"When someone dies, people usually tend to idolize them. That person could be the most screwed-up person they know, and someone will still look up to them. Even though that person may have been someone else's archenemy, that someone will still find something good to say about them. It's confusing, it's always like this, and I always wonder why. Has society automatically, uncounciously, made everyone who dies seem like perfect angels in life?

"I'm not up here to tell you all the good things about Rachel Berenson, although there are plenty of them. She was brave, but not fearless. She was beautiful. She worked for the greater good, the higher call, not for her own benefit. She stood up for what she believed was right. She was a shopping queen. She was, in Marco's words, "Xena, Warrior Princess."

"I'm more up here to tell you about her imperfect side, the side that made her human, the side that no one really cares about, now.

"Rachel was my sister. Technically, she still is. Sibling rivalry was the name of our game, and looking back, I'm glad. My mom will idolize Rachel. It's hard for her, to accept the faults of her dead daughter. She, too, is a victim of society's angelicizing of the deceased.

"But I remember all the little things about her, the things that made Rachel, Rachel.

"I remember the way she'd leave her textbooks all over the table and wouldn't pick them up until Mom asked for the last time. The way she never put the ice cream back afterhaving some. The way she hogged the TV remote for hours on the weekends. I remember how her hair looked before she brushed it, and how she would spend ages in the bathroom brushing it. I remember how she teased Sara and I. How her clothes would spill out of the laundry basket and take up half the room. How she never made her bed. How she'd take the last piece of pizza. How she always forgot to recycle.

"I won't let those things slip from my memory. It hurts, to remember them, every day. Every day, I wake up and turn my face to greet her but she's not there. Her bed is cold and always will be. The shower we share will forever be silent.

"Every day since that day, I have come home from school looking for her, to share my latest story about that cute boy at the mall or the algebra test I aced, and she's not there.

"Every day I remember Rachel by the little things, the imperfections, the chips on her golden statue of greatness. She died on a mission that wasn't honorable, in a war that wasn't honorable, in a world that isn't honorable. She wasn't honorable, so stop making her out to be. The last three year of her life were lies to us, horror films to everyone. And what does society do to a hero of a horror film- of any film, really? They only remember the good things.

I was asked to speak here because I knew her so well. They expected me to pick up off where the last speaker left off. I didn't. There were more sides to Rachel than her bravery and beauty, and I hope that they are remembered as well.

Thank you."

Jordan nodded, tears streaming down her face, and stepped off the podium, making her way back to where her mother, father, and Sara were sitting. Her cousin Jake was the next to speak at her sister's funeral, but Jordan didn't want to hear a word of it. Family is family, but Jake was the one who was, in part, responsible for Rachel's death. Jake used Rachel, and Jordan wasn't ever going to forgive him for it.


A/N: I know this seems a little mature for Jordan, sorry. I've been thoroughly obsessed with Animorphs for about a year and a month now, yet this is the first fic I've written. I was sitting on the couch playing Solitaire when the idea for this popped into my head, and so I raced to the computer to write it. I hope to write more Animorphs fanfiction soon. Hope you enjoyed!