Circle of Silence. Carol Tanzman M.
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is quiet.
“What’s up?” Mira asks.
“You must have seen those MP things—” Marci blinks as Mirabelle laughs. “What’s so funny?”
“I wondered if someone would think of me.”
“You’re MP?” My voice squeaks. Did we do it? Find the right person?
“No,” Mira says. “My initials are MP, but I’m not the person who did those stupid pranks.”
“One of the art teachers thinks they’re, like, cool pieces.”
Mira laughs. “Ms. Cordingley? Hasn’t a clue about contemporary art.”
“She said that, too. Told me you know more than she does.”
Mira’s violet eyes brighten at the compliment, but then her face falls. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t an art project.”
“How can you tell?”
With a graceful wave, Mira suggests we sit on the steps. “Promise you won’t say anything to anybody.” She waits for us to nod. “We don’t hang, so you guys don’t know me. I’m afraid you’ll think this is totally conceited. Everyone thinks I am, but really, I’m not.”
Marci shakes her head. “We don’t. What does knowing you have to do with MP?”
Mira hesitates. “Has anyone ever been in love with you? Totally, madly, completely—and you can’t stand the guy?”
“Sure,” Marci says.
I remain silent.
Mira searches for the right words. “It’s possible—and I really do mean possible—that someone’s doing this to get back at me.”
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