“How old are you?” the girls asked Jack.
“I’m eight years old,” he answered. “But I’m kinda short for my age.”
The three girls looked at each other. “We’re eleven,” one answered. “And look how short we are.”
Jack and I had arrived to a school photo shoot this afternoon in Kirkland, where I was asked to take pictures of a youth theater group in their costumes. The girls were part of that crew, and had seen Jack hanging around with me during the photo sessions.
“Come on Jack,” one of them said. “Let’s go do cartwheels.”
We were done with the shoot, and about to leave. But I figured that a group of 5th grade girls asking a 3rd grade boy to hang out with them couldn’t be a bad thing. So we hung out a bit longer while they spun and turned and twisted around the gym floor, until the room was finally closed up by one of the theater parents.
“Where do you go to school?” one of them asked him. Jack replied as we were headed out the door. “Come back next week and we can do some more cartwheels together.”
When we got home and relayed the story aloud, David had only one question for Jack:
“Did you get a phone number?”