The Suburban Strange by Nathan Kotecki

dances she’d fled—far more juvenile than Diaboliques, and in no way picturesque. The difference was that this time it didn’t matter to her. She easily could remember the slow-motion panic she had felt before, lost in her own thicket of doubt in the darkened cafeteria of her old school, standing alone, then leaving alone, going home and crying and wanting to die . . . Now the kids flailing around, clothes askew, only made her long for the sophisticated darkness of Diaboliques. She held court with the Rosary on the first two bleachers off to one side in the darkened gym, and they watched the proceedings idly, rarely bothering to comment. Mr. Sumeletso stood in a cluster of bored teachers making small talk by the doors, and Celia thought of Mariette, who had told Celia she wasn’t coming, mumbling something about starting a quilt. Mariette’s list of interests grew constantly—unicycling, bonsai, meditation, sign language—but they all were things she did alone. Celia wondered if Mariette had any friends, and then it occurred to her that Mariette probably considered Celia a friend. She decided that was true.
    Liz was staring across the gymnasium at Skip the football player, who was dancing with his date. Celia traded a knowing look with Marco. But in the next moment the dance came to an abrupt halt when a girl slipped and fell on her arm. Word spread that her wrist was broken, along with the news tomorrow was her sixteenth birthday. She’d been exuberantly celebrating having made it through her curse day unscathed.
    “Still a coincidence?” Liz said to Ivo as they waited for the music to start again.
    “It’s freaky, but would she have been jumping around so much if she weren’t relieved about dodging a curse?” Ivo said.
    “That’s eight for eight,” Brenden said.
    “Maybe we should ask Mariette,” Ivo said.
    “This has nothing to do with Mariette,” Celia protested. They all looked at her and she weakly added, “She’s not even here.” She wasn’t sure what to think about Mariette and the curse, but she didn’t like to hear her friends impugn her other friend.
    Marco didn’t let it go. “If she’s a witch, would she have to be here to curse someone? She could be at home putting pins in a doll or something.”
    “We should conduct an investigation of our own, to see if there’s anything suspicious,” Ivo suggested.
    “Anything suspicious where?”
    “In her locker.”
    Liz looked at him incredulously. “Are you kidding? Even if she is a witch, do you think she keeps her grimoire in her locker?”
    “Well, this dance is particularly boring. What else are we going to do?”
    “I could go request something,” Brenden said.
    Ivo looked around at them with an uncharacteristic gleam in his eye. “I’ll get a bolt cutter from shop and meet you in the sophomore hall.”
    They got up, and Celia appealed to Marco, “We shouldn’t do this. It’s not right, and it doesn’t make any sense anyway. You guys don’t really think she’s a witch, do you?”
    “No, nobody really thinks Mariette is a witch.” Marco sighed as the others walked out of the gym ahead of them. “This is a flimsy excuse to make a lame dance more interesting. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. We’re going to go up there, and Ivo’s going to show up and say that the shop was locked, and that’ll be the end of it. If he even goes to the shop in the first place. If he even knows where the shop is . We’re going to walk around in the dark hallways and startle each other, and then it’s going to be over, and we’ll have wasted half an hour before we can leave. The thing with Mariette is just an excuse. It’s an empty dare, like running up Boo Radley’s front walk. I promise.”
    “Please tell me who Boo Radley is,” Celia said.
    “Junior lit. You’ll read it.” Marco smiled, linking arms with Celia. “C’mon.”
    They made their way up to the sophomore hall, which was darkened and still. Up ahead were