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

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