You Don't Even Know Me

by Sharon Flake

  I think about Willie. I think about all my friends and what they will say when we get home and they see strangers helping Pops into the house. But Pops is thinking about my sneakers. “They still got the red ones, right?”

  “Right.” I squeeze into the back of the car—a silver Mercedes 360 with a sunroof. I lean close to his head, listening to him breathe, once he gets in. “They’re the best sneakers in the store,” I tell him.

  “For the best boy in the world,” he says.

  Willie would say I’m a wuss, a punk, or something worse, but I move even closer and kiss my dad on the side of his neck. I am not embarrassed. This is my father. I’m his son. And we’re doing alright, thank you very much.

  Pimples

  Mom telling me I stink

  Girls saying I ain’t—

  Tall enough

  Fly enough

  That I can’t jump and shoot the ball high enough

  That’s me

  Stuck in puberty

  Shaving hairs I ain’t even got

  Waving at girls that say I better not tell nobody

  that they know me

  Living in the shower

  Hiding magazines

  Staying up half the night looking at websites not meant for me

  Texting girls who never text me back

  Knowing I would never treat them like that

  Glasses on my nose

  Braces on my teeth

  Everyone complaining how I eat and eat and eat

  But who cares how unfair life can be?

  Stuck in puberty

  All alone

  Just me

  and me.

  My father leaves the office every day at ten p.m.

  My mother complains,

  But tomorrow he’ll do the same thing again.

  Walk in late,

  Kiss her on the face,

  Ask about my day,

  Pray over microwave chicken, asparagus sticks,

  and mashed potatoes from a bag.

  Dag.

  You’d think he could do better than that.

  Nov. 15

  SOME GUYS KEEP DIARIES. My brother TJ says only punks do. Well, I don’t have to keep hiding my diaries from people now. I’m done with ’em; for good. Done with everything, even waking up every day pretending like living is fun.

  Nov. 18

  I was gonna give Derrick my iPod, but he says it’s too old. He’s seven; everything is older than he is. Little brothers are a pain.

  Nov. 20

  I think I’m gonna to do it; on Christmas Day. Reynolds says absolutely not. I’ll ruin everyone’s Christmas forever. I know. But that’s my favorite holiday. I won’t be afraid if I do it then. The turkey will be in the oven, stuffed. The ham will be done and so will the pies. I usually hate it when Aunt Betty cooks chitlins. They stink. But I won’t mind this year. I want it to be that way, all the smells that I’m used to, hanging around the house when it happens.

  Nov. 21

  Mom wants me to take an SAT prep course. Why?

  Nov. 22

  I don’t know what I’m gonna do with Justin’s things. They’re still in his closet. Reynolds won’t take clothes—not mine, not Justin’s for sure. He says it’s morbid. But he took some CDs, the tennis racket I got last summer, and some games. Here’s what I’m wondering. If I had gone first, would Justin be trying to follow me? I think he would. A half a twin is never a whole person.

  Nov. 23

  Here’s what I figured. It’s gotta be quick. It can’t involve blood. And pills are out of the question.

  Nov. 24

  Reynolds wants to know why I don’t blog. Diaries are for you. Blogs are for everyone else. Justin would understand. He was sorta different, too, carrying that dictionary on him all the time. Everything had to be perfect, even his spelling. Now here I am trying to be like him and hating it. That spelling club I joined makes things even worse. Now for sure people at school will say I am weird.

  Nov. 25

  Thanksgiving.

  I was having fun, and then Mr. E showed up. It wasn’t fair, him being there, ruining everything. Before we ate we had to say what we remembered and loved about Justin. I skipped my turn. Dad asked if I was okay. I told him I was perfect. That was Justin’s favorite word. His biggest lie, too. If he was perfect he’d still be here, alive, telling everybody at the table what happened to him.

  Nov. 27

  I have to slow down on my giving. Mom was in my room, and she wanted to know where my things were. I said the first thing that came to my mind: that Reynolds’s dad got laid off. She kissed me for being a good friend. Then she went to Justin’s closet. It’s still full. Do you think Reynolds wants some of these, too? she asked me.

