Rainy evenings saw them stomping mud tracks across her porch. Connor leaned close to her screen door once, whispering a string of profanities. His friends roared with laughter. Magnolia appeared at the door then, holding a steaming mug of tea, smiling gently. He stumbled back, startled, though he masked it with a grin.
Sometimes they hurled rocks through neighbors’ garden gnomes or drove bicycles into hedges. At other times, they left dead insects in mailboxes, mocking squeals when homeowners discovered the remains. Their pranks never seemed to stop. Only Magnolia kept acknowledging them politely, “Lovely evening, boys,” as though greeting altar boys, and not the hooligans they were.