Free A Stitch in Crime by Betty Hechtman Page B

all upset when Mrs. Geyser started at the other end of the table and Billy Palmer took one of the glasses of orange soda.
    “ ‘I have dibs on the other,’ she called out, but Mrs. Geyser said there would be no dibs, and she would have to wait her turn like everybody else. Each time somebody reached for a glass, my sister moaned because she thought they were going to take the orange. But nobody did. Mrs. Geyser got to me, and my sister started to relax. I pretended to reach for a glass of lemon-lime, but at the last second, I took the orange instead. I drank the whole glass while my sister cried. I guess she didn’t get it was a joke.”
    And neither did the rest of us. There was a moment of dead air, and then a hesitant trickle of applause as Dinah stepped in and commented on Izabelle’s good use of storytelling. That was how Dinah won over all those unruly freshmen. She knew how to find the positive.
    Dinah glanced at her watch and said there was time for one more person to read. Adele was out of her chair before Dinah finished the sentence. Adele’s piece detailed how she had played orange soda in a modern dance recital and described being dressed in yards and yards of orange gauze.
    While Dinah gave them the next writing assignment, I left to get some soft drinks ready for the break. I hoped that after all the attention orange soda had just gotten, nobody asked for any, since all we had was cola and lemon-lime. I came back at the end of the allotted time and announced that the next workshop would begin in twenty minutes.
    Bennett stopped on his way to the door. “Sorry, here’s where I draw the line about being a good sport. I’m probably doing you a favor. My attempt at crocheting would give you nightmares.” Commander excused himself as well, saying he had to make sure the fire pit was ready for the next activity. I thought Miss Lavender Pants’s brother and Mason might make some excuses, too, but they both surprised me by saying they’d be back. Izabelle pointed to a large plastic box under the table and asked if I would set up her supplies before she rushed out.
    Sheila stopped at the front and offered to help me. Dinah pulled out the box and put it on the table. Adele joined us and assisted in laying out hooks and balls of yarn, along with some samples and several copies of A Subtle Touch of Crochet with notes attached saying they were for sale.
    I put a pile of printed directions with the other things. Much as I would have liked to participate in the crochet workshop, I felt obligated to act as an observer. Just looking at the hooks on the table made my hands long to crochet. Later, when I was alone, I’d have some time. With everything set up, Dinah, Sheila, and I took seats in the back. Adele stayed in the front, patrolling the teacher zone. As usual she was a walking advertisement for her craft. Over her black turtleneck and black leggings, she wore a long vest made out of classic granny squares done in ruby red, creamy white, and black edging. I always said Adele and I had our differences, but I would never dispute her crochet ability. If only she hadn’t worn the hat, she would have looked fine. It was newsboy style, and even if it was masterfully crocheted, the way she had it pulled low on her forehead just looked silly.
    Miss Lavender Pants, Edward, and his wife, along with the knitting couple, came back in and took their seats. When Mason arrived, I realized that was everybody—everybody but Izabelle.
    “As soon as Izabelle returns, we’ll begin, people,” Adele said. She had put on her authority voice and was beginning to strut across the front. The door opened, and Izabelle came in, carrying a shopping bag. She’d added a few touches to her outfit, all crocheted. I saw her do a double take at Adele’s position. She made a face and stepped in front of her, putting some sample scarves and baby blankets on the table. “I just want you to get an idea of some of the