Chapter 62
THEN
As Christos’s head cracked against the asphalt, I screamed.
It felt so dramatic, so indulgent, so girlish. Like a woman in a horror film about to be devoured by a zombie.
“You psycho!” Billy screamed at me. “Look what you did!”
He stepped back, giving me a sight line to where Christos lay. Billy kneeled beside him. “Christos? You okay, man?”
Christos opened his eyes and touched his temple, dazed.
“She tried to kill you,” Billy said.
“Who?” Christos looked confused. “Mabel?”
“Yes, Mabel,” Billy said. “Who else do you know going around killing people?”
“Sorry, man.” Christos sat up slowly. “You’re right. Of course it was Mabel.”
I felt that in my core, somewhere near my heart. Billy looked smugger than he’d ever looked.
“It’s not as if you’d be able to knock over two guys with a single push,” Christos continued. “Whereas Mabel can do it easily.”
Christos glanced at me, and I saw something like … mischief in his eyes. It took a few seconds for Billy to understand.
“I could knock you down with my little finger,” Billy said, getting to his feet. You could see how enraged he was at the idea of being knocked down by a girl. “Anyway, she knocked you down worse.”
“She knocked you down,” Christos said, getting to his feet. He wobbled a little. “With enough force that you fell into me and knocked me down.”
Christos made the noise of someone withholding a laugh. It set me off and I let out a snort.
Billy seethed. “You better not tell anyone, Christos. Or you, Mad Mabel.”
Christos made a salute. “Scout’s honor.”
“Better stay away from me,” I said, as Billy wheeled his bike out of the shed. “Since I go around killing people. Wouldn’t want you to be next.”
He scowled, but he picked up his pace on the way out the door. Christos and I managed to hold in our laughter until he was gone, but when it came, I’m pretty sure he could have heard it from back at his house.
After the incident at school, Christos insisted on walking me home.
“You are the one who was injured! I should be walking you home!”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. A little bump to the head isn’t going to stop me being chivalrous.”
He threw me a wink, and I felt so shy I had to look away. We walked in silence for a moment.
“Why did you come back anyway?” I asked him. “I thought you had a shift at the fish-and-chips shop.”
“I do,” he replied, blinking against the afternoon sun. “But I felt like I needed to come back. Call it a feeling. You know?”
I wasn’t sure I did. “A feeling?”
“A gut instinct that something was going to happen.”
“So you came back to check on me?”
The idea that he was thinking of me—worried about me—felt foreign and almost impossibly lovely. He had always been kind to me, but this was something more.
“Yep. I should have known that you’d have it covered.”
He started to grin, then winced and pressed his fingers lightly to his temple.
“You okay?” I asked. “You hit your head pretty hard.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Stop worrying.”
But as we approached the turnoff toward my place, he kept wincing, and his usually olive skin seemed almost ashen.
“I think I’ll walk you home,” I said. “Just to make sure you get there okay.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted again, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. “I just have a bit of a headache, that’s all.”
“Because you hit your head. Which was my fault.”
Christos refused to accept that it was my fault, but he let me walk him back to the fish-and-chips shop. The scent of hot oil and salt announced we were close, as did an angry-looking, dark-haired woman standing out the front, her hands clasped.
“Uh-oh,” Christos muttered. “My mother.”
Christos’s mother wasn’t smiling. She stood upright, her hands tightening, her knuckles white as she fiddled with her flour-covered apron.
The moment she saw him, she stepped forward, her voice sharp. “Where have you been, Christos? You’re half an hour late.”
“He hit his head!” I blurted before Christos could answer, hoping to shield him from her wrath. After everything that had happened today, the last thing I wanted was for him to be in trouble with his mother too.
After assessing her son, presumably for injury, her dark eyes flickered to me. “And you are?”
“Mabel Waller, ma’am.”
I saw the recognition in her eyes and braced myself. I knew my reputation preceded me, but I had hoped that, being new to the community, she might not know who I was. Her expression hardened.
“I see.”
She turned back to Christos, pushing a few loose hairs back into her bun. “What happened to your head?”
“I fell. In the bike shed. I’m fine, but it made me a bit late.”
“You fell?” Her eyebrows rose. “You’re not a clumsy boy, Christos.”
“It was my fault,” I admitted. “I pushed Billy and Billy fell onto Christos.”
Her gaze returned to me, sharper and cooler this time. “Is that right? I hear you have a bit of a reputation for causing trouble.”
“Mum,” Christos started, but she cut him off with a single glare.
“Don’t talk back, Christos.” Then she switched to Greek, her voice rising in rapid, clipped words. From the way her eyes darted back to me now and then, I knew at least part of what she was saying was about me. Probably all of it.
Christos turned his back on his mother, his expression apologetic but resigned. “Just go, Mabel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said softly.
“Not your fault.” He managed a small smile, even as his mother continued her tirade beside him.
“I hope your head is okay,” I murmured as I pulled my bike upright.
I was still within earshot when his mother’s voice cut through the air in English, cold and firm. “I don’t want you hanging around with that girl again, do you understand?”
I didn’t wait to hear Christos’s reply. I pedaled away quickly, wondering if Christos would listen to his mother. And wondering if I could stand it if he did.