Ramona the Pest (2 page)

As Ramona listened a question came into her mind, a question that had often puzzled her about the books that were read to her. Somehow books always left out one of the most important things anyone would want
to know. Now that Ramona was in school, and school was a place for learning, perhaps Miss Binney could answer the question. Ramona waited quietly until her teacher had finished the story, and then she raised her hand the way Miss Binney had told the class they should raise their hands when they wanted to speak in school.

Joey, who did not remember to raise his hand, spoke out. “That's a good book.”

Miss Binney smiled at Ramona, and said, “I like the way Ramona remembers to raise her hand when she has something to say. Yes, Ramona?”

Ramona's hopes soared. Her teacher had smiled at her. “Miss Binney, I want to know—how did Mike Mulligan go to the bathroom when he was digging the basement of the town hall?”

Miss Binney's smile seemed to last longer than smiles usually last. Ramona glanced
uneasily around and saw that others were waiting with interest for the answer. Everybody wanted to know how Mike Mulligan went to the bathroom.

“Well—” said Miss Binney at last. “I don't really know, Ramona. The book doesn't tell us.”

“I always wanted to know, too,” said Howie, without raising his hand, and others murmured in agreement. The whole class, it seemed, had been wondering how Mike Mulligan went to the bathroom.

“Maybe he stopped the steam shovel and climbed out of the hole he was digging and went to a service station,” suggested a boy named Eric.

“He couldn't. The book says he had to work as fast as he could all day,” Howie pointed out. “It doesn't say he stopped.”

Miss Binney faced the twenty-nine earnest members of the kindergarten, all of whom
wanted to know how Mike Mulligan went to the bathroom.

“Boys and girls,” she began, and spoke in her clear, distinct way. “The reason the book does not tell us how Mike Mulligan went to the bathroom is that it is not an important part of the story. The story is about digging the basement of the town hall, and that is what the book tells us.”

Miss Binney spoke as if this explanation ended the matter, but the kindergarten was not convinced. Ramona knew and the rest of the class knew that knowing how to go to the bathroom
was
important. They were surprised that Miss Binney did not understand, because she had showed them the bathroom the very first thing. Ramona could see there were some things she was not going to learn in school, and along with the rest of the class she stared reproachfully at Miss Binney.

The teacher looked embarrassed, as if she knew she had disappointed her kindergarten. She recovered quickly, closed the book, and told the class that if they would walk quietly out to the playground she would teach them a game called Gray Duck.

Ramona did not budge. She watched the rest of the class leave the room and admired Susan's
boing-boing
curls as they bounced about her shoulders, but she did not stir from her seat. Only Miss Binney could unstick the imaginary glue that held her there.

“Don't you want to learn to play Gray Duck, Ramona?” Miss Binney asked.

Ramona nodded. “Yes, but I can't.”

“Why not?” asked Miss Binney.

“I can't leave my seat,” said Ramona. When Miss Binney looked blank, she added, “Because of the present.”

“What present?” Miss Binney seemed so genuinely puzzled that Ramona became
uneasy. The teacher sat down in the little chair next to Ramona's, and said, “Tell me why you can't play Gray Duck.”

Ramona squirmed, worn out with waiting. She had an uneasy feeling that something had gone wrong someplace. “I want to play Gray Duck, but you—” she stopped, feeling that she might be about to say the wrong thing.

“But I what?” asked Miss Binney.

“Well…uh…you said if I sat here I would get a present,” said Ramona at last, “but you didn't say how long I had to sit here.”

If Miss Binney had looked puzzled before, she now looked baffled. “Ramona, I don't understand—” she began.

“Yes, you did,” said Ramona, nodding. “You told me to sit here for the present, and I have been sitting here ever since school started and you haven't given me a present.”

Miss Binney's face turned red and she
looked so embarrassed that Ramona felt completely confused. Teachers were not supposed to look that way.

Miss Binney spoke gently. “Ramona, I'm afraid we've had a misunderstanding.”

Ramona was blunt. “You mean I don't get a present?”

“I'm afraid not,” admitted Miss Binney. “You see ‘for the present' means for now. I meant that I wanted you to sit here for now, because later I may have the children sit at different desks.”

“Oh.” Ramona was so disappointed she had nothing to say. Words were so puzzling.
Present
should mean a present just as
attack
should mean to stick tacks in people.

By now all the children were crowding around the door to see what had happened to their teacher. “I'm so sorry,” said Miss Binney. “It's all my fault. I should have used different words.”

“That's all right,” said Ramona, ashamed to have the class see that she was not going to get a present after all.

“All right, class,” said Miss Binney briskly. “Let's go outside and play Gray Duck. You, too, Ramona.”

Gray Duck turned out to be an easy game, and Ramona's spirits recovered quickly from her disappointment. The class formed a circle, and the person who was “it” tagged someone who had to chase him around the circle. If “it” was caught before he got back to the empty space in the circle, he had to go into the center of the circle, which was called the mush pot, and the person who caught him became “it.”

Ramona tried to stand next to the girl with the springy curls, but instead she found herself beside Howie. “I thought you were going to get a present,” gloated Howie.

