Jacob knew there'd been a mistake the moment the salesman passed him the shoe box. For starters, the box was so long in his arms that it ran nearly from elbow to fingertip. Looking down at the giant box, he saw that the shoes were from a brand called "Hoops", which he'd never heard of. The picture on top was a corny cartoon of a generic basketball player palming a ball and leaning against a basketball hoop. On the side, where the size should be, a strip of the cardboard had torn off, leaving the number 7 behind.
The salesman beamed at him and nodded encouragingly at the box.
"Um..."Jacob glanced between the heavy box in his arms and the clearly confused salesman. "I don't think these are size sevens."
"Why not give them a try?" The salesman asked as he hopped over to a nearby bench.
Jacob didn't like to fight. He was smaller than most of his classmates, and he'd gotten a handful of black eyes over the years. Heck, the whole reason he'd even come to Funko's was because he didn't want to argue with his dad. He shrugged; it wouldn't hurt anything to try the shoes on, and once he did it would be completely obvious that there'd been a mistake and he could just go home.
The shoe box thudded loudly as Jacob dropped it in front of the bench. Sitting down, he easily slipped out of his shoes - his feet hadn't grown at all in the last three months, and they were still loose - and reached down for the pair of Hoops. The shoes were huge! Jacob had never seen shoes this size before. They were so wide he could lay his hand palm-to-fingertip from one side to the other. He thought with some work he could probably cram both of his real shoes inside just one of these things!
Under the heels, between thick zigzagging treads, were etched the number 17.
"See?" Jacob exclaimed, brandishing the shoe at the salesman. "These are seventeens! I didn't even know they made these!"
"They look fine to me." The Salesman answered with a shrug.
Frustrated, Jacob slapped the ridiculously over-sized shoes on the carpet and jammed his socked feet inside. He blinked, surprised. The insides were so...soft. Almost despite himself, Jacob scrunched up his toes and smiled a little at how the soles felt. He almost felt bad that he'd never really fit in the shoes, and now he hoped there was a pair in his size.
"See?" The salesman was lacing up the shoes! "Perfect fit, every time. I know my business, can't say I don't!"
"But..." Jacob sputtered.
"Look," the man signed, rubbing his neck, "I can tell you aren't sure. How about you write me an I.O.U. for the shoes and wear them home? Next week, if you changed your mind, you pay. Otherwise, I'll buy them from you, full price. Sound fair?"
Jacob looked at the shoe box. The shoes were $120, probably because of the size and because they were a sport brand. He supposed it wouldn't hurt anything to wear the shoes out, and he could just bring them back in a week for enough cash to buy a pair that actually fit and get some spending money.
Hands were shaken, shoes were laced up, and before he knew it he was trip-stumbling out the door to the cheerful call of the shoe salesman saying he'd "see ya in a week, Jacob!"
It wasn't until he tumbled through his front door that Jacob realized three things. He never signed an I.O.U. He'd worn the shoes all the way home when he could have taken them off at any time.
And he hadn't told the shoe salesman his name.