Popular, pretty, some level of intelligence. Rebecca Woods was sixteen when she died. She wishes she died saving a baby or box of puppies but life isn't fair. Rebecca witnessed something she shouldn't have, she pulled the string that makes the rest unravel. Now all she has to do is wait.
This is the utterly delightful and captivating story of a teenager's life. It just happens to be told by a dead girl.
I'd like to say my name is something a little more unusual than 'Rebecca', I have counseled my father numerous times to let me change it to Vineta Consuela but he seems unwavering on the matter. I'd also like to tell you that I achieved greatness in my life. I'd love to say I found a new planet or won an olympic medal. But I am merely a three year old phantasm, or 'ghost' to the simple few. Sadly though I lived like any other gossip-obbsessed nymphomaniac sixteen year old. I remember my deathday like I remember my first kiss. A deathday is like a birthday except your dead. So also not at all like a birthday. I had a shindig for my second deathday but the only other phantasms I know are eighty. You can imagine the music they wanted to play.
Anyway, back to the story. I remember it being really bright when I woke up on my deathday. There were no clouds or anything, just clear blue undiluted sky. I woke up late and even know, three years later, I can hear my dad's voice calling up the stairs to get my ass in gear. Somehow I managed to be reasonably presentable in fifteen minutes and flew out the door with a piece of dry toast hanging from my lips. My dad dropped me in since I missed the bus and first bell had just gone when we pulled up. I hopped out without so much as a goodbye wave. I probably regret this the most of anything in my life and that includes not trying out for track. The day passed much the same as any other. I sat with my head in my hands staring at the clock. Unfortuneatly I was feeling queasy and had to get a pass to the bathrooms. I remember my walk down the corridor so vividly. Suddenly the grey drab walls had a lilac tint and the green linoleum floor was shinier. Every face in every poster seemed to smile at me. I always remember the next bit as if it happened in slow motion. I heard scuffling in the bathroom as I stepped inside. My best friend Emma stood by the sinks breathing heavily. Her shirt was ripped and her skirt was askew. She looked up with shock as I opened my mouth. A man walked out of the stalls fixing his belt buckle. You tell me what went on there. The thing is, it wasn't any man. It was Mr. Anderson. The drama and math teacher. My mouth hung open as I backed out of the room. Neither of them moved an inch, except he smiled at me as he fixed his glasses. I ran to the nearest door and was overcome by the brightness. The colours hurt my head, they still do to remember them. There wasn't a cloud in sight yet mini-clouds blocked my vision. Silent tears left stains on my unadorned cheeks. I once again ran blindly forward, desperate to get what I just saw out of my mind. Lots of noise, even more pain and there was the sky. It was the only thing I could see. The only thing that mattered. It was vast, never ending and seemed so impossibly far away. The last thing I thought about before I died was a story my dad would read to my as a child. Chicken Little always thought the sky was falling. Maybe it was, maybe this is what he meant because in that final breath, I felt like it had fallen on me.