You Don't Even Know Me by Sharon Flake Page B

says. And then she’s gone. But men in our family are like airports: as soon as one plane takes off, here comes another.
    â€œTyler. Hi.”
    Beautiful. Celeste Johnson Nichols is beautiful. She would never rub up on a guy, but man, you wish she would. “Hey, Celeste.” I pull out my phone and keep moving. You can’t just stop for a girl like her. She expects it, you know. You can’t give her the upper hand either— that’s what my uncles say.
    â€œWait up.”
    She’s following me. But not the way Monique does, all desperate-like. She takes her time. So I step it up. If she wants to talk to me, she’s gonna have to hustle.
    Celeste and I went together all last year. We both decided to call it quits and just be friends. She did not like the way girls blew up my cell. I did not like the way I acted around her, like I could not live without her. We said we would just be friends. But she plays too many games. Like she has a cell, but she blocks my number. She lives six blocks from my house, but if I come by, her mom always says she’s not home. In the hallway, Celeste might speak to me; she might not. Then one day out the blue, she will do what she just did—ask me to hold up. I hate that. Because when she does, I get to thinking . . . maybe.
    â€œTyler. This is silly. Just stop.”
    I don’t want to, but I do. “Hey, what’s up?” But then I’m staring into her eyes. I can’t help it. Her eyes are almost as pretty as mine. Mix her chocolate brown with my blue eyes, and wow. She said that to me once. She said when we get married and have babies they are going to be the prettiest kids ever. Why would a girl talk like that? What guy do you know wants to get married or talk about babies at my age? Besides, she’ll say something nice then ignore me in class or tell the lab teacher she wants another partner. Why would she do that? Because she can, my father said once. “So set her straight,” he told me. “Let her know who’s in charge.”
    When you are as tall as I am, you like looking down at the world. It makes you feel better, stronger, smarter than everyone else. Only Celeste is my kryptonite. Walking with her makes me feel like a Hummer with a grenade underneath. Any second it’s like she is going to say something, do something that will make me feel two inches tall. I hate that.
    Celeste plays with her gold necklace and stands too close to me. “So what are you doing this summer?”
    I try to play it cool. “I don’t know. My dad wants to go to the shore, Mom wants Vegas.”
    She stares at my feet. “I like your shoes. Are they new?”
    She knows what she’s doing. I’ve got this thing for shoes, not sneakers. Everyone’s got those. Me, I have like sixty-five pair of shoes. People wait for me to come to school just to see what I have on my feet. So if you say something about them, it’s like I get high. “Thanks.” I stare at my blue shoes. “My brother sent them from Cali—Rodeo Drive, I think.”
    Guys passing by say hello to me. But I see their eyes stopping on her best parts. One dude just shakes his head. That’s all you can do when you see a girl like her, because you know the guy that gets her is lucky. And you’re just hoping he screws up, so you can get a chance.
    â€œWhat you doing this weekend?” I did not mean to ask her that.
    â€œI don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”
    See? This is how she plays the game. She says she’s not doing anything, then all of a sudden she’s busy when I ask her out. Well, I’m busy too. “Miya and I are going to do something. I’m not sure what.”
    â€œOh.”
    I like it when I get to her first. She does it to me all the time.
    â€œShe’s . . . cute,” she says, but I can tell that she doesn’t believe that. Celeste waves to a guy who’s driving out of the