I didn’t see Jacob until Friday at Crafting for Crazies; he’d been absent all week. I took a seat as far from him as possible, still irritated by his Debbie Downer remark. At least Koula wasn’t there, I noted with relief.

I was in a crappy mood. My encounter with Rachel still stung, big-time. Since our talk she’d made a point of smiling at me and saying hi in the halls, but the casual friendliness was almost worse than no friendliness.

Betty joined us, wearing a banana-yellow suit. She looked like Big Bird’s little sister. “I have what I hope will be an especially fun assignment for you today.” She pulled a package of Costco tube socks from her bag and tossed it onto the table.

We stared at the package, confused.

“Sock puppets,” she said.

Alonzo laughed. Betty didn’t. “Wait,” he said. “You’re serious?”

Suddenly the door burst open and Koula walked in.

“If you’d let me explain,” Betty continued as Koula sat down with a thud. “The idea is that you can decorate the socks and create a completely unique persona. Then you can use the puppets to express your true feelings. You’d be surprised how much more truthful you can be when you speak through a conduit.”

We were dead quiet.

Betty tore open the package and tossed us each a sock. “Remember our motto: Less cynicism, more openness. At least give it a try.” She put a sock on her own hand. “See?” she said in a high-pitched voice. “It’s not that hard.”

We all rolled a sock onto our hands. Jacob got some help from Ivan.

“Who would like to start?” said Betty’s puppet.

Koula lifted her sock-clad hand. “Koula tried to visit her mom last night.” Her puppet spoke in a seriously creepy Oscar the Grouch–meets–Freddy Krueger voice. “Koula wanted to say sorry. When her mom saw who it was, she wouldn’t open the door. So Koula started kicking it and yelling, ‘Bitch, let me in!’ But she wouldn’t!”

“And this surprises Koula?” I, or rather my sock puppet, asked.

Koula stood up. “Shut your piehole, Grandma,” her sock puppet said.

My sock puppet got right in her sock puppet’s face. “You shut your piehole! Tell Koula to quit telling people I went after Rachel with a carving knife. Tell her I think she’s a psycho bitch!”

Koula dropped her hand and put her face inches from mine. “Don’t call me a psycho bitch, bitch!”

I recoiled from the smell.

She reeked of booze.

Betty smelled it, too. “Koula, you’ve been drinking.”

Koula lifted her sock puppet. “Koula has not.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled Koula,” said her sock puppet.

“Don’t make me get the Jar—”

“You think you’re helping us with these lame-ass baby projects, but you’re not.” Koula swiveled the puppet to look at the rest of us. “Well? Is Koula right, or is she right?”

Betty cast her cool gaze on the rest of us.

We all raised our hands.

“She’s right,” said our sock puppets.

“Told you!” Koula raised her socked fist triumphantly and lost her balance. We watched in horror as she fell face-first on the carpeted floor.

“Mrrmph,” she moaned. Then she started to cry. Wail, actually. Mascara ran down her cheeks in two dark lines.

For the first time, unflappable Betty looked flapped.

Alonzo squatted down beside Koula and stroked her hair. “Oh, Koula. Drunk and maudlin. What a winning combo.”

Koula let loose with a string of swearwords. Then her wailing ceased as suddenly as it had begun.

She’d passed out.

“Help me get her up,” said Betty.

We tried to get Koula to a standing position, but she was deadweight. Instead, Alonzo and I positioned ourselves by her shoulders, while Jacob and Ivan positioned themselves at her feet. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”

We hoisted Koula and carried her to Betty’s office, where we laid her on the love seat. Betty put a blanket on top of her, then turned to the rest of us. “You don’t like my assignments, and that’s fine. So here’s my challenge to you: Come up with your own project. Present the idea to me next week.” Then she pushed us out of her office and closed the door.