uncollared, you’re vulnerable. Some other Guardian could file a claim. You could be seized. I… I’m not letting that happen. So please. Just let me do this. Let me keep you mine.” 

There was a long silence. 

Kelli’s eyes brimmed with heat, but she didn’t let them fall. She didn’t want to give Kayla the satisfaction of thinking this was okay. Because it wasn’t. 

But. 

She knew Kayla wasn’t doing this to hurt her. 

She was doing it to save her. 

Finally, Kelli stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, and placed a hand on the counter. She touched the edge of the collar’s velvet pad. 

“You pick the color,” she said quietly. “But no extra jingles.” 

Kayla exhaled, like she’d been holding her breath for ten minutes. 

“Deal.” Kayla said as they decided on a simple black leather collar with some gemstone accents with a simple id tag that still dangled off the collar but it was stiff so it didn’t jingle or make noise.  
 
Kayla’s fingers moved carefully across the collaring station’s touchscreen, walking through the government-mandated pairing process. The interface was sterile and cold, like she was registering a smart appliance instead of a human being. A small scanner lit up, reading the subdermal microchip that had been implanted in Kelli after her infection—another regulation she hadn’t had a say in. 

A small chime sounded. 

“Pairing Complete. Guardian: Kayla Wallace. Little: Kelli Wallace.” 

Kelli didn’t say a word. 

She stood still, her tiny frame facing away from Kayla, eyes closed. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, hands clenched just beneath her chin. She didn’t want to see it—not the screen, not the collar, not Kayla’s face. 

Tears were already spilling silently down her cheeks. 

She hated that she couldn’t stop them. 

She hated what this moment meant. 

The sound of the collar’s soft leather strap being handled felt louder than it should have been. Kayla gently wrapped it around Kelli’s neck, threading the band through the loop and pulling it snug, secure, but not tight. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she worked, doing her best to be careful. Reverent, even. 

Kelli flinched when the clasp finally snapped into place. 

She couldn’t help it. 

It felt like something inside her had just closed shut with it. 

She wanted to scream. To throw the collar across the room and demand someone tell her this was all a bad joke. That her world hadn’t shrunk down to a six-inch reality where the people she once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with now looked down on her with protective pity or regulatory authority. 

But instead, she stayed still. 

She took a long, shaky breath through her nose and forced the tears to stop. She couldn’t stop them entirely, not yet, but she could control them. Push them back down. Not for herself, but for Kayla. 

Because none of this was her fault. 

Kayla was doing what she had to do. What she thought would keep Kelli safe. 

Kelli couldn’t let her feel like she’d hurt her. 

So she waited a few seconds, wiped her cheeks quickly with her sleeve, and slowly turned around. 

She was ready for a joke. 

A sarcastic jab. A crack about how the collar “looked good on her.” Something, anything, to cut through the heaviness of what had just happened. 

But Kayla said nothing. 

She just stood there, eyes locked on her big sister, trying not to let her own emotions show. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. She knew. 

She knew it hurt, and she knew Kelli wasn’t going to say it. 

Kelli stepped forward and caught her reflection in the mirror display beside the counter. 

There it was. 

The collar fit her neck perfectly, light tan leather with a silver tag that gleamed beneath the store’s lights. One side had her name: Kelli Wallace. The other bore Kayla’s, right beneath the Guardian registration number issued by the federal registry. 

A visual announcement to the world: She belonged to someone now. 

Kelli stared for a long moment. 

She adjusted the collar with two fingers, tucking it so it sat properly beneath her neckline. Her throat felt raw, like if she spoke too loud, she’d crack open and all the grief would spill out at once. 

But her voice came out calm. 

“I guess this… isn’t so bad.” 

She forced the words like a performance, as if saying them would make them true. 

She grabbed the bag with her outfits and held them like armor. 

“I mean, you didn’t go with pink rhinestones, so that’s already a win.” 

Kayla cracked a small, grateful smile. 

