I just want to tell you about Hannah. That’s all. I don’t want you to think this is one of those books where you meet the main character and then she dies. Right there. And then you go crying about some girl who was never there and how you really liked her and then she died. I hate those kinds of books. But the difference is that she was here. She was. So I just want you to know right off the bat that my sister isn’t here anymore.    

Also, my sister’s death wasn’t one of those things where it’s a car accident and no one’s to blame. In her case, there is someone to blame. 

I used to have an older sister. I’m 14 right now, but one year and three months ago she was 16. Yeah, I’ve been keeping track. She would have been 17 by now.  My sister was one of those people that could drive you insane. She was all private and had her own phone line and boyfriends and all that. I guess you would have called her popular. Looking at her, everyone thought she was so pretty and the cliché trendy girl. But I will always remember her as the girl who slammed her door in my face and fought with me all the time. I’m not saying we weren’t friends, but sometimes it was so unbearable.

I remember one time when I stole her favorite shirt to wear to the dance.  When I got home that night all sweaty from dancing and red-faced she stomped up to my room and yelled at me.

“Megan! What were you doing in my room? Why would you take my clothes?” she shrieked at me.

“Well…I was looking around for something to wear and I….” She didn’t let me finish.

“I don’t care! You know that I don’t want you digging your paws in my clothes. I really don’t care what you wear to some lame dance, Megan. I just know that I don’t want you going through my room and stealing my clothes. And anyway, you wanted to impress that Alec kid, right? Well, I’m sure you didn’t because if you haven’t already noticed, I am much skinnier and taller than you.”

“And…?”

“Well, sorry to break it to you kid, but you look fat in MY shirt. It sort of sags on you…you know?” she told me with a sneer on her perfect face.

After that I said something to her that I don’t want to repeat. It was a horrible thing to say to someone in your family, but I said it anyway. Even though Hannah was cool and popular she hated swearing. She thought that when girls swore it sunk them to a lower level and just made them seem cheap. That was one of the things that I loved about her. But I told her that anyway. All she said was, “Wow, Megan, you’re really cool.” and she stalked out of the room.

I don’t know why I remember that so much. It’s one of those things that is totally insignificant, but you can remember as if it’s yesterday. It was two years ago, when I was twelve. I can even remember when I was three and Hannah stole her Barbie doll back from me when I started gnawing on it! It is my first memory. Maybe because of the sadness I felt when the doll was taken away, maybe not.

When she first died I would be able to tell you every detail about her. What perfume she wore, and how there was always a break in her voice when she was trying not to cry. Her voice always broke after she said ‘and’.  I remembered her voice so perfectly that it seemed etched in my mind. Her voice didn’t go up at the end of a word, like most girls do, but was beautiful and never sounded whinny or conceited. If I was writing this two years ago, I would have said that she was a whinny, big brat, but now I realize that I just lost something I’m going to miss forever. But now, I think I’m beginning to forget her voice. It’s fading. I still feel horrible when I think of her, but I’m forgetting the exact color of her blonde hair. I forget the way she walks. I forget her.

I’ve always hated writing, and all my teachers were horrible. I never wrote, and I really never thought I was any good at it. But today in social studies I heard something that made me think really hard about what I’m doing. We were learning about folk tales, and how they were passed through oral storytelling around campfires and all that.

My teacher, Mrs. Juergens, said that stories get mixed up when they are passed that way and no one knows the original story. Then, we played this epic game of Telephone where we had to short passage and pass it on around the room.

The first passage was this:

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there was a snake and a frog. They both hated each other and had many fights. One day a fox went into the snake’s domain and stole a precious family heirloom.  Of course, because of the feud, Snake automatically suspected Frog. They fought viciously, and many horrible words were passed between them. But all this time Fox was secretly hiding out with the item, watching the two go at each other.

At the end it ended up like this:

Once day in a land super fart away, there were two animals. One was a frog and one was a snail. The fox stole something from the snail and he was really mad and attacked the frog. They were son mad that the fox was hiding.

Yeah, I know, pretty pathetic. So it sort of dawned on me that the story of my sister Hannah might never be discovered. Or maybe our ancestors will get it all wrong. And that’s why they started writing things down. To remember. So I’m going to do write it down, even though I hate it so much. I just don’t want her to go unnoticed, you know?

So I’m writing this so no one forgets Hannah Blake. I’m writing this so people know that she was here. I’m writing this so I can remember her. I’m writing this for the world to see. I’m writing for Hannah.