Know Not Why: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

Amber? “He’s been going through a
terrible time lately.”
    “Really? What’s up?”
    “Relationship on the rocks. I think he’s been
trying to salvage things, but they are so totally headed for
Splitsville.”
    “That’s a bummer,” I say, but what I’m really
thinking is, Lucky her.
    “Yup,” Kristy agrees. “Hey!” She gives my arm a
light, enthusiastic slap. “Go pick your apron out, and then I’ll
show you how to get the register ready! Isn’t touching money gross?
Like, when you stop and think about it? But whatever, I’m used to
it now, this job has me so totally jaded. Go hurry and pick one and
come back!”
    Ah, yes. My nemesis awaits.

    +

    The whole apron thing isn’t as bad as I’d
anticipated. Well, no, the apron itself is as bad as bad can be.
It’s like every patchwork square defies my manliness in its own
special, wicked, cutesy way. But Kristy ties it for me when I ask
her to (suave or what?), and the brush of her fingers against my
back reminds me that my cause is a noble one.
    We open at nine, but people aren’t lining up to
come in. This just leaves Kristy and little ol’ me, since Arthur
seems to have assigned himself to a lifetime of upstairsiness. Good
riddance, bro. She gives me the basic 411 about all things Artie
Kraft’s Arts ‘N Crafts. I find I’m starting to build up a
tolerance, too, where every time the name gets said, I don’t
immediately want to stab myself in the brain. Definitely a good
sign. This, this is gonna work.
    But then at around ten Kristy pops out to go to
the bathroom, and while she’s gone, the bells jingle. I feel this
sudden, stupid rush of panic – because, to be perfectly honest, I
still know exactly nothing about arts, crafts, or any combination
thereof. I can barely figure out the difference between yarn and
thread.
    I feel reassured when I see the person who steps
inside, though: it’s a pleasant-looking woman who’s maybe in her
early thirties. She’s holding the hand of an itty bitty little
girl. I suck at kids in general, but I’d guess she was maybe four
or five. Or three. Or seven.
    I put on a smile. “Good morning. Can I help
you?”
    As soon as I ask it, I realize that was pretty
dumb, because it’s not like I can help with anything. Oh
well. Too late to take it back now. Keep on smilin’.
    “Yes, as a matter of fact, you can,” the woman
replies. She smiles back at me, and I discover that she doesn’t
have a very good smile. It looks stilted, and … weird. She strides
forward to the counter, the little girl trotting dutifully
alongside her, and I’m suddenly scared. She reaches into her purse
with her free hand and pulls something out, her motions jerky. Oh, shit, what if it’s a gun? I think. I don’t know what to
do with gun-wielding lunatics , what am I supposed to—
    “I have a problem,” she says, slamming the item
down onto the counter, “with this fucking glitter glue.”
    And sure enough, it’s glitter glue. Purple
glitter glue, to be precise.
    “You do?” is all I can think of to say.
    “ Yes , I do ,” Crazy Lady snarls.
She’s looking at me like I just uttered something horribly profane
in front of her child. Oh, wait, she did that. “I need to
make a poster for my son’s bake sale, and I have to bring it into
his class today . I tried to use this to accentuate
the words . It’s terrible . It’s runny and clumpy and
it completely ruined the whole fucking poster. Now
‘yummy’ looks like ‘gummg’. NO ONE IS GOING TO WANT TO BUY GUMMG
TREATS, AND I WANT A REFUND FOR THIS SHITTY BULLSHIT GLITTER
GLUE.”
    Okay, crap. I so do not know what to do with
this lunacy.
    “If I saw something advertising gummg treats,” I
say squeakily, “I would definitely be intrigued. I would check out
that bake sale. And I’m not a big bake-sale-goer by nature, so
…”
    “Don’t be cute, shopboy ,” the woman
spits.
    “I’m not being cute,” I protest desperately.
“I’m just telling you … how I