“They need to be taller.” Juts eyed the wooden representation of the fork and spoon that ran away with one another.

The cat, the fiddle, and the moon were finished but not yet painted. Although the approaching dance was a St. Patrick’s Day dance, the high school always seized upon a theme. This year it was “The Cat and the Fiddle,” done up to be Irish, of course. Large shamrocks, cut out from heavy paper, with green sparkles, were lined up in a vertical bin. The school’s art teacher, Mrs. Stiles, worked with each art class to produce the objects.

Arms crossed over her chest, she studied the fork and spoon. “You don’t want them too tall.”

“How about our height?” Juts motioned to Ev to stand tall.

“Well—”

Dick Yost walked over. “Mrs. Stiles, the fork should be a little taller. My height.” He smiled at Juts. “After all, the fork is a man.”

“Where are we going to get his shoes?” Ev wondered.

“We’ll find something.” Juts smiled back at Dick. “But a fork doesn’t need shoes.”

Ev disagreed. “He has feet.”

Juts studied the figure. “You’re right. Like I said, we’ll think of something.”

Dimps Jr. called out, “Mrs. Stiles, I can’t find the glue pot.”

“All right, make the fork four inches higher, and don’t forget, big smiles. They’re happy.” Mrs. Stiles unfolded her arms to walk to the other side of the room.

Glue pots, while not expensive, would dry out or some student would sit on one. Mrs. Stiles kept careful books, as did most of the teachers at South Runnymede High.

“I’ll bring shoes,” Dick volunteered.

Juts glanced down at his feet. “I’d better measure your foot if you’re bringing an old pair of your shoes.”

He bent over, untied the right shoe. Juts slapped down a piece of heavy construction paper. He placed his foot on it. She outlined his foot.

“Okay, the left.” He untied his left shoe.

As Juts traced his foot, Dimps Jr. sashayed by. The lost glue pot had been found, and she just happened to toss a dollop onto Juts’s hair.

Jaw open, Dick stepped back as Juts shot up, grabbed the glue pot from Dimps Jr.’s hand, whipped the brush out, and smacked her flat across the face with it.

“Oww!” Dimps Jr. screamed, although it didn’t hurt.

Not satisfied, Juts jammed the brush into Dimps Jr.’s mouth. Ev, behind Juts, put her hands on Juts’s shoulders to back her away.

Dimps Jr. squalled like a baby. Mrs. Stiles, furious at both the girls, charged over, snatched the pot from Juts’s hand, gave it to Dick, who still hadn’t said a word. “You two. The principal’s office right now!”

Head high, Juts marched out of the room, Dimps Jr. following, weeping. Mrs. Stiles, a yard ruler in her hand, walked behind the two, every now and then giving them a good crack across their calves.

Back in the room, the other students talked at once, some laughing. Dimps Jr.’s coterie feigned tremendous shock and disapproval.

“Juts should be thrown out of school!” Maude Ischatta loudly proclaimed.

Betty Wilcox came right back at her. “Dimps started it. She’s got it in for Juts because Dick Yost asked Juts to the dance.”

As this was news to Dick Yost, he blushed.

Richard Barshinger, carefully oiling his small handsaw, said, “Oil and water.” He looked at Dick. “She does have her cap set for you, but Dimps has had it in for Juts since first grade. Really, oil and water.”

The others agreed.

Ev wisely changed the subject. Everyone knew she was Juts’s best friend. No need to defend her.

“Juts is good with her hands. We need her for these decorations and we need Dimps to sell tickets. She’s got a lot of friends in the junior class and some in the senior. We need them both.”

“Oh, the seniors aren’t going to come. We’re beneath them.” Betty shrugged.

“They’ll come if Maude and her friends tell Dimps that this is a good way to make up for the fight. And”—she pointed at Maude and the little group—“tell Dimps she was right, but also she has to do this for her class, the Class of 1922, and for Mrs. Stiles.”

The girls conferred for a moment, then Maude asked, “What’s Mrs. Stiles got to do with it?”

“She’s our class sponsor.” Dick nearly rolled his eyes, he couldn’t believe they were that stupid.

Ev then promised, “I’ll keep Juts in line, but you have to help me.” She wagged her finger at Dick.

“No one can keep Juts in line.” He smiled because that’s why he liked her.

“Make sure she dances every dance and”—Ev swung round to Louis Negroponti, the football center—“you ask Dimps to the dance.”

Louis was an all-round athlete, football, baseball, track and field when possible.

“Me? She doesn’t even like me.” The huge, sweet fellow threw up his hands.

“She’ll like you well enough.” Betty Wilcox smirked. “She doesn’t have a date.”

“That’s not true.” Maude stepped toward Betty. “Percy Morris asked her.”

“Why didn’t she say yes? Percy’s a good guy,” Richard said.

Maude, turning her head up slightly, declared, “She’s not going to a dance with a boy who’s shorter than she is.”

“Well, there!” Ev said triumphantly. “Louie will make her look like a peanut!”

Louis grinned sheepishly.

The sound of steps coming down the hall shut them up. Everyone went back to their tasks as Mrs. Stiles opened the door, shut it firmly, and scanned her students. They ignored her. She walked through the room, checking each piece being made or painted, then she hoisted herself up on a long table, her legs dangling. Mrs. Stiles, young herself, was a popular teacher.

“Class. There’s so much to be done before the dance. We’ve lost Juts for a few days. The principal has sent her and Dimps Jr. home. In disgrace, I might add. Two less pair of hands when we most need them.”

