I woke to the soft warmth of sunlight filtering through the blinds, slicing across the room in golden streaks. the first thing I felt was Lenin’s hand lifting me gently off the floor her trusted Birkenstock. She slid her foot into me the familiar weight settling into place like a morning ritual. It was around 53 degrees a crisp, sunny morning and I could already sense the day’s energy humming through her steps.
I watched her flit around the room, snatching up her backpack and dashing out the door. Moments later, we were in the car with her mom, headed to school. The ride was short, filled with quiet excitement and the promise of a full day ahead.
Our first stop was advisory with Mr. Self, where we mostly just settled in, planning and mentally preparing for the day. Then came ELA with the ever-energetic Ms. Boswell, as we dove into reading and discussion. Math with Ms. Torcaso followed numbers and equations bouncing off the walls. Then we circled back to history, once again with Ms. Boswell. Lenin leaned forward eagerly, her toes tapping lightly against the floor beneath her desk.
By lunch, both of us needed a break. We sat with her friends—Mila, Phoebe, Kaylin, Maisha, and Keira—laughing and chatting over sandwiches and snacks. Afterward, it was leadership with Ms. Bonoff, where Lenin stood a little taller, confidently leading her group’s discussion. The school day ended with journalism—our third class with Ms. Boswell—where I rested quietly under the desk, worn but proud.
But the day wasn’t over. Not even close. Because tonight was night two of the school musical into the woods—and Lenin was in it (she was the granny)! I could barely contain my excitement. I was ready for the spotlight, ready to tread the boards.
But Lenin had other plans.
She strolled over to Kaylin and Phoebe and asked if they wanted to hang out before the show. Both agreed, and soon we were walking toward Starbucks, my leather sole rhythmically slapping the pavement. As we stepped out of the school, a cool breeze swept across my smooth, brown surface. That’s when I knew: the journey was just beginning.
After a refreshing walk, we reached Starbucks. The girls sat down to chat about school, friends, and weekend plans. I took a brief moment to rest before my big debut. Well… maybe not a big role in the show, but it was big to me.
Suddenly, Lenin stood up, urgently in her stride. We hurried back to school, and I felt a surge of anticipation. I kept telling myself: You’ve got this. You’re going to shine.
Back inside Blaine, we raced upstairs Lenin grabbed her costume and ducked into the girls’ bathroom to change. I overheard one of her friends chatting with her and offering a pair of slippers. Slippers? I thought, puzzled. Why would she give you those?
Before I could make sense of it, chaos erupted. The room was loud—fifteen girls crammed together, voices rising in excitement. Suddenly, I felt her fingers tugging me off. the familiar pressure of her foot lifted, and I was left cold and confused. One by one, those hideous slippers took my place.
No, I whispered silently. This can’t be happening. I’m supposed to be on that stage… not those raggedy slippers!
I felt rage. And heartbreak. A deep ache settled in my sole.
Then the unthinkable happened.
My other half—my twin—was separated from me. I could no longer feel her presence. Darkness swallowed my senses. The sound of laughter and footsteps faded. The bathroom was emptied. I was alone.
Am I… lost?
Silence.
Time passed in stillness. Hours, maybe days. Then, finally, the play ended. I felt movement. I was picked up. Lenin was searching—frantically—for my missing half. I wanted to scream, to guide her, but I couldn’t. There was nothing I could do but hope.
She went home, and I felt the weight of her sadness. We had shared so much… and now I sat untouched for weeks, abandoned in a corner of her room. I’m going crazy.
I need someone to help me. Help us.
If you see a light brown Birkenstock, size 38 in women’s, alone and afraid—please contact Lenin Boswell.
Until then… I’ll be waiting.
