Remember Me Read Online Free Page A

catch the string right or something, and it got away. We watched it float way up in the sky. Then you began to cry."

    Far away, toward the front of the house, I heard Daniel start his car. He wasn't a good one to keep waiting. But suddenly, I didn't feel like going to Beth's party. I just wanted to sit and talk with my brother until he fell asleep. I pulled his sheet up over his chest. The breeze through the open window was getting chilly now.

    "Why was I crying?" I asked.

    "Because the balloon got away."

    "What color was it?"

    "I don't know. Brown, I think."

    "Everything's brown to you! What was so special about the balloon?"

    He opened his eyes and smiled at me. For a moment I thought he was going to ask me about Amanda again. I felt grateful when he didn't. "I don't know." He paused. "Will you be out late?"

    "Not too late."

    "Good."

    "What's the matter?"

    He thought a moment. "Nothing. I'm just tired." He squeezed my hand. "Have fun."

    I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, brother."

    He closed his eyes, and it seemed to me he was trying to picture my balloon a little more clearly so maybe he could answer my question about it a little better. But all he said was, "Take care, sister."

    People. When you say goodbye to them for the last time, you'd expect it to be special, never mind that there's never any way to know for sure you're never going to see them again. In that respect, I would have to say I am thankful, at least, that my brother and I got to talk one last time before I left for the party.

    But when I got downstairs, Daniel was blowing his horn, and Mrs. Parish was vacuuming the dining room. I barely had a chance to poke my head in on her as I flew out the door.

    "We're going," I called.

    Mrs. Parish leaned over as if she was in pain and turned off the vacuum. "Did you bring a sweater?" she asked, taking a breath.

    "Nah! I've got my boyfriend to keep me warm!"

    She laughed at my nerve. "Take care, Shari."

    "I will," I promised.

    But I lied. And those little white lies, they catch up with you eventually. Or maybe they just get away from you, like a balloon in the wind.

CHAPTER II
    A. LET AMANDA sit in the front seat with Daniel. His Audi didn't have much of a backseat, and since I'm a lot shorter than Amanda, I figured it was only fair.

    I'd always been kind of sensitive about my height. I won't tell you exactly how tall I was—suffice it to say that I was only an inch taller than Little Jo and that she hadn't gotten her nickname by accident. A lot of people thought Jo and I were sisters.

    Amanda perked up once we got on the road. Or at least she began to do more than nod her head and smile faintly.

    Amanda was awfully shy. Maybe it was the sugar in the cake that got her talking a bit.
    For a girl who didn't like desserts, she had gone to enough trouble to sneak back into the kitchen and grab another piece of the chocolate monster. As Daniel raced toward Jo's house at warp eight, Amanda fought to balance the cake between a napkin and her mouth. She must have known how paranoid Daniel was about getting crumbs on his upholstery.

    "Thanks for inviting me to the party," Amanda said between bitefuls. "I've been cooped up in the house all day painting."

    "I'm glad you're coming," I replied. In reality, I had not invited Amanda. She had invited herself through her mother.

    "You're an artist?" Daniel asked. "What were you painting?"

    Amanda hesitated. "Our bathroom."

    "Really?" Daniel said. Amanda could have told him she'd been cleaning toilets; he was amazed. He had obviously never painted a wall in his life. His parents were almost as well-off as my own, as were the parents of most of the kids we went to school with. Amanda was our token pauper. I sometimes kidded her about it.

    "What color?" I asked.

    "White," Amanda said.

    "White's so boring," I said. "Why white?"

    "It's all the same to me," Amanda said.

    "You must be color-blind," I said. "You're as bad as Jimmy.