Page 87 of Mad Mabel

I throw them a smile, adding a burst of conviviality in the hope it will send them on their way. Frankly it’s a little unnerving waking up to find the entire street anxiously focused on your home, as if preparing to bid at an antiques market.

They don’t smile back. Humorless bunch.

I close the window and go outside. From the porch, I survey thesomber faces of the neighbors. Peter and Joan stand side by side, synchronized in their hand-wringing. Mrs. Nguyen watches from a few paces back, beside Mr. Nguyen, who is smoking a cigarette and glancing away. Roxanne, I notice, looks ashen.

Persephone is the only one who looks delighted to see me. I find myself thinking of a charmingly stupid dog. If she’d been closer, I might have given her a pat.

“Mad!” Persephone cries.

“Confused, actually,” I reply, “as to why you’re all staring at my house.”

“No!” She laughs, pointing. “Look. Mad!”

I turn, following her pointed finger. Then I understand. How foolish of me.

The scratching I’d heard in the early hours outside my bedroom window. Not a possum, apparently. Painted on the lavender brick wall of my home is a word in sloppy letters. Blood red.

MAD.

56

THEN

Brother Stanislaus didn’t give us all the gory details, just that Mr. Loukas had been changing the tire on his Datsun when the jack tumbled out and the car crushed him. He died instantly, we were told, and wouldn’t have felt pain.

“Good riddance,” Daphne said under her breath.

I stared at her. It was an odd comment. Daphne didn’t know about me and Mr. Loukas. Why would she say good riddance?

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t like him,” she said. “Call it a gut instinct.”

“Shhh,” one of the teachers said to us. “Brother Stanislaus is talking. Heads to the front.”

We looked to the front. As I sat cross-legged on the gymnasium floor, I realized Daphne’s instinct was right. Mr. Loukas wasn’t the great love story I’d dreamed of. He was a teacher having a relationship with a student. I wasn’t even the first.

I’m not going to lie, it was some consolation to me that now, I knew I’d be the last.

Cess and Ness practically pounced on me the moment I got in the door after school. I was still holding my schoolbag.

“Mabel, will you come in here, please?”

They were in the front room, to the left of the foyer, both standing. It was early for Ness to be back from the library. I decided there was no point beating around the bush.

“You heard about Mr. Loukas?”

Cess nodded. Her posture was tight—her shoulders raised, her body stiff. “It was on the radio. He was your history teacher, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I know you liked him. You must be upset.”

Cess spoke lightly, carefully. As if every question contained another question.

“I guess I am.”

I don’t think I’d ever felt as uncomfortable in Cess and Ness’s presence before.