Ramona merely scowled and made a face
at Howie, who was “it,” but quickly landed in the mush pot because his new jeans were so stiff they slowed him down. “Look at Howie in the mush pot!” crowed Ramona.

Howie looked as if he were about to cry, which Ramona thought was silly of him. Only a baby would cry in the mush pot. Me, me, somebody tag me, thought Ramona, jumping up and down. She longed for a turn to run around the circle. Susan was jumping up and down, too, and her curls bobbed enticingly.

At last Ramona felt a tap on her shoulder. Her turn had come to run around the circle! She ran as fast as she could to catch up with the sneakers pounding on the asphalt ahead of her. The
boing-boing
curls were on the other side of the circle. Ramona was coming closer to them. She put out her hand. She took hold of a curl, a thick, springy curl—

“Yow!”
screamed the owner of the curls.

Startled, Ramona let go. She was so surprised by the scream that she forgot to watch Susan's curl spring back.

Susan clutched her curls with one hand and pointed at Ramona with the other. “That girl pulled my hair! That girl pulled my hair! Ow-ow-ow.” Ramona felt that Susan did not have to be so touchy. She had
not meant to hurt her. She only wanted to touch that beautiful, springy hair that was so different from her own straight brown hair.

“Ow-ow-ow!” shrieked Susan, the center of everyone's attention.

“Baby,” said Ramona.

“Ramona,” said Miss Binney, “in our kindergarten we do not pull hair.”

“Susan doesn't have to be such a baby,” said Ramona.

“You may go sit on the bench outside the door while the rest of us play our game,” Miss Binney told Ramona.

Ramona did not want to sit on any bench. She wanted to play Gray Duck with the rest of the class. “No,” said Ramona, preparing to make a great big noisy fuss. “I won't.”

Susan stopped shrieking. A terrible silence fell over the playground. Everyone stared at Ramona in such a way that she almost felt as if she were beginning to shrink. Nothing
like this had ever happened to her before.

“Ramona,” said Miss Binney quietly. “Go sit on the bench.”

Without another word Ramona walked across the playground and sat down on the bench by the door of the kindergarten. The game of Gray Duck continued without her, but the class had not forgotten her. Howie grinned in her direction. Susan continued to look injured. Some laughed and pointed at Ramona. Others, particularly Davy, looked worried, as if they had not known such a terrible punishment could be given in kindergarten.

Ramona swung her feet and pretended to be watching some workmen who were building a new market across the street. In spite of the misunderstanding about the present, she wanted so much to be loved by her pretty new teacher. Tears came into Ramona's eyes, but she would not cry.
Nobody was going to call Ramona Quimby a crybaby. Never.

Next door to the kindergarten two little girls, about two and four years old, peered solemnly through the fence at Ramona. “See that girl,” said the older girl to her little sister. “She's sitting there because she's been bad.” The two-year-old looked awed to be in the presence of such wickedness. Ramona stared at the ground, she felt so ashamed.

When the game ended, the class filed past Ramona into the kindergarten. “You may come in now, Ramona,” said Miss Binney pleasantly.

Ramona slid off the bench and followed the others. Even though she was not loved, she was forgiven, and that helped. She hoped that learning to read and write came next.

Inside Miss Binney announced that the time had come to rest. This news was another disappointment to Ramona, who felt that
anyone who went to kindergarten was too old to rest. Miss Binney gave each child a mat on which there was a picture that matched the picture on his cupboard door and told him where to spread his mat on the floor. When all twenty-nine children were lying down they did not rest. They popped up to see what others were doing. They wiggled. They whispered. They coughed. They asked, “How much longer do we have to rest?”

“Sh-h,” said Miss Binney in a soft, quiet, sleepy voice. “The person who rests most quietly will get to be the wake-up fairy.”

“What's the wake-up fairy?” demanded Howie, bobbing up.

“Sh-h,” whispered Miss Binney. “The wake-up fairy tiptoes around and wakes up the class with a magic wand. Whoever is the fairy wakes up the quietest resters first.”

Ramona made up her mind that she
would get to be the wake-up fairy, and then Miss Binney would know she was not so bad after all. She lay flat on her back with her hands tight to her sides. The mat was thin and the floor was hard, but Ramona did not wiggle. She was sure she must be the best rester in the class, because she could hear others squirming around on their mats. Just to show Miss Binney she really and truly was resting she gave one little snore, not a loud snore but a delicate snore, to prove what a good rester she was.

A scatter of giggles rose from the class, followed by several snores, less delicate than
Ramona's. They led to more and more, less and less delicate snores until everyone was snoring except the few who did not know how to snore. They were giggling.

Miss Binney clapped her hands and spoke in a voice that was no longer soft, quiet, and sleepy. “All right, boys and girls!” she said. “This is enough! We do not snore or giggle during rest time.”

“Ramona started it,” said Howie.

Ramona sat up and scowled at Howie. “Tattletale,” she said in a voice of scorn. Across Howie she saw that Susan was lying quietly with her beautiful curls spread out on her mat and her eyes screwed tight shut.

“Well, you did,” said Howie.

“Children!” Miss Binney's voice was sharp. “We must rest so that we will not be tired when our mothers come to take us home.”

“Is your mother coming to take you home?” Howie asked Miss Binney. Ramona
had been wondering the same thing.