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English in October
by Shihiayah Y, Arizona, USA, Age 16

When I think of English, I always think of my cousin Sally. Sally went to school with my brother Johnnie and me, and even though I haven’t seen her in such a long time, her memory still lingers like the smell of eggs rotting in the back of the fridge.

This particular memory came from late October, sometime during our school years. Sally, Johnnie, and I went to a boarding school, and our days were full. In fact, some days were too full for Sally.

This day was one of those days. We were in the library for an English class when Sally came up with one of her ‘brilliant plans’. We could always tell when she was struck with an idea; her eyes glazed over and her mouth turned into a pinprick of determination, as she jerked her head sharply to the left. It was always the left—even if we were standing on her right, her head unfailingly swiveled to that side. And then she’d say, thoughtfully, “Johnnie. This is my lucky day.” Upon hearing those words, I felt my stomach sink like the Titanic, and Johnnie said, voice trembling, knees audibly knocking together, “Why’s that, Sally?”
“I’ll show you!” she said, as she scampered off into the reference section.

Johnnie shrunk back instinctively, fearing once again that he would become her unwilling accomplice. We followed reluctantly, drawn by a perverse curiosity, to witness Sally’s newest escapade.

She was struggling with a world atlas half her size when we approached.
“Come on, Johnnie! Don’t just stand there! Give me a hand!” she barked.
He timidly grabbed hold of the massive book and heaved as she directed him. When it was almost out of the shelf, she let go and strategically placed her foot below the volume.
“Okay, Johnnie! One last pull!”
Johnnie hesitated, a look of consternation on his face. “But Sally… You’ll hurt yourself!”
She glared at him for a moment before finally making her intentions clear. “I know, you nitwit! That’s the whole point! I’m gonna get out of English for good!”
Johnnie stared at her blankly.
“You pull the book, I break my foot!” she cried, exasperated.
“No, Sally! No! I can’t do that! What about Halloween?” he howled.
“What about Halloween?” she hissed back.
“You said we were gonna go trick-or-treating! You can’t go if your foot’s broke.”
“Oh, for crying out loud…!” she spat, and with that, she gave one mighty tug and sent the book crashing down.

To this day, I can’t think of English without thinking of the triumphant smile that played on Sally’s lips as she pulled her crushed and mangled foot out of her torn canvas sneaker.