The Theft That Colleges Do by Megha D.
It is a warm summer day, and I am frowning. It is an unusually beautiful day, one we almost never get (as we live on a mountain in Oregon), and I am wasting it by pouting.
“Why do Didi and Bhuya have to leave tomorrow?” I whine to my mom again. My mom looks at me.
“Megha.....” She warns me. I notice she is a little bit tired. I heave a huge fake sigh, trying not to smile.
“Ok, ok,” I say, trying to sound annoyed. I check my watch. “Mom!” I say, my smile turning mischievous, “They’re not up yet and we have to go in one hour!” Mom sighs this time.
“Go wake them up, and tell them no delays!” I sigh again, my smile gone. Why do I always have to wake them up? I think while I skip and jump up the stairs.
“Didi!” I say, pushing my sister’s door open, “Wake up! You have one hour to get ready!” My sister completely ignores me. I run to her bed, then gently shake her. “Didi....You have to got to get, up unless you want us to be late for the party.” She turns to look at me.
“Go away...” She says, sounding like her regular tired self. I shake her again. “Five more minutes....”
“Mom said no delays,” I answer. She groans.
“Get out of my room,” I frown at the demand, cringing in anticipation for what was coming next.
“But Didi, you have to wake up. Otherwise we’re going to be late for the party.”
“Go away Megha.” “No.” “MEGHA! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” My sister shouted (loud enough that it was still considered a shout, but soft enough that my parents couldn’t hear her). “Ok, ok, fine! But mom won’t be happy.” My sister goes back to sleep. I sigh, once again, and then, with one last glance at her, get out. “Bhuya!” I say, trading my sister’s green walls and mirrorwall for my brother’s dark magenta walls and small attic. I gently shake him.
“Stop Megha. Get out. Let me sleep.” I shake my head.
“Bhuya...Mom said to get up, otherwise she’s going to come up here, and you know what happens when mom comes up here...” I look at my brother, hoping (while knowing it won’t happen) that he will get up because of this last threat. He turns to me.
“Megha. Get out. Now.”
“Ok, fine, I’ll get out, but mom will yell at you if you make us late.” I leave the door open, knowing (and receiving) a command in return (my brother telling me to close the door). I run down the stairs after closing the door to deliver my report and then I grab a book and bound to the couch to finish it. By the time my sister finally drags herself out of bed, gets ready and comes downstairs, I am almost done.
“Morning,” my sister says.
“Hi Didi,” I answer, looking up for a second to wave, then going back to the book. My sister looks at me in amusement, probably thinking about the fact that she was the one who taught me how to read, and now look how much I do it. I look up again, giving her a whyareyoulookingatmelikethat look. My sister just smiles. The next thing I know, we are all bundling into the car to go to the church for my brother’s graduation and my sister’s sweet 16th. I am, as always, in the middle of the backseat, sandwiched between my sister and my brother. We are on our way to Shiner Hall, where the party will take place.
We all get out of the car and rush inside to start setting up. With a little help from early arrivers, we soon finish. People from Seattle and California (and Oregon, of course) are coming. The party is really fun, with performances, speeches, plays and songs all being carried out. I am sort of in the middle of things, as I am the sister of both the special, important people of this day. I’m sure I will never ever forget that party, for it changed my life forever. My brother and sister left for a math camp the next day, and I saw them next when they came back right before my mom and dad dropped my brother off in Boston. My sister and I were left at home for a week before my parents came back, and the next time I saw my brother was in a few months.
My life would never be the same again, as I now had no one to yell at me as I wake them up, no one to teach me to play card games, or destroy me in board games like Risk or Monopoly, no one for me to play with (parents don’t count), or annoy when they’re doing work, or reading secretly in their rooms (my sister) or when they’re surfing Wikipedia to look for interesting tidbits (my brother).
My brother is in college, and now, almost exactly a year later, my sister joins him and I come here to tell you my story.
A Memory by Megha D.
If you know me, you will be astonished to find that once upon a time, I absolutely refused to read the Harry Potter series. Let me take you back years and years, to when Harry Potter felt like a villain.... “No! No! I will not read it! No!” I yell to my sister, Neha. She looks at me with a Ican’tbelieveyoudon’twanttoreadHarryPotter look on her face. She shakes her head, then tries for the thirteenth time to convince me to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone. “It’s a really good book series.” She says, “I know you’ll love it. Trust me Megha. I know you really well, Don’t I? Come on. Megha please re-”
I started protesting for the thirteenth time. “No! No, no, no!” “Okay, okay, fine. You don’t have to read it.” I immediately stop arguing and smile. “Yay!” I say, skipping away. “But dad will read it to you,” My sister says under her breath. She goes to find my dad, although I don’t know it. I skip upstairs to my room and start reading The Magic Tree House #10. Meanwhile, my sister asked my dad to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone to me before bed. My dad agrees. A few minutes later, he calls “Megha! Get ready to go to sleep!” I quickly close my book and put it on my bedside table. I curl up under my blanket, shaking with excitement.
My dad walks in with a book under his arm. He curls up next to me. Then he starts reading. I didn’t even notice that the book was Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone. As soon as the first sentence rolls off his lips, I know I am going to love this book. And I do. As dad comes to the ending of the first chapter, I am almost asleep. I stay awake long enough to hear the title of the book. “Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone.”