She, meanwhile, watched them closely. She kept track of their routes—in which alley they raced downhill, and which of them said what to whom. She saw they bragged most when a camera was on, and that the seemingly bravest boy blinked too much when he lied. Information seasoned her patience.
On an evening, they chalked an obscene picture across her front window and left an old, dead battery in her birdbath, oily rainbow spreading in it like a bad mood. She wiped her glass in circles, slow and silent. When a neighbor offered sympathy, Magnolia just said, “Mmm,” the way a kettle murmurs before boiling.