Remember Me (On Hold)

Prologue

I get down on the carpet to look under my bed. I stick my arm under and feel around, find a couple of mismatched socks, and something I don't recognize − hard and flat and dusty. I pull it out, thinking maybe it's my yearbook from elementary school, and then I see it my heart stops.

Harry’s journal.

For some reason, I feel afraid. It’s like I’m spilt down the middle and one half of me wants to open it more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything. The other half is so scared. I can’t stop shaking.

Did it get kicked under the bed one night by accident?

Did he hide it?

I stare at it in my hands forever, just feeling its weight, looking at the place where one Wite-Out wing is starting to flake off. Then, once my hands are steadied, I open to the first page. It’s a drawing of his face – luscious chestnut locks, radiant emerald eyes, a dimpled smile. His left eye closed and the other one was a little open, like his about to take a photo. Holding, that seems to be a Polaroid Impulse, a present of mine. He drew a beaming light, to show a snapshot, and across the top he wrote, Me on a Sunday Morning.

I turn the page.

As I read, I can hear Harry’s voice, husky and slow, like he’s telling me secrets.

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