Ramona the Pest (10 page)

There followed the most boring morning of Ramona's entire life. She trailed along after her mother in the shopping center while Mrs. Quimby bought socks for Beezus, some buttons and thread, pillowcases that were on sale, a new electric cord for the waffle iron, a package of paper for Ramona to draw on, and a pattern. Looking at patterns was the worst part. Ramona's mother seemed to sit for hours looking at pictures of boring dresses.

At the beginning of the shopping trip, Mrs. Quimby said, “Ramona, you mustn't put your hands on things in stores.” Later she said, “Ramona, please don't touch things.” By the time they reached the pattern counter, she said, “Ramona, how many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?”

When Mrs. Quimby had finally selected a pattern and they were leaving the store, who should they run into but Mrs. Wisser, a neighbor. “Why, hello!” exclaimed Mrs. Wisser. “And there's Ramona! I thought a big girl like you would be going to kindergarten.”

Ramona had nothing to say.

“How old are you, dear?” asked Mrs. Wisser.

Ramona still had nothing to say to Mrs. Wisser, but she did hold up five fingers for the neighbor to count.

“Five!” exclaimed Mrs. Wisser. “What's the matter, dear? Has the cat got your tongue?”

Ramona stuck out her tongue just enough to show Mrs. Wisser that the cat had not got it.

Mrs. Wisser gasped.

“Ramona!” Mrs. Quimby was thoroughly exasperated. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Wisser. Ramona seems to have forgotten her manners.” After this apology she said angrily, “Ramona Geraldine Quimby, don't you ever let me catch you doing such a thing again!”

“But Mama,” protested Ramona, as she was dragged toward the parking lot, “she
asked
me, and I was just showing—” There was no use in finishing the sentence, because Mrs. Quimby was not listening and she probably would not have understood if she had listened.

Mrs. Quimby and Ramona returned home in time to pass the morning kindergarten straggling along the sidewalk with their seat-work papers to show their mothers.
Ramona got down on the floor of the car so she would not be seen.

Later that afternoon Beezus brought Mary Jane home from school to play. “How did you like kindergarten today, Ramona?” asked Mary Jane in a bright, false tone. It told Ramona all too clearly that she already knew Ramona had not gone to kindergarten.

“Why don't you shut up?” asked Ramona.

“I'll bet Henry Huggins isn't going to want to marry a girl who hasn't even finished kindergarten,” said Mary Jane.

“Oh, don't tease her,” said Beezus, who might laugh at her sister herself, but was quick to protect her from others. Ramona went outside and rode her two-wheeled, lopsided tricycle up and down the sidewalk for a while before she sadly removed Miss Binney's red ribbon, which she had woven through the spokes of her front wheel.

On the second morning Mrs. Quimby
took a dress out of Ramona's closet without a word.

Ramona spoke. “I'm not going to school,” she said.

“Ramona, aren't you ever going back to kindergarten?” Mrs. Quimby asked wearily.

“Yes,” said Ramona.

Mrs. Quimby smiled. “Good. Let's make it today.”

Ramona reached for her playclothes. “No. I'm going to stay away until Miss Binney forgets all about me, and then when I go back she'll think I'm somebody else.”

Mrs. Quimby sighed and shook her head. “Ramona, Miss Binney is not going to forget you.”

“Yes, she will,” insisted Ramona. “She will if I stay away long enough.”

Some older children on the way to school shouted, “Dropout!” as they passed the Quimbys' house. The day was a long, long
one for Ramona. She drew some more seat work for herself, and afterward there was nothing to do but wander around the house poking her tongue in the hole where her tooth was while she kept her lips shut tight.

That evening her father said, “I miss my little girl's smiles.” Ramona managed a tight-lipped smile that did not show the gap in her teeth. Later she heard her father say something to her mother about “this nonsense has gone on long enough,” and her mother answered with something about “Ramona has to make up her own mind she wants to behave herself.”

Ramona despaired. Nobody understood. She wanted to behave herself. Except when banging her heels on the bedroom wall, she had always wanted to behave herself. Why couldn't people understand how she felt? She had only touched Susan's hair in the first place because it was so beautiful, and
the last time—well, Susan had been so bossy she deserved to have her hair pulled.

Ramona soon discovered the other children in the neighborhood were fascinated by her predicament. “How come you get to stay out of school?” they asked.

“Miss Binney doesn't want me,” Ramona answered.

“Did you have fun in kindergarten today?” Mary Jane asked each day, pretending she did not know Ramona had stayed home. Ramona, who was not fooled for an instant, disdained to answer.

Henry Huggins was the one, quite unintentionally, who really frightened Ramona. One afternoon when she was pedaling her lopsided, two-wheeled tricycle up and down in front of her house, Henry came riding down the street delivering the
Journal
. He paused with one foot on the curb in front of the Quimbys' house while he rolled a paper.

