When You Know What I Know Read online

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Sonja K. Solter

  Cover art copyright © 2020 by Elliana Esquivel. Cover design by Marcie Lawrence. Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Hachette Book Group

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  First Edition: March 2020

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Solter, Sonja K., author.

  Title: When you know what I know / by Sonja Solter.

  Description: First edition. | New York ; Boston : Little, Brown and Company, 2020. | Summary: Over the course of a year, ten-year-old Tori endures a difficult and emotional journey after revealing that she has been sexually abused by her uncle.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019013415| ISBN 9780316535441 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316535410 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316535434 (library edition ebook)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Novels in verse. | Sexual abuse—Fiction. | Single-parent families—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.5.S64 Whe 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019013415

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-53544-1 (hardcover), 978-0-316-53541-0 (ebook)

  E3-20200212-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  TELLING

  PART ONE

  THAT FACE

  BELIEVE ME

  TRAPPED

  NOT ONE WORD

  THE TEST

  GHOST GIRL

  MONSTERS

  CHOIR

  BREAK

  THE COLD

  MISSING

  MISSING, ROUND TWO

  MY VOICE

  LIAR

  TELLING, AGAIN

  PART TWO

  ALIEN

  NOO!!!

  THE NEXT MORNING

  SCHOOL

  LITTLE FISH

  THE FIRST TIME

  THE PHONE CALL

  GRANDMA

  LAILA

  BUT THEN I REMEMBER ALL THE THINGS I DIDN’T TELL HER…

  RHEA AND MASON (AND ME)

  I FIGURE IT OUT

  LET ME IN

  TAYLOR

  SISTER SURPRISE

  EMPTY

  SORRY

  SOCKS

  NOT HERE

  GROWN-UPS ARE CRAZY

  MR. JENKINS’S LIE

  MEATLOAF CHAT

  LOST

  GETTING BETTER

  A QUIET CHRISTMAS

  MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE TOLD

  PART THREE

  IS THAT ME?

  DAD’S REALLY HERE

  THE STRANGER

  BEV’S DINER

  SHE’S OKAY

  LUNCH MATH

  SCOOTING

  BEST FRIEND BLOWUP

  JEALOUS

  A CLASSROOM LIST

  I TOLD HER!

  AIR

  THE RAT

  GETTING HER BACK

  (NOT REALLY) FINE

  NOT UP TO ME

  THE GOOD GIRL

  TAY AND ME

  THE SEARCH

  HOW OLD?

  STILL WEIRD

  GUESS WHO?

  WHY GRANDMA’S HERE

  A START

  PART FOUR

  SPRINGTIME

  WHAT THEN?

  THE OTHERS

  NOT YET

  A JOKE

  MAYBE

  LOST AND FOUND

  THE SPOT

  NO GOING BACK

  LAILA (FINALLY) CONVINCES ME TO TALK TO MOM

  BELIEVE ME, TAKE TWO (WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM LAILA)

  I’VE GOTTA ADMIT…

  LOTS MORE MAYBES

  WHY THAT OLD WIRE CAGE IS SITTING NEXT TO MY DESK AGAIN

  MY UNCLE

  THE GIFT

  DIFFERENT

  A DAY LIKE TODAY

  EPILOGUE

  THE LAST WORD

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  RESOURCES

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For all the healing journeys, both told and as-yet-untold

  TELLING

  When you know

  what I know,

  you’ll wish you

  didn’t.

  It’s not the kind

  of thing you can

  talk about

  at school or

  at the park

  or anywhere,

  with a new friend

  or an old one

  or even with your sister.

  (She’s too little.)

  But it’s everywhere

  once you know,

  once you can’t

  not know.

  In your face,

  under your eyelids.

  If you turn

  your back on it,

  there it is anyway.

  THAT FACE

  I keep catching a glimpse of

  That Face in the mirror,

  That Face from right after,

  locked in the bathroom,

  after He was gone,

  praying Mom would just

  get back, come home.

