“ ‘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 possibilities.”
Izabelle turned back toward the group and took off her black wool jacket. As she stepped closer to the class, I saw Adele look up. Her gaze stopped on Izabelle’s neck, and her mouth opened into a troubled expression. “What’s that?” she said, pointing at Izabelle’s neck.
“This?” the crochet presenter said, touching the fuzzy white puffs. “It’s just something I made with this stitch I came up with. I’ll be demonstrating it in a later session. I call it Izabelle’s Cloud.”
“But that’s my work,” Adele said, stepping close to her. “I invented that stitch. You just figured out my stitch and then added on to the piece I started.”
Before Izabelle could respond, Adele looked frantically from me to Sheila to Dinah. “You saw it. Remember I called it the marshmallow stitch? And then my work disappeared.” Adele’s gaze stuck on me. “You said somebody in our group probably picked it up by mistake.”
Neither Sheila nor Dinah had much recollection; I, however, did remember Adele saying something about her work disappearing.
Izabelle looked at Adele with a condescending smile. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. I came up with this stitch eons ago.” She lifted her shoulder-length hair to show the choker that consisted of four white, fuzzy puffs with spaces in between. It appeared to tie at the back.
Adele was not to be dissuaded. “I know that’s my work. It disappeared the other day when you came by the Hookers meeting. I can prove it, too. I spilled a little pink pearl nail polish on the back of it.” She reached toward Izabelle. “Take it off and let me have a look.”
Izabelle was no longer smiling. She glared at Adele. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have to prove anything.” She picked up one of the hooks and shoved it toward Adele. “If this is your work, let’s see you do a sample of your marshmallow stitch.”
“I can’t repeat it. I was just experimenting when I made the stitch. I was going to undo my stitches and write down what I’d done, but my work disappeared first.” Adele’s voice cracked. She must have realized she was losing ground.
Izabelle glanced toward the crowd. “Sometimes people want to be crochet designers so badly, they imagine they’ve come up with something fresh.” She pulled out a printed sheet and said it was really an advanced stitch, but she had directions in case anyone was interested.
Her words were like lighter fluid on a campfire. Adele lost it and went to grab Izabelle. I stepped in to block Adele before she made contact, and put my arm around her. I started to usher her toward the door while whispering that she was making a scene.
“Pink, I am not making a scene,” she said. “She is.” She pointed at Izabelle. Just before I got Adele out the door, she stomped her foot and turned back one last time.
“Don’t think this is over. You’re not going to get away with this.”
CHAPTER 8
“ADELE SURE BLOWS HOT AND COLD. ONE MINUTE she’s practically kissing the ground Izabelle walks on, and the next she’s threatening her,” Dinah said. I had done my best to save the situation after I got Adele out the door, but the damage was done. Nobody could concentrate on crochet. Even those of us who knew how couldn’t do a foundation chain without screwing up. I did the only things I could do. I ended it, and hoped Commander’s s’mores interlude would sweeten up the atmosphere. Izabelle had taken off with the rest of the group, leaving Dinah, Sheila and me to gather up her things.
“This fog is getting tiresome,” I said with a sigh. We were walking down the path toward the administration building, not that we could see it. The walkway disappeared into the ether up ahead. We were walking slowly when Bennett suddenly appeared from the whiteout behind us, and after greeting us he disappeared again as he moved a little bit ahead. It was no wonder the roads had been shut down.
“What if Adele is waiting for Izabelle to show up in the administration building?” Dinah said, trying to peer into the distance.
“Good point. Adele was really over the top, and she’s not one to give up.” I picked up speed, picturing Adele jumping out from behind a curtain and pulling the choker off of Izabelle’s neck.