“Yeah,” she said, trying to match the levity. “Felt like you’d kill me in my sleep if I did.” 

Kelli gave a quiet, fake laugh. “I still might. Don’t push it.” 

They started walking toward the front of the store together, Kayla gently lifting Kelli into her arms. 

Kelli kept her head high the whole time. 

She’d cry later, alone, in the dark, when Kayla was asleep and couldn’t see her break. 

But not now. 

Now, she had to be strong. 

Now, she had to wear the collar like it didn’t matter. 

Even if it broke her. 

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ New York City, Alternate Earth – Wallace Household – Kayla’s Bedroom – Later that night: 1:30am 
 
The house had gone quiet hours ago. 

Kayla was asleep, sprawled across her bed in a pile of blankets, one foot still hanging halfway off the mattress like she’d passed out mid-scroll. Her tablet was dark. The only light in the room came from the soft glow of her moon lamp and the dim, quiet hum of the white noise machine she liked—thunderstorms, low and distant, like a memory too far away to reach. 

Kelli lay curled up in her dog-bed turned Little bed near the foot of the bed, her back to the room, her face buried in the edge of the cushion. 

She hadn’t moved in over an hour. 

She had waited. Waited for Kayla’s breathing to settle, waited for the final roll over sigh, waited until the last possible moment she could be sure Kayla was really asleep. 

And then she broke. 

Her fingers dug into the memory foam mattress like she was trying to claw her way through it. Her shoulders shook violently as the sobs began to pour out, no longer held back, no longer softened by the act of being “strong.” There were no mirrors here, no Guardian watching, no sales clerks or public appearances or company she needed to perform for. 

Just her. 

Just Kelli. 

And the collar around her neck. 

She reached up and touched it, no, gripped it, like maybe she could tear it off if she tried hard enough. The soft leather was still stiff from being new, but already warm from her body. The tag clinked softly as she moved, a cruel little reminder of exactly what she was now. 

She curled into herself tighter. 

She didn’t just feel small, she felt diminished. 

Like this thing around her neck had taken the last piece of her that still belonged to her. 

She had fought so hard. Screamed at lawyers. Protested policy. Railed against the classification hearings and the bureaucratic horror show that decided she was no longer a citizen, just an asset. An item. Something that needed to be managed, paired, owned. 

And all of it still led here. 

To this. 

She was six inches tall, and now she had a collar to match. 

Property. 

She let out a sound, low, strangled, something between a growl and a sob, that she didn’t recognize as her own. Her body shook harder as she dug her face deeper into the bedding to muffle the noise. 

She cried for her freedom. 
She cried for her pride. 
She cried for the version of herself she used to be, loud, capable, unshrinkable. 
And she cried because that girl was gone now. Replaced with someone who had to ask her kid sister for permission to go outside. 

Who had to wear a name tag. 

Her breath came in broken waves, her chest aching, her face wet. 

“I’m not a pet,” she whispered into the bed. “I’m not a thing. I’m not a thing.” 

But the collar didn’t come off. 

And the world didn’t change. 

And Kayla kept sleeping. 

After what felt like hours, Kelli’s tears slowed. Her muscles ached from the effort of holding so much grief, and her throat was raw from trying not to scream. 

She rolled onto her back, eyes glassy, staring at the ceiling so far above. 

The collar tag shifted as she moved, the soft jingle echoing in the silent room. 

She didn’t have the strength to take it off, even if she wanted to. 

Even if it wouldn’t matter. 

She would cry again tomorrow. Probably every night for a while. 

But for now, she let the exhaustion take her. 

And somewhere, in that quiet sadness, she whispered to herself: 

“This isn’t who I am. 
It’s just where I am. 
For now.” 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ New York City, Alternate Earth – Wallace Household – Kayla’s Bedroom – Later that night: 1:30am 
 
Kayla didn’t sleep. 

She had tried. God, she had tried. 

