Because You'll Never Meet Me by Leah Thomas Read Free Book Online Page A

enough to leave deep gouges of tire tracks in the dirt driveway. Mom jogged along behind me, always watchful.
    On an autumn day, when the leaves smelled wet and rich and they were browning in the driveway, I pedaled slowly to put her at ease.
    â€œI hear a woodpecker, Mom.”
    She kicked at the leaves. “Really? I don’t hear a thing.”
    â€œListen!”
    â€œNah, I’d rather smell. Smell that air.” She closed her eyes.
    And when she opened them, I was pedaling away as fast as possible. She shouted my name. I hadn’t gotten all that far ahead when the hunter in orange appeared right in front of me, stepping out from between the pines. His eyes widened. I could see that something electric was glowing limelike in his pockets, so I slammed on the brakes and spun out, and the next thing I knew I was being carried and my head hurt, and I’d scraped my face along the dirt.
    â€œThis ain’t your property,” said the man who held me. Not the hunter, but someone else. I was too spaced out to recognize him. “Go on, before I report you. Police in this town are always lookin’ to fine idiot flatlanders, you know.”
    I could see the treetops and a scraggly chin overhead. I don’t know if the hunter—the flatlander—vamoosed or not.
    â€œWaf gongan?” I said. It could have been right then, or it could have been minutes later. Sparks were in my eyes, rattling my teeth in my ears.
    â€œGot yourself a nice concussion. And here comes your mom, lookin’ likely to give you another one.”
    I heard her call my name, and the next thing I knew, I was in her arms instead, out on the porch and woozy still. And leaning over her shoulder was all the rest of the scraggle-chin: Junkyard Joe.
    Joe, a bearded mechanic who perpetually wore a baseball cap, was our only “neighbor,” although his trailer and junkyard are a mile away. He didn’t mind Mom’s signs. Last thing he wanted was more hunters on his turf. As far as he was concerned, all that deer meat was his. He used to stop by to drop off Tupperware containers full of chewy venison stew.
    â€œRise and shine, sonny jim,” he said, showing off his missing teeth.
    I blinked.
    â€œCan you hear me?” Mom’s voice was so loud, this close to me.
    I nodded, but it felt like half my face had been torn to shreds.
    â€œJust look at you. Now people’ll think we’re abusing you.” She pulled me closer. “If you ever run away like that again, I don’t know what I’ll do. So don’t. Never again.”
    This might have been when Mom started putting padlocks on the door, Mo.
    Eventually Mom tucked me into bed, but it was early afternoon and I wasn’t sleepy. Mom and Joe were on the back porch. My window was open. It was a warm day and the wind was blowing leaves against the screen and Mom was right—they smelled pretty great.
    â€œThanks for your help, Joe.”
    â€œJust lookin’ out for my neighbors. Keep an eye on your boy.”
    â€œI’m trying. If I don’t, he’ll vanish. Gone before I know him.”
    â€œAw, it won’ happen like that. He gettin’ any better?”
    Mom must have shaken her head. I shied away from the window.
    â€œMaybe I’ll have him meet my niece sometime. She’s around his age. Name’s Elizabeth.”
    â€œYes,” said Mom, after a second. “Maybe.”
    Okay, so next I was going to tell you a story about the one time I had a babysitter and it was a big disaster, but I’ve changed my mind. Because the Elizabeth who Joe mentioned was the Liz I’m always going on about, so jumping right ahead to the day I met her is still more or less being linear. And I have to clear her name! I have to tell you what she means to me. I have to tell you why I wait at the end of the driveway every Wednesday.
    3. The Girl
    Playing huntsman in the woods is a lot less fun when your