  They haven’t gotten rid of any of his things. They try, but it’s for me to do, I tell them. I’m the only one who knows who should get what. But every time I start to do it, I have to stop. His smells are still in his clothes, so how can I throw ’em away? Mom and Dad don’t fight me on it, because they don’t want to go through his things anyhow. Besides, they have me—an exact copy—not the real thing, but just as good—to keep them from being so sad.

  Nov. 29

  Somebody is telling my business. A girl at school walked up to me, asking if it was true that I was going to kill myself. I told her that just because Justin and I are twins doesn’t mean we do everything alike. She said she was glad because it would be awful if I did it too. Awful is being all by yourself, without your shadow. Awful is being in the spelling club when you know you aren’t a good speller, and being sad all the time too.

  Sometimes I hate him for what he did.

  Nov. 30

  Saw Mr. E. Crossed the street as fast as I could. He had a lot of nerve trying to speak to me.

  Dec. 1

  I bought a rope today.

  Dec. 2

  TJ came into our room. He just stood there watching TV with me for a while. He was trying to be nice, I think. He told me I could go shoot pool with him and his friends. But I’ve made up my mind. I will clear out Justin’s closet today.

  Dec. 2, 1:30 a.m.

  All of his pockets are empty. No change. No candy, lint—nothing. That’s how Justin is. Was. Perfect. Liar. Everything always looked just right. But it wasn’t. He could have told me, though. No secrets, we always said. Then he swallows Mom’s pills; downs a pint on top of that. I could kill him, if he wasn’t dead. Lots of people had it worse than him. Like me. It’s worse for me. Now I don’t have anybody to talk to about it.

  Dec. 2, 2:38 a.m.

  Found something today. The Astronomers Club Handbook. TJ saw me reading it on the john. Dad made us join that dumb club. Mr. E said it would be good for us. He lied.

  Dec. 3

  Reynolds says if he were me, he’d poison himself. Ropes hurt. He was lying across Justin’s bed when he said it. He’s the only one besides family that I’d let do that. We three hung out together. “The weird club,” TJ called us. We had telescopes and stars, our laptops and Madden games. And when it got too tough at school, we had each other.

  I feel bad for Reynolds. He doesn’t know why I’m doing this. When I’m gone, he’ll be mad, just like I was when I found out why Justin killed himself. Reynolds isn’t in the astronomy club. Never has been. His father didn’t like the looks of Mr. E. I keep trying to tell Reynolds. I try to tell my parents too about what Mr. E. did. But I can’t. It’s my fault. I had a feeling that something wasn’t right. Mr. E liked his curls too much.

  Dec. 4, 3 p.m.

  TJ caught me burning my old diaries. He gave me this funny look. Why?

  I ran out of things to say.

  He told Dad that something was up with me. Dad spent two hours in my room, talking, mostly about Justin. He still can’t figure out why Justin did it.

  I see why Justin didn’t tell on Mr. E. It’s hard to say out loud that you were . . . that somebody made you . . . I can’t even write the words. Hate to think about it. What’s it matter now
, anyhow? He killed us both.

  Dec. 4, 6 p.m.

  I wish they would quit coming in here, sitting in my room, watching me. What’s bugging you? If you do something crazy, it will kill us, they say. I am not crazy. I am perfect. That did it for them. They are calling the doctor tomorrow and making an appointment for me. But I already have an appointment.

  Dec. 4, 10 p.m.

  They’re baaaack. They came up with a date for clearing out the rest of Justin’s things. January 1. A new year. A new start. Dad came up with that one. Mom opened Justin’s closet and said it looked like he was spending the night at a friend’s and would be coming home any minute. She picked up his spelling bee medals. She thanked me for keeping his side of the room so neat and dusted. I have to. In his letter he asked me to keep everything in place. I’m not like him. My side of the room used to always stay messy. It’s hard, keeping it this way— perfect. I try to do what he wanted, except for one thing. I never did give Jennifer her letter. Mom and Dad got theirs. I got mine, so did Reynolds. But not her. Don’t Read This, James he wrote on the outside of her envelope. He should have known better. Jennifer was not his best friend. Jennifer was not his twin. She wasn’t even a girl that would date someone like him, so why did he tell her what Mr. E did to him? If he had told me earlier, he’d be alive. And Mr. E. . . . we woulda figured out what to do with him. Sometimes I wonder if the other kids in the club know how much he likes the planetarium.

