Welcome to 'Fine Lines', the Friday feature in which we give a sentimental, sometimes-critical, far more wizened look at the children's and YA books we loved in our youth. This week, writer / reviewer / blogger Lizzie Skurnick reads 'Remember Me', the 1989 story of a murdered girl who will not take ghost for an answer.Most people would probably call me a ghost. I am, after all, dead.
I felt a sensation. It was not one of being pushed; it was, rather, a feeling of rising up. Then of spinning....it was only in this last instant that I realized I had gone over the edge of th balcony. That I was falling headfirst into the ground. I didn't feel the blow of the impact. But I do remember rolling over and looking up. Now there were millions of stars in the sky. Orange ones and green ones and blue ones. There were also red ones. Big fat red ones, whose number grew as I watched, blotting out all the others in the heavens until soon they were all that remined, part of a colossal wave of smothering hot wax. I blacked out. I died.
Peter looked uncomfortable. "Shari, you're dead. You had a nice go of it on earth, but now it's time to move on." ..."But what about my family? They think I'm dead." "You are dead," he said. "Yes, I know. But they don't know what death means." "That's not unusual." "But it is unusual to have your family think you killed yourself when you didn't." I paused. "They must all think I was crazy." "They don't," he said. "They do. Did you see how many kids from school came to my funeral?" I sighed. "I bet you had ten times as many." "Neither of us is running for student office." "If I go into the light, can I still come—"
The baby was crying. The huge person was pulling on the poor thing's ankle band, too. I began to cry in sympathy. And then I cried in pain as the huge person began to put the other baby's ankle tape around my leg. It didn't quite fit; I must have had fatter ankles..When I awoke, another huge white person was carrying me through the air to see my mother....Then something very scary happened. The huge person gave me to another huge person not dressed in white and said she was my mother. But this huge person did not smell like my mother.
"Mr. Foulton is my father. Jo is my half-sister." I had to put a hand to my head. "Amanda is Jimmy's sister." "That's insane," Peter said. "No, it's logical," I said. "Mr. Foulton had an affair with Mrs. Parish, and she got pregnant with me. But Mrs. Foulton found out about it. Maybe they told her, I don't know. Mrs. Foulton was working as a nurse at the hospital where I was born. Imagine how she must have felt when she looked at her sister's child and knew it was her husband's child."
"You told you you have to stay?" "Other guests in my predicament." "Oh, yeah, go to the man on death row for advice about your trial."
•The Cat Ate My Gymsuit: A Pocket Full Of Orange Pits