Dick, shoes back on, addressed his teacher. “Can they work from home?”

Mrs. Stiles’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you propose that?”

“Like you said, Mrs. Stiles, we need them. We need Juts to do the fork and spoon and we need Dimps to sell tickets. A couple of us can take the fork and spoon to Juts and the girls. And they”—he indicated Dimps Jr.’s group—“can take rolls of tickets to Dimps at home, and she can sell tickets after school door-to-door.”

Mrs. Stiles abruptly stopped swinging her legs. “Dick, that just might work.” She clapped her hands. “All right then. You have my permission.”

“What about Mr. Thigpen?” Richard named the principal, a strict person.

“Mr. Thigpen will be fine. In fact, when you all come back to school on Monday, when you see him, do thank him for his latitude.” Mrs. Stiles was certain he’d go along with it, for, if nothing else, poor old Mr. Thigpen couldn’t take his eyes off Mrs. Stiles.

After school, Maude and the girls raced to Dimps Jr.’s house, where Big Dimps, on her day off, was ironing in the kitchen. They knocked on the door.

“Junior, go see who that is,” the harried mother called out.

Opening the door, the tenth grader smiled, then gave a little nod of the head to signify where her mother was. “Mom, it’s the gang.”

“Ask them in. It’s cold out there.”

Maude was first through the door and hurried back to the kitchen. “Thank you, Mrs. Rhodes. We won’t be long and we’re here to tell you that this was all Juts’s fault.”

Mother knew her daughter well but pretended to believe it. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Returning to the front door, Maude informed Dimps Jr. that Mrs. Stiles had agreed to her selling tickets after school, house to house.

“Here.” She handed Dimps Jr. two big rolls of tickets.

Staring at this formidable task, the somewhat chastened girl said, “How can I sell all these?”

“We’ll all help you. We’ll meet after school, and here’s the best part,” Maude breathlessly said. “We can sell to the kids at North Runnymede High. They don’t have a St. Patrick’s Day dance.”

“All right.” Dimps Jr. began to divide up the tickets while the others thought about how to divide up Runnymede.

—

The large brass lion’s head knocker thudded against the door.

Celeste had laid out fabrics that Louise brought her. The dark long table provided a contrasting backdrop for the fabrics.

Back in the kitchen, scolding Juts, Cora didn’t hear it. Celeste, having been party to the drama when Juts came to the house early, opened her own front door.

A surprised Ev, Dick, Betty, and Richard looked up at her. She looked at the young people carrying the fork and the spoon.

“And the little dog laughed to see such a sight. Oh, come on in. I’ve heard all about it, but not the fork and the spoon.”

“We’re sorry to bother you, Mrs. Chalfonte, but we knew Juts would be here.”

“Indeed she is, with a black cloud hanging over her head. You all go sit in the library and I’ll bring Juts out to you.” Then she lowered her voice. “You know, Sunday is her fifteenth birthday and her mother is furious. Perhaps you can alleviate some of Cora’s distress and of course, Juts’s too.”

Within moments, Juts and her mother traipsed into the library, where the fork and spoon were being held by Dick and Richard.

“Oh, Mrs. Hunsenmeir, this is all Dimps Jr.’s fault. She’s jealous about Juts and she goes out of her way to make her cross. Really, Dimps started it,” Dick said.

The others all murmured assent. Celeste asked the kids, “Would anyone like a refreshment?”

“No, ma’am, but thank you,” Richard replied.

Celeste sat down by the fireplace. “You know, that fork and spoon are well made. All you need is some silver paint.”

“Mrs. Stiles said we could give them to Juts to take home because they are her special project. And we need her to make the little dog and the cow. She’s gotten the rest done. She drew out all the patterns. No one is as good as she is, and this dance makes money for our class.”

Celeste had gone to private schools and didn’t know much about the public variety. “And what do you do with your profits?”

“We save them and then in our senior year we decide what to do with them. The Class of 1920 is giving the school a new scoreboard. Really big.” Betty was impressed.

“And we, the Class of 1922, want to do even better.” Dick smiled.

Celeste looked at them, listened, and realized this was important to them. Though she evidenced no desire to bear a child, she liked young people, and she particularly liked these young people.

“I’m sure you will.” Celeste turned to Cora. “What do you say?”

“Momma, I promise I won’t shove glue in her face again.”

“I’m afraid you’ll do worse.” Cora sighed deeply then examined the fork and the spoon. “How are you going to get these utensils up our hill and how are you going to build the other things you need?”

“We’ll find a way.”

Celeste smiled. “Leave them here. Francis has every tool since the building of the Pyramids. Put the fork and spoon into the garage and you all can work there after school if Cora permits Juts to participate.”

“All right, but Juts Hunsenmeir, if you don’t behave yourself you will find yourself in more trouble than ever. No dances, no movies, no walks around the square even. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Each young person thanked Celeste as they made their way through the side corridor to the garage, carrying the fork and spoon. Ev grabbed the spoon, Richard the fork, and they danced in a little circle, celebrating their good fortune.

Watching them with Cora, Celeste laughed. “Do you remember those days?”

“I do.” Cora smiled.

“Let’s promise to never stop dancing.” Celeste held up Cora’s hand, twirled her around the hall.

Celeste dropped her hand, both of them laughing. “You know, Cora, it’s your friends who get you through life.”