You Don't Even Know Me by Sharon Flake Read Free Book Online Page B

I down the glass of strawberry milk Auntie left sitting out for me. Then I pick up a knife. It caught my eye sitting in the silverware drawer with cake icing still stuck to it. I’m thinking I might need it.
    She yells from outside for me to get myself moving.
    It wasn’t there when I first came downstairs. Or maybe it was and I didn’t notice. But on my way to the powder room, I see the chain with the medallion she gave me, sitting on the dining room table. It’s real gold. She paid seven hundred and sixty bucks for it, on sale. Great Men Look Like You , it says on the back.
    It’s in my right hand. The knife’s in my left hand when Auntie walks up behind me. I hold on to my medallion, feeling it dig into my palm. The chain broke three months ago. I asked her to get it fixed a million times. It’s like her, to have it all perfect now. She backs up when she sees the knife.
    I wait for her to go nuts. She’s waiting for me to make a move.
    My fingers squeeze the knife hard.
    She says I already broke her heart so I might as well stab her in it too.
    Auntie’s old, but her back’s straight. She’s scared, I bet, but she’d never show it. So we stand there. Me, Zeus. Her, Hestia—goddess of goddesses. Her finger shakes when she reaches for my lips and wipes crumbs off. Then she pats my cheek and says, “It shoulda worked out.”
    She and me was good for each other, most times anyway. Maybe if I ask to stay. Tell her it will be different this time, she might change her mind.
    I throw the knife into the corkboard behind the kitchen sink. It sticks. Her fingers find more crumbs. “Auntie . . . can I . . . sta—”
    â€œNo more chances,” she tells me. Then she asks why I can’t do right. Why don’t I want to be good?
    She ruins everything with that big mouth of hers.
    The next thing I know, I’ve got suitcases in my hands and I’m walking out the door.
    I climb into the backseat. Auntie gets behind the wheel. She looks nervous, talks a little too loud about the weather. “Wait a minute,” she says, getting out the car and going back inside. When she comes back, there’s a baseball bat in her hand. She puts the car in reverse and pulls into the street. The sign says stop; she keeps rolling. It might as well say do whatever you want. She flies through two more stop signs anyhow.
    We pass the lawns that I mowed and the houses where people gave me iced tea or lemonade to fight the heat. Before we leave the complex, I look at the medallion again. “Great Men Look Like You.” I read it out loud and sit back. She smiles, and relaxes a little.
    But not for long.
    Her eyes bug when she sees my colors. My eyes dare her to say something, anything, ’cause this is just the way things are. Doing right comes out wrong no matter where I go. And grown-ups get just as tired as I do of trying to make things work. But when I get to wherever I’m going, I don’t have to be all by myself. They’ll be there. Not my father. Not her. Them—my crew.
    I finish tying up my head, checking out my colors in her mirror, laughing at the look on her face. Then I sit back, feeling taller, stronger than I have all morning.
    The chain breaks when I try to put it around my neck. The medallion hits my knee, then jumps under her seat, like it wants to get away from me too. “Fake,” I say, sending the chain after it; leaning back and wondering where to next.

In case somebody shoots me,
    In case someone does me in,
    Here’s what you should know about me.
    I am a loyal, dependable friend.
    I eat ice cream with a fork.
    I love bacon, but I’m allergic to pork.
    Cookies with sprinkles are my favorite treat.
    I know it’s gross, but I like to smell my own feet.
    In sixth grade I made all A’s,
    By eighth grade I was more into babes.
    There’s a secret only my mother knows.
    Every Mother’s Day I polish her