  Dec. 4, 11:59 p.m.

  The note. I woke up thinking about it. Can’t forget what it said. I think he wrote it to her ’cause I didn’t listen when he tried to tell me all those times. You never listen. He always said that to me. I don’t want to hear about Mr. E, Justin, I said the night before he committed suicide. Complaining about Mr. E and his boring astronomy club was our thing. Skipping astronomy club meetings twice a month was my thing. Justin, you always covered for me. Made up a good reason why I wasn’t there. Mr. E never told or complained. Now I know why.

  Dec. 6

  No school today. Too much snow. I rode my sled. I used the snowblower on our neighbors’ pavement, then went with Reynolds to shovel sidewalks when I ran out of gas. We made ninety bucks each. I bought Derrick a new video game. It was a good day.

  Dec. 7

  More snow. I wish it would quit. Too much snow means I spend more time in my room. I dusted and waxed. Then I got mad at Justin because that is him, not me. The other day I was in the kitchen putting food away for Mom. I put the soup away just like he did—alphabetical order, six rows behind the baked beans, Capri Sun, and the crackers. TJ is right. Justin was weird. I am weird. Now I’m weird all by myself.

  Dec. 7, 6:30 p.m.

  He texted me. I deleted it. Then I went to the bathroom and puked.

  Dec. 8

  My cooking teacher asked me to stay after class today. She says there is this crazy rumor about me planning to do something stupid. People don’t like to say suicide. Reynolds says When you do it, or When you bite the bullet. I took out my cell and showed Mrs. Miller a picture of my Wii game, the one I already gave away. I just got this. And nobody’s gonna end up with it but me. She is the best. She took some cold spaghetti out of the fridge, and she and I ate it. I hate lying to her. She is the person I go to a lot here. She’s not like other grown-ups— your secrets are safe with her.

  Dec. 9

  There’s a website with a clock on it, for people like me. You set the day. You set the month. You kill yourself right on time. That’s ghoulish. It should be against the law, too. When I write my note and tell people why I did what I did, I’ll bring up that clock. When you are planning to kill yourself, you have a clock ticking in your head already. It doesn’t bother you, that clock. It excites you; calms you sort of, knowing that it will all be over soon. But a clock on the Web counting dead bodies around the world—that’s just plain wrong.

  Dec. 10

  Sheryl Mitchell called me. She never called me in her whole entire life. No girl has. She wanted to know if it was true. I made her come right out and ask, not hint around like she was doing. She never knew anyone who had done it before, so she asked how I was going to do it. I lied and said I hadn’t made up my mind. When I know, would I tell her? she asked. Not that I think you should do it. But if you are going to do it, I want to put it on my blog. I like to be first on things. I had to think about that one. Then I said sure. I would call her right before I did it. Then she could e-mail everyone else. That’s a good plan, I think. It saves me the trouble of setting my computer to send e-mail afterward.

  Dec. 11

  If you want girls to blow up your cell, just tell one of them that you’re going to kill yourself. That’s what I was thinking today when Sarinda called me. I’ve never given her my number. I didn’t ask how she got it. She just said she had heard. And she was calling to cheer me up. She was the second girl to call in two days. I’m thinking that more girls will text or call. I was never popular. I’m starting to be, I guess.

  Dec. 11, noon

  I’m supposed to see a therapist next week. Mr. E needs a therapist, not me.

  Dec. 11, 2:30 pm.

  I won’t do what Justin did. I will leave my diary for my folks. They will read it and find out about Mr. E. And do what? Something horrible . . . I want something bad to happen to him.

  Dec. 11, 4 p.m.

  I think I want to have a party. Reynolds says I need to say good-bye to people before I go. He’s right. Justin didn’t do that. He just mopped the kitchen, cleaned our room, and left.

