Amazing Kids! Magazine

The Girl Who Was Afraid of Periods at the End of a Sentence

By Sydney Pardo, age 11, Irvine, CA

Once there was a girl who was afraid of periods just as some people are afraid of spiders, the dark, or smelly cheese.

Except, her fear was worse. (She wouldn’t even read this story as it has 112 periods in it.) She thought that she would swell up if she wrote a period or typed it or even looked at it. Her father had to take out the period key on her keyboard just so she could do her homework, which looked like this:
Dear Mrs. Twiddle, I can’t do my English homework because I can’t write periods no period Also I can’t do my math homework as there are word problems with periods no period

Attached to her homework was a doctor’s note saying:

Dear Mrs. Twiddle, this child is not making a joke (I can’t write a period since she will see it) no period She has a serious, rare and terrorific disease called periodophobia no period Believe me it is bad no period
Dr. Periodophobia
P.S. I never got this disease even though my last name is Periodophobia!!! You can’t prove anything!!! Uhh… never mind no period

“Grammatica! Time for No Period School!” yelled Grammatica’s mother from downstairs.

“You can’t trick me again, Mom!” shouted Grammatica.

“We both know that school is full of terrible…” She took a deep breath. “Periods.”

“Oh Grammatica, you really have to get over this phobia of yours,” sighed Mrs. Something. (Yes, this really was Grammatica’s last name.)

“But jafsdbkj dhaskj fdhk djasfkl dsajk!” Grammatica screamed.

“Don’t play ‘blah blah’ with me, missie!” shouted Mrs. Something.

“My name isn’t ‘missie,’ it’s ‘Grammatica’!” the girl retorted.

She wanted to scream and shout and turn on the smoke detector, pull the petals from a flower, adopt a cat named Crazy Pants, slam her door loudly instead of quietly, and generally make a big fuss to see if anyone loved her, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to go to school—a school with periods.

But then she decided, well, I’m going to do it. She screamed and shouted, turned on the smoke detector, pulled out the petals from her mom’s nicest flowers, stole her neighbor’s cat and named it Crazy Pants, slammed her door, and made a big fuss.

But nothing happened!

No one loved her.

She might as well go to school now.

As she had missed the Full of Periods Bus, she trudged to school. She felt so crazy and out of control she whipped off her shoe and stuck her head in it.

This made it rather hard to see. (She was a size 100 shoe, you see.)

She felt awesome. With a shoe over her eyes, she could not see periods. Maybe this was the solution to life—walking around with a shoe over your head.

She knew her way around, so she ran home with the shoe over her head. That way, she would be even later to school, and her mom would have to drive her to school (the one with periods in it. Maybe Crazy Pants could come.)

But when she got there her mom wasn’t home. She threw another fit.

“WAAAAAAAHHHHH!” she screamed.

No one came.

“Waa…waa…waa…” she mumbled listlessly. It was no fun having a fit if there was no one to watch.

Except Crazy Pants. Now even her cat was scared of her.

This was not good.

Maybe I should return her, now that she doesn’t like me, Grammatica thought.

She couldn’t think of this now though. She ran to school.

She was tardy, and she knew it. She was glad that she was late, but there was no time to celebrate.

Grammatica strode up to her teacher, Mrs. Twiddle, in the middle of the writing lesson. “I have periodophobia,” she said. “I can’t do the lesson.” Then she sat down.

“Fine, Grammatica,” Mrs. Twiddle said calmly. “I guess you’ll just have to listen to the other children’s stories then.”

“Oh,” said Grammatica, surprised Mrs. Twiddle hadn’t argued with her.

“Sydney, why don’t you go first?” Mrs. Twiddle asked pleasantly.

“Okay. My story is about an angry turtle,” Sydney said, showing the class a very funny picture of an outraged turtle.

And then she began to read:

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT!” a voice shouted from above me.

I whirled around to see who was shouting at me…underwater.

It was a turtle…an angry turtle. His mouth was open so wide I could see his turtle tonsils, and his flippery things were raised in outrage. He kind of looked like my teacher Mr. Crazypants, who often resembled this turtle when I hadn’t done my homework. (I was kind of famous for not turning in homework. In fact, I think the last time I turned in homework was never. I only go to school on the first day and the last because there’s no work…only candy and popcorn, which is the kind of studying I like…”

Grammatica watched as the class listened raptly to Sydney’s story.

Wow, Grammatica thought. I wish I could write a story like that.

“Logan, would you like to go next?” Mrs. Twiddle asked.

“Sure, mine is about broccoli ice cream!” Logan cried.

The whole class laughed appreciatively.

Logan began to read his story. It had a crazy mom in it who read cookbooks upside-down. There was a piano that played by itself and a talking butterfly.

Well…that was pretty cool…and interesting, Grammatica thought. Maybe I could write one like that too.


“Uhhh… huh? Wha? Oh, okay.”

Christi slumped to the front of the classroom in her mismatched clothes and her father’s humongous sneakers. (She never took time to choose what to wear, unlike most girls.)

“My story is about a girl who builds a sand castle on the beach, only to see it blow up to life size in her face and get stolen by mermaids,” grumbled Christi. “I’m done.”

“Oh no you aren’t,” Mrs. Twiddle said. “That’s a good story. I want to hear the rest of it.”

“Okay, okay,” Christi muttered.

And then she began. The story blossomed before Grammatica’s eyes, and she could see the mermaids splashing in their giant seashell tubs and taste the chocolate feast. She felt swept away on a flying carpet, and she never wanted to land.

Grammatica whipped out a piece of paper and began to write. She didn’t care what periods she had to face. It turned out to be a story about a girl who wakes up to find herself flying out of her bedroom window on a flying car cloud. She wanted to write 6,542,789 more stories.

And that’s exactly what she did.