Belles on their Toes

her classes, and to speak to them by name when she passed them in the halls. She was to be a good student, without giving the impression of studying too much. And she was to keep her face, hands and nails clean, even if it meant going to the girls' room between every class.
    "There's nothing worse than a dingy-looking girl," Jack told her. "So don't think I'm minding your business if I see you in school and tell you to go wash yourself. I'll just whisper it."
    "How about dingy boys?" Jane protested.
    "Why Bob and I always look just like we stepped out of a bandbox," Jack smirked.
    "I don't know about that," said Jane. "But if you did, you must have been playing the drums."
    "Nobody notices how boys look," said Jack, cuffing her fondly. "And nobody cares whether boys are popular in school."
    Sometimes Jane thought it was more trouble than it was worth, especially when the two boys said she might begin to put on weight, and so started taking her desserts away from her. But she had to admit they had been right about the clothes, and she suspected they knew what they were talking about on other things, too.
    She started having movie dates at night, on week ends. Mother didn't disapprove, and Jack and Bob were elated. The boys wanted to make sure, though, that no one got the wrong idea about what sort of a girl she was, so they always told her just what time she was to be home. Usually, to make sure there was no misunderstanding, they told her date, too. When the date saw the size of her older brothers, and was informed that they'd be waiting up for Jane, there was little or no argument.
    "Even Cinderella could stay out till midnight," Jane would complain to Mother. "Jack and Bob make my dates bring me home by 10:30."
    "Your father wouldn't let Anne go out at all at night, unless he went along as a chaperone," Mother comforted her. "You don't know how lucky you are to have such liberal-minded men in the family."
    "Good night, that was a generation ago. Times have changed!"
    The first dance of the school year was a junior-senior-alumni affair, held during the Thanksgiving holidays. It was unusual for girls in the tenth grade to be invited—in fact none of our girls ever had been asked until they had become juniors.
    But Jane's special popularity course had brought results. She had invitations from a junior and two seniors. The boys told her to accept the junior, since he had asked her first. The word always got around, they said, if you turned down an early invitation to accept a later one.
    Fred and Dan were home for the holidays, and they and the younger boys agreed to go stag to the party, to make sure Jane wasn't stuck on the dance floor. Each of the boys also enlisted the aid of four or five friends, all of whom seemed willing, even eager, to cooperate.
    Right from the start, Jane was broken more than any other girl. Her hand squeezes as she left one partner, and her pleased smiles as she started off with another, apparently became important factors as the night wore on. Because even without her claque, she was undeniably getting a rush.
    Then Dan cut in, and found Jane near tears.
    "He kissed me," she whispered indignantly. "I slapped him as hard as I could, and he just laughed and kissed me again."
    Dan roughly shoved away two boys who were trying to cut in.
    "Beat it," he growled. "She doesn't want to dance with you."
    "Those weren't the ones," Jane whispered, as the boys retreated.
    "I don't care," said Dan. "You're not going to dance with anybody until we teach you some more."
    He signaled Fred, Jack, and Bob, and then guided Jane out onto a porch.
    "Who did it?" Dan asked. "I'm going to show him whose sister to make passes at."
    "A boy named Ned Morris," Jane told him. "He's a senior. I hope you fix him good."
    Fred, Jack and Bob joined them on the porch, and Dan explained the situation.
    "He's in my class," said Jack, "so I get to whip him. Right?"
    Dan and Bob said that was right, but Fred disagreed.
    "We spent a whole summer teaching her to be popular," he warned, "and now you want to undo it all. Nobody'll take her out if he thinks he'll have to end up by fighting us, in case he gets romantic."
    "It's really our fault," Bob conceded dramatically. "We taught her how to be attractive, but we didn't teach her how to turn it off."
    "I slapped him good," Jane said. "I thought that would turn it off."
    "Worst thing you could do," said Fred, shaking his head. "It's our fault, all right. We'll keep a close eye on