  Bad news, say my parents. Good news to me. Therapist is on hold. Insurance problems.

  Dec. 12

  No mistakes. Everything must be one hundred percent perfect.

  Dec. 12, 11:50 a.m.

  I was in the bathtub when I remembered. The first time Justin met Mr. E he was afraid of him. Dad left us with him at the club. I caught him rubbing Justin’s curls. Three years in that club. Three years of him hurting Justin, or was it two years, or six months? My brain won’t shut up. I still have a million questions for you, bro. So I have to go and be with you; to say in person that I’m sorry; to ask you when it started and was it my fault . . . I hated astronomy club. Stars aren’t as much fun as racing cars or playing video games. That’s what I thought.

  Dec. 13

  I bought another rope today. Three, in fact. Reynolds says nylon is for Double Dutch. I trashed that one. Two is plenty.

  Dec. 14

  TJ came in my room and saw me shaking like a leaf, so he took me downtown to get my mind off things. Surprise. He bought me a new diary. He must really be scared for me.

  Dec. 15

  The girl with the blog stopped me in the hall today. She wanted to know if I had any particular date in mind.

  Of course. But I didn’t tell her. There is something creepy about her. Next she’ll probably ask me to take a picture of myself doing it.

  Dec. 16

  You can find anything on the Internet, even how to make the perfect knot. For a while today I was on suicide prevention sites—there’s a lot of those. If I had read them before, would I still be planning this? Would Justin be alive if Mr. E had picked me instead? There was good information on the sites. But the clock is ticking, and Justin is waiting.

  Another text.

  Hi.

  Mr. E.

  I’m wondering if I should tell his wife. I see them together at the mall sometimes. A good family man, Dad calls him. I wonder who will be next?

  Dec. 17

  Christmas will be the day. Any day I do it will be a bad day for my folks, so I might as well pick a day that is good for me. I’ll do it after the presents. After Aunt Betty comes by and smells up the place. After they drink their cocktails, maybe around two o’clock. No, I’ll do it later. After their food settles.

  Dec. 19

  Yesterday I was so happy I played with Derrick all day long. It’ll be a relief, being a twin again.

  Dec. 20

  The principal called. Mrs. Mi
ller went to him about me. She told him I wasn’t my old self; that I looked sad and was much too quiet lately. That got the other teachers talking. They notice I don’t do my homework. They are hearing things from other kids. Have my grades dropped? I asked my parents. Have I missed school or quit any clubs? No! I’m fine! So get out of my room!

  Dad said Mr. E wants to know when I’m coming back to astronomy club. I got sick. Mom cleaned up the mess. I’m getting the flu, I said, covering my nose from the stink. Then I remembered. Justin threw up the last time he went to astronomy club. I’m getting the flu, that’s what he said. It’s nothing. The next day he was gone.

  Dec. 21

  Reynolds has been avoiding me. He says he’s preparing himself. But he did IM me a picture of a license plate. It said: Weird 1. I asked him to make a Weird 2 and 3. He was already working on it.

  Dec. 21, 4 p.m.

  That girl who wants to blog about me texted. I didn’t answer. I have decided to keep my plans to myself. Just Justin and my diary will know what I’m up to. And Reynolds, of course.

  Dec. 22

  I gave TJ Justin’s medals and his jewelry. TJ thought I would always keep them. He asked if I wanted to go jogging. I don’t jog. He never asks, either. What’s up with you? he said. Then he went running. When he came back he showered and then came in my room. I tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He stayed in Justin’s bed all night.

  Dec. 23, 11 a.m.

  I should tell TJ. But he would say what I say to myself sometimes. Why did you keep quiet for so long? How come you didn’t notice? He was your responsibility, the youngest twin. No way would he let that happen to you.

  Dec. 23

  The last day of school. Yes!

  Dec. 24

  Dry run. Rope. Chair. Water to drink. (Don’t know why.)

  I put everything away afterward. Even cleaned the toilet after I got sick. Perfect.

  Dec. 25

  Reynolds says for me not to do it. I asked if he’d ever tell. My secrets are always safe with him, he says. But he thinks maybe this is a bad idea.