  And I want to shat-

  ter the glass shat-

  ter That Face haunt-

  ing me with her

  dead eyes.

  And never

  have to see

  That Face

  again,

  That Face

  that is mine.

  BELIEVE ME

  She didn’t believe me.

  She—

  my Mom, Mommy, Mama—

  she said,

  Oh!

  —no.

  Uncle Andy?

  Didn’t believe me.

  No—no, he

  wouldn’t do that.

  Didn’t believe me.

  Honey, you must have

  misunderstood.

  You know how he

  plays around,

  how goofy he is—

  just like you.

  And it was like she put

  a pillow over my

  brain and I couldn’t—

  couldn’t breathe,

  couldn’t think anymore.

  Was it—was it

  possible? Did I—

  DID I misunderstand?

  And then a whooshing-wave-

  of-fire-and-ice-cold

  roared up my legs and

  out my ears and blew

  off the top of my head.

  Believe me.

     Please…

        Believe me.

  But she didn’t. />
  TRAPPED

  I sit,

  pasted to my bed

  stuffed with a hush

  that drowns my mind.

  I stare;

  the red curtain folds

  flick-flick-flickering

  above the heater vent.

  I blink;

  metal wires pop out

  at me: the cage

  next to my desk.

  Suddenly its bars trap me

  inside the memory

  that floods my mind as if

  it’s happening right now—

  Chittering laughs of children

  at my eighth birthday party.

  Nestling softness in my palms;

  Uncle Andy’s deep booming voice.

  His hands cup mine, giving me

  the best present of all time:

  a hamster.

  I standupwalkovercrouchdown

  alittlenosepokingsniffingsmelling

  through the metal wire.

  And I reach out

  —not to her—

  to the door

  in the middle

  the one we NeverEver

  Open.

  NOT ONE WORD

  Rhea and I tell

  each other

  everything.

  Always have.

  And here she is

  sitting next to me

  at lunch on Tuesday.

  Rhea who told me

  when she got her period

  so young, even though

  she looked like she

  wanted to die.

  But I don’t know

  what to do

  what to do

  what to do.

  It’s too hard

  to say

  even

  one

  word.

  So I just chew my lip

  and don’t talk to my

  best friend until she

  gets in a huff

  and leaves to

  sit at another table.

  And I chew and chew and chew—

  but not my food.

  THE TEST

  What if I hadn’t gone down to the basement?

  (He said not to follow him down there. He said that.)

  What if I’d stopped wrestling around last year?

  (Back when Mom said, Aren’t you getting too old for that?)

  What if I hadn’t tickled him on the tummy that other time?

  What if I’d gone over to Rhea’s that day?

  What if I hadn’t laughed at first?

  What if he didn’t really mean it like that?

  What if he thought that’s what I wanted?

  What if I’d told him to knock it off?

  What if these What-Ifs are right?

  What if I’m wrong?

  What if I’m just paranoid?

  What if it’s—what if—it’s me—what if I—what

  if I made a—what if it was a mistake?

  What if what if what if

  what if what if what if what if

  what if what if what if what if what if what

  if what if what if what if what if what if what if

  what if what if what if what if what if what if w

  hat if what if what if what if what if what if wha

  t if what if what if what if what if what if what i

  f what if what if what if what if what if what if w

  hat if what if what if what if whatif whatif whatif

  whatif whatif whatifwhatifwhat—

  Class, put your pencils down.

  I watch my test packet

  shuffle forward

  row by row

  to Mr. Jenkins’s desk.

  Somewhere in that huge pile

  of papers:

  my blank one.

  GHOST GIRL

  What are we, six?

  Rhea uncaps a glue stick

  and adds final touches

  to her Halloween decoration.

  I nod, which some part of me

  knows doesn’t make sense.

  But I’m not really listening to her

  usual wanting-to-be-older talk.

  A white noise hum

  purrs away

  inside me.

  I let it lull me away from

  everything out there.

  Class 5J: preparing us for kindergarten

  instead of middle school.

  Now Rhea’s frowning at me

  so I’d better say something.

