Mabel had known from early on that she did not belong to the right children. It did not take great wisdom to know that. A mirror and five minutes during recess were enough. She was tall in an awkward way, neither graceful nor feminine in the way the others understood it, with slightly fallen shoulders, knees that seemed too visible, dull brown hair that frizzed badly in damp weather, and skin that had decided from the age of thirteen to make war on her.