There are no good options. Yes, boarding school would be nice. You would be respected and challenged, but you worry about the pressure of being treated like a mini-genius. Going back to high school like this was literally a nightmare you only just work up from. That only leaves...
"Third grade," you say and sigh.
"Really?" your mother asks.
"Are you sure?" you father says sounding even more incredulous.
"Yes," you say. And then seeing them still looking confused, you explain, "Listen, this is going to be tough wherever I go. I have a lot to adjust to. At least I won't have to worry about school very much if I'm in a class with normal kids. I can just try to blend in."
Your parents kneel down to your level and surround you in a warm hug. "Of course, son," your mother says. You feel like crying again, this time, from happiness. You can't remember the last time you felt this much warmth and love around you. Maybe being a kid again won't be so bad after all.
"I mean..." you add. "It'll be a nice chance to start over again."
***
After that the days pass quickly.
Your parents quickly enroll you in a new elementary school, but they arrange it so that you can have a couple of weeks to get used to your new situation before you start attending classes.
You start getting used to things about being a kid again more easily than you had expected, like sitting in the back seat of the car, looking up at children who are not even in middle school, or just letting your legs dangle and swing while sitting on a chair. The world seems gigantic. Door knobs and elevator buttons are all too high. Top shelves and cabinets are out of reach. Your computer keyboard seems designed for a giant now, which makes typing frustratingly slow. Even cleaning up at the bathroom sink in the morning requires a stool. Your mother, at least, lets you care for yourself as if you were still a teenager. You get to take your own baths and pick out your own clothes. A nice perk of having money is that you were able to put together a respectable wardrobe of not too childish clothes in a short time.
You bid farewell to the few friends you had through messages on the computer. You explain that your parents had to move unexpectedly to another country. They take it well, and you soon realize that you were never very close to them at all. The idea of making some real good friends in grade school seems more appealing now than ever.
There are frequent doctor visits, all free, of course, after the mishap. They test and poke and prod and sample and measure you over and over again. They cover you in sensors tracking ever function of your body and scan you in every conceivable way. You are a source of vital data in their experiment, after all. You start to feel like a real guinea pig. Thankfully, you are not stuck in a cage. After a while, you begin to notice a bit of worry on their faces. They do their best to seem upbeat, but you can tell that they are concerned about something.
Eventually, you work up the courage to ask a nurse drawing blood about it. "So, what's got everyone so worried?"
"Worried?" she looks momentarily shocked and guilty as if you had caught her stealing. "No, we're not worried, just..."
"Concerned?" you suggest.
"Maybe a little," she concedes.
"What is it?" you ask almost too afraid to hear the answer.
"I really shouldn't... It's not my place to tell you," she says.
"Please," you say looking into her eyes.
"Well," she begins to explain and wets her lips as she tries to find the right words. "We have been testing and measuring you to see if there is any growth or further, um, ungrowth happening, or any other changes for that matter."
"And..." Here it comes. You mentally brace yourself.
"The tests have shown..."