Read Online Know Not Why: A Novel by Hannah Johnson - Free Book Online Page B

kissed a guy this afternoon, so.’ Yeah fucking
right.
    I pretend to pay attention instead. Write my
name a couple of times on the empty page in front of me. Scribble
it out, hard.

    +

    Kissing’s pretty much kissing, right? A mouth’s
a mouth. It doesn’t really matter who it’s attached to. It’s a
universal body part. It’s like an elbow.
    It’s like my elbow bumped into his elbow.
    It’s not like that’s even a deal, right?
    Who even pays attention to that?
    It’s just elbows, man. Chillax.
    It’s like that.
    And if it didn’t completely gross me out … well,
it’s not like that’s a big deal. It’s human instinct at work. When
your eyes are shut, you can’t get freaked out by eyelashes or
wiry-but-inarguable masculinity.
    I’m not saying I liked it. I’m just
saying I’ve had worse.
    I wouldn’t put it past Artie to wear girly
chapstick. Maybe that’s why I didn’t react as fast as I should
have, didn’t ninja-leap right the fuck outta there. I mean, it’s
not like I’m gonna judge a guy for chapstick use in general. But
maybe Artie goes for the strawberry flavor. Hell, maybe he even
splurges on that Burt’s Bees stuff – maybe he’s got girl lips, soft vanilla honey flavor lips, and what’s a guy gonna do
with that? If he’s caught off-guard, if he’s got his eyes shut and
all of a sudden he’s being kissed by this girl mouth …
reflexes are bound to slow down a little, you know?
    Exactly. Exactly.
    So. Problem solved. For me, anyway. If Arthur’s
stressing about this right now, if he’s really beating himself up
over it, well, then, good . He should be. It was his whole
thing. He’s the one who wears girl chapstick. Probably.
    Me? I’m just an innocent bystander.

    +

    My mom asks me to do some grocery shopping, so I
do. Normal weekend, normal stuff. Amber and Mitch come along. It’s
just the three of us, a shopping list, and aisle upon aisle of
purchasable perishables. Good times. Good, boring, normal weekend
times for my good, boring, normal weekend.
    “Jesus, how old are you, five?” Amber demands of
Mitch, who’s gleefully pushing the shopping cart forward and then
leaping up onto it, rolling down the aisles.
    Mitch puts his feet down early, bringing the
cart to a screeching stop. He looks back at us, not the slightest
bit shamed. Mitch doesn’t really do shame. “You wanna try?”
    Amber rolls her eyes. “No.”
    “You could get inside and I could push you,”
Mitch persists.
    Amber stares at him for a really long time. His
enthusiasm doesn’t even flicker.
    “Maybe you’re four,” she concludes with a
sigh.
    “You’re no fun,” Mitch says good-naturedly.
    “Weirdo,” Amber dubs him, then turns her
attention to me. “Did she say what kind of spaghetti sauce?”
    “Nope,” I report.
    “Huh.” We contemplate the shelf in front of us.
So many jars. So much red. Choosing seems hard. Unnaturally hard.
And me, I want to do this right. I want to put everything I’ve got
into this damn shopping trip. I want quality food at a reasonable
price; I want to be a savvy saver. If anything tries to make this
shopping trip less than motherflipping ideal, I will eff it
up . You wanna test me on that one? Really? Really, friend?
    I notice that I’m drumming my fingers against
the shopping list in a spastic beat, and I force myself to stop.
Good, boring, normal weekend.
    “Go Ragu,” Mitch says with a decisive nod.
“Definitely. Ragu’s boss .”
    Amber defiantly grabs a jar of Prego. Mitch is
dismayed.
    “Ambie, you’re missing out. Seriously.”
    “Mitchell Ballard, you do not get to call me
Ambie,” Amber snaps. “That’s not going to become a legitimate
thing, not ever , okay?”
    “Okay,” Mitch agrees easily. He waits like two
seconds, then throws in a mumbled, “Ambie.”
    We sneak a discreet fist bump. Amber scoffs in
disgust, then takes over shopping cart duty.
    “Am berrrr. ”
    “Your privileges are officially revoked, Mitchy
Mitch.” She turns