  Otherwise she might ask me

  What’s Wrong.

  (And I can’t tell her.)

  I point to her wispy ghost girl.

  Yours looks good, though.

  Yeah, I’ll admit

  I kind of like her.

  Rhea lifts her up and

  whooshes her shredded

  tissue skirt around.

  The hum inside gets

  more intense,

  pulling me back.

  But.

  I lift up whatever it is that

  I made. A ghost too, I guess.

  Rhea’s eyes widen.

  Whoa, yours looks—

  Modern? Abstract?

  Dead, I say.

  Rhea nods. That’s appropriate.

  MONSTERS

  Are you sure?

  Are you sure

  you don’t want to

  dress up this year?

  Go trick-or-treating?

  Mom drops the fabric

  onto the counter,

  the shimmery blue fabric

  I chose six months ago:

  shimmery blue because

  I’d decided to be a genie,

  six months ago because

  Halloween is was

  my favorite holiday.

  I lie and tell her

  my friends aren’t dressing up

  this year.

  I channel Rhea:

  too babyish,

  too last-year.

  Her gaze lowers,

  disappointed eyes

  look down at the fabric,

  hands smooth it.

  But you love Halloween.

  Used to—I used to love it, I say,

  which is the truth.

  Then I shrug like I don’t care,

  and the shrug is a lie.

  I don’t tell her

  that people dressing up

  to be different

  to be not-themselves

  to be monsters

  just doesn’t sound fun

  anymore.

  CHOIR

  Thursday after school,

  has it only been

  three days?

  Three days

  since It

  happened.

  Now, sounds

  scratch at

  my brain.

  Everyone’s singing

  yelling.

  The piano clanks

  and clunks

  and the soprano next to me

  screeches.

  My hands itch to

  cover my ears

  but Ms. Radkte

  glances my way

  so I force my lips

  to move instead.

  Then the hum is there—

  here in me—

  filling me up

  with its emptiness.

  I keep moving my lips

  with the now-muted song.

  The world has gone

  silent

  like my voice.

  The vibrations of the piano

  of the singers

  shake my feet

  rattle my bones

  but they don’t reach me

  anymore—

  not really.

  So much silence in

  all that noise.

  BREAK

  Mom’s distracted,

  lost in her checkbook,

  cheeks sucking in

  from unhappy surprises

  at every other number

 
; in front of her.

  He’s late with child support again!

  she announces.

  Perfect time to slip this in:

  I’m thinking about taking a break

  from choir.

  Mom pauses, unfocused eyes

  only half with me.

  Because of homework, I rush on.

  Just for a little while.

  Well. She blows a strand of hair

  off her cheek. It’s your decision.

  We can’t afford a sitter but

  I guess I could ask Grandma

  and Uncle Andy

  if either of them could stay

  for a couple of hours on

  Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  Thank God THEY’RE reliable.

  Her gaze is already back

  on the checkbook as

  everything goes cold,

  colder. The hum buzzes

  angrily in my head,

  frantic to save me from

  her words echoing

  inside my skull:

  Uncle Andy

  Uncle Andy

  Uncle Andy…

  I stumble backward

  into a chair, and

  my ankle screams pain

  at me from somewhere

  outside the cold,

  from somewhere

  far below…

  I hear myself babbling:

  —just thinking about it—probably

  won’t. I’m not sure yet. About

  the break.

  The word “break”

  is magic.

  As I say it

  the cold pierces

  my mind, numbing

  the buzz to stillness,

  shattering my thoughts

  into icicle pieces that

  fall down and

  away from here.

  THE COLD

  I plunge in-

  -to a deeper

  cold, a freezing

  lake, the ice

  layer block-

  -ing me from Mom,

  from what she said.

  I don’t want you to worry

  about money,

  Mom calls after me

  as I somehow

  make it past

  the chair.

  I shouldn’t have said that

  about your dad.

  He’ll get me his checks.

  He always does.

  Your dad’s just busy with the

  new baby and all.

  But her voice

  can’t reach me now.