“Hi,” said Henry. “That's quite a trike you're riding.”

“This isn't a trike,” said Ramona with dignity. “This is my two-wheeler.”

Henry grinned and threw the paper onto the Quimbys' front steps. “How come the truant officer doesn't make you go to school?” he asked.

“What's a truant officer?” asked Ramona.

“A man who gets after kids who don't go to school,” was Henry's careless answer, as he pedaled on down the street.

A truant officer, Ramona decided, must be something like the dog catcher who sometimes came to Glenwood School when there were too many dogs on the playground. He tried to lasso the dogs, and once when he did manage to catch an elderly overweight Bassett hound, he shut the dog in the back of his truck and drove away with it. Ramona did not want any truant officer to catch her
and drive away with her, so she put her lopsided, two-wheeled tricycle into the garage and went into the house and stayed there, looking out from behind the curtains at the other children and poking her tongue into the space where her tooth used to be.

“Ramona, why do you keep making such faces?” asked Mrs. Quimby in that tired voice she had been using the last day or so.

Ramona took her tongue out of the space. “I'm not making faces,” she said. Pretty soon her grown-up tooth would come in without the tooth fairy paying a visit, and no one would ever know she had lost a tooth. She wondered what Miss Binney had done with her tooth. Thrown it away, most likely.

The next morning Ramona continued to draw rows of three pictures, circle two and cross out one, but the morning was long and lonely. Ramona was so lonely she
even considered going back to kindergarten, but then she thought about Miss Binney, who did not like her anymore and who might not be glad to see her. She decided she would have to wait much, much longer for Miss Binney to forget her.

“When do you think Miss Binney will forget me?” Ramona asked her mother.

Mrs. Quimby kissed the top of Ramona's head. “I doubt if she will ever forget you,” she said. “Not ever, as long as she lives.”

The situation was hopeless. That noon Ramona was not at all hungry when she sat down to soup, a sandwich, and some carrot sticks. She bit into a carrot stick, but somehow chewing it took a long time. She stopped chewing altogether when she heard the doorbell chime. Her heart began to thump. Maybe the truant officer had finally come to get her and carry her off in the back of his truck. Maybe she should run and hide.

“Why, Howie!” Ramona heard her mother say. Feeling that she had had a close call, she went on chewing away at the carrot stick. She was safe. It was only Howie.

“Come on in, Howie,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Ramona is having her lunch. Would you like to stay for some soup and a sandwich? I
can phone your mother and ask her if it's all right.”

Ramona hoped Howie would stay. She was that lonely.

“I just brought Ramona a letter.”

Ramona jumped up from the table. “A letter for me? Who's it from?” Here was the first interesting thing that had happened in days.

“I don't know,” said Howie. “Miss Binney told me to give it to you.”

Ramona snatched the envelope from Howie, and, sure enough, there was RAMONA printed on the envelope.

“Let me read it to you,” said Mrs. Quimby.

“It's
my
letter,” said Ramona, and tore open the envelope. When she pulled out the letter, two things caught her eye at once—her tooth Scotch-taped to the top of the paper and the first line, which Ramona could read because she knew how all letters began.
“DEAR RAMONA
” was followed by two lines of printing, which Ramona was not able to read.

“Mama!” cried Ramona, filled with joy. Miss Binney had not thrown away her tooth, and Miss Binney had drawn ears and whiskers on her
Q
. The teacher liked the way Ramona made
Q
, so she must like Ramona, too. There was hope after all.

“Why, Ramona!” Mrs. Quimby was astonished. “You've lost a tooth! When did that happen?”

“At school,” said Ramona, “and here it is!” She waved the letter at her mother, and then she studied it carefully, because she wanted so much to be able to read Miss Binney's words herself. “It says, ‘Dear Ramona Q. Here is your tooth. I hope the tooth fairy brings you a dollar. I miss you and want you to come back to kindergarten. Love and kisses, Miss Binney.'”

Mrs. Quimby smiled and held out her hand. “Why don't you let me read the letter?”

Ramona handed over the letter. Maybe the words did not say exactly what she had pretended to read, but she was sure they must mean the same.

“‘Dear Ramona Q,'” began Mrs. Quimby. And she remarked, “Why, she makes her
Q
the same way you do.”

“Go on, Mama,” urged Ramona, eager to hear what the letter really said.

Mrs. Quimby read, “‘I am sorry I forgot to give you your tooth, but I am sure the tooth fairy will understand. When are you coming back to kindergarten?'”

Ramona did not care if the tooth fairy understood or not. Miss Binney understood and nothing else mattered. “Tomorrow, Mama!” she cried. “I'm going to kindergarten tomorrow!”

“Good girl!” said Mrs. Quimby and hugged Ramona.

“She can't,” said matter-of-fact Howie. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Ramona gave Howie a look of pity, but she said, “Please stay for lunch, Howie. It isn't tuna fish. It's peanut butter and jelly.”