She’d curled up on her side, back turned toward the tiny bed at the foot of hers, eyes closed, face still lit faintly by the moon lamp on her nightstand. But sleep had never come. 

Because she could hear her. 

Kelli had waited until she thought Kayla was out cold—like she always did when she didn’t want to be seen—but the moment those muffled sounds started, Kayla knew. 

She didn’t move. 
She didn’t breathe. 
She just lay there, frozen in the dark, listening. 

It started with the shaky breaths. The kind you try to hold in your chest, deep and silent, like you’re trying to keep your body from shaking too hard. Kayla recognized that sound. She had made it herself more than once, after long nights in the hospital, after fights with their parents, after the day she came home and Kelli wasn’t tall anymore. 

Then came the sobs. 

God. The sobs. 

Not loud ones. Not dramatic. Just broken. Raw. Like someone was being taken apart one breath at a time. Kayla could feel her sister’s grief leaking through the silence like poison gas, thick, invisible, inescapable. It filled the whole room. Settled in her throat. Burned her eyes even though she kept them tightly shut. 

She didn’t move. 

Because what was she supposed to do? 

She wanted, desperately, to reach down. To pick Kelli up and hold her close and say something that would make this better. To rip the collar off and throw it out the window and scream at the world for making this necessary. To fix it. 

But she couldn’t. 

Because the collar was the law now. 
Because the bed was too far. 
Because Kelli would hate being comforted like that. 

Because Kelli had always been the one to protect her. 

And now she was sobbing into a memory foam mattress designed for a shih tzu. 

Kayla opened her eyes slowly, careful not to move her head, just enough to glance down toward the foot of her bed. She couldn’t see Kelli from this angle, but she could imagine her, curled up, face buried, tiny fingers gripping the cushion like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. 

Kayla had never felt so goddamn useless in her life. 

She had fought for Kelli. She had argued with their parents. Had gone through the Guardian program even though she was fifteen. Had worked extra hours. Cut back on skate time. Begged their mom for money. Sat through hours of Little Rights training modules and safety certifications and government-assigned media literacy courses just to earn the right to keep her own sister. 

She did everything right. 

And it still wasn’t enough. 

She was still here, listening to Kelli break. 

Kayla blinked hard, swallowing the knot in her throat. Her chest ached in that deep, quiet way you only feel when someone you love is hurting and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. 

She heard the collar tag jingle once. 

Soft. Accidental. Cruel. 

Kayla clenched her jaw so tight it hurt. 

She wanted to burn that collar. Wanted to punch every senator who voted for the Little Classification Act. Wanted to smash every habitat and ID scanner and biometric leash system in the world. 

Because this wasn’t right. 

This wasn’t how sisters were supposed to live. 

And Kelli, her beautiful, bossy, brilliant big sister, wasn’t supposed to cry like that. 

Not alone. 
Not like this. 

But she also knew Kelli. Knew that if she rolled over now and said something, anything, Kelli would go stiff. She’d suck in the grief and paste on that snarky grin and pretend everything was fine. She’d make it a joke. She’d build the wall again. And they’d both pretend she hadn’t just fallen apart in the dark. 

So Kayla didn’t say anything. 

She just stared up at the ceiling, tears slipping silently down the sides of her face into her pillow, trying to match her breathing to the thunderstorm sounds so Kelli wouldn’t know. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 
By the time the sun began to rise, the storm machine still whispered distant thunder through the room, and the weight of everything that had changed settled like dust in the silence. Kelli slept restlessly in her little bed at the foot of her sister’s world, her hand still resting against the collar like she was hoping she’d wake up and it would be gone. Kayla hadn’t moved. Her eyes were still open, watching the ceiling, wide awake in a world that no longer made sense, but determined, quietly, to make it better. Morning would come. They’d pretend again. Smile, tease, banter. But both girls had heard the truth in the dark. And neither of them would ever forget it. 

 

 

 

 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

Related Images: