Ramona and Her Mother Read online

  CONTENTS

  1. A PRESENT FOR WILLA JEAN

  2. SLACKS FOR ELLA FUNT

  3. NOBODY LIKES RAMONA

  4. THE QUARREL

  5. THE GREAT HAIR ARGUMENT

  6. RAMONA’S NEW PAJAMAS

  7. THE TELEPHONE CALL

  EXCERPT FROM RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8

  1. THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BACK AD

  OTHER BOOKS BY BEVERLY CLEARY

  CREDITS

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  1

  A PRESENT FOR WILLA JEAN

  “When will they be here?” asked Ramona Quimby, who was supposed to be dusting the living room but instead was twirling around trying to make herself dizzy. She was much too excited to dust.

  “In half an hour,” cried her mother from the kitchen, where she and Ramona’s big sister Beatrice were opening and closing the refrigerator and oven doors, bumping into one another, forgetting where they had laid the pot holders, finding them and losing the measuring spoons.

  The Quimbys were about to entertain their neighbors at a New Year’s Day brunch to celebrate Mr. Quimby’s finding a job at the ShopRite Market after being out of work for several months. Ramona liked the word brunch, half breakfast and half lunch, and secretly felt the family had cheated because they had eaten their real breakfast earlier. They needed their strength to get ready for the party.

  “And Ramona,” said Mrs. Quimby as she hastily laid out silverware on the dining-room table, “be nice to Willa Jean, will you? Try to keep her out of everyone’s hair.”

  “Ramona, watch what you’re doing!” said Mr. Quimby, who was laying a fire in the fireplace. “You almost knocked over the lamp.”

  Ramona stopped twirling, staggered from dizziness, and made a face. Willa Jean, the messy little sister of her friend Howie Kemp, was sticky, crumby, into everything, and always had to have her own way.

  “And behave yourself,” said Mr. Quimby. “Willa Jean is company.”

  Not my company, thought Ramona, who saw quite enough of Willa Jean when she played at Howie’s house. “If Howie can’t come to the brunch because he has a cold, why can’t Willa Jean stay home with their grandmother, too?” Ramona asked.

  “I really don’t know,” said Ramona’s mother. “That isn’t the way things worked out. When the Kemps asked if they could bring Willa Jean, I could hardly say no.”

  I could, thought Ramona, deciding that since Willa Jean, welcome or not, was coming to the brunch, she had better prepare to defend her possessions. She went to her room, where she swept her best crayons and drawing paper into a drawer and covered them with her pajamas. Her Christmas roller skates and favorite toys, battered stuffed animals that she rarely played with but still loved, went into the corner of her closet. There she hid them under her bathrobe and shut the door tight.

  But what could she find to amuse Willa Jean? If Willa Jean did not have something to play with, she would run tattling to the grown-ups. “Ramona hid her toys!” Ramona laid a stuffed snake on her bed, then doubted if even Willa Jean could love a stuffed snake.

  What Ramona needed was a present for Willa Jean, a present wrapped and tied with a good hard knot, a present that would take a long time to unwrap. Next to receiving presents, Ramona liked to give presents, and if she gave Willa Jean a present today, she would not only have the fun of giving, but of knowing the grown-ups would think, Isn’t Ramona kind, isn’t she generous to give Willa Jean a present? And so soon after Christmas, too. They would look at Ramona in her new red-and-green-plaid slacks and red turtleneck sweater and say, Ramona is one of Santa’s helpers, a regular little Christmas elf.

  Ramona smiled at herself in the mirror and was pleased. Two of her most important teeth were only halfway in, which made her look like a jack-o’-lantern, but she did not mind. If she had grown-up teeth, the rest of her face would catch up someday.

  Over her shoulder she saw reflected in the mirror a half-empty box of Kleenex on the floor beside her bed. Kleenex! That was the answer to a present for Willa Jean. She ran into the kitchen, where Beezus was beating muffin batter while her father fried sausages and her mother struggled to unmold a large gelatine salad onto a plate covered with lettuce.

  “A present is a good idea,” agreed Mrs. Quimby when Ramona asked permission, “but a box of Kleenex doesn’t seem like much of a present.” She shook the mold. The salad refused to slide out. Her face was flushed and she glanced at the clock on the stove.

  Ramona was insistent. “Willa Jean would like it. I know she would.” There was no time for explaining what Willa Jean was to do with the Kleenex.

  Mrs. Quimby was having her problems with the stubborn salad. “All right,” she consented. “There’s an extra box in the bathroom cupboard.” The salad slid slowly from the mold and rested, green and shimmering, on the lettuce.

  By the time Ramona had wrapped a large box of Kleenex in leftover Christmas paper, the guests had begun to arrive. First came the Hugginses and McCarthys and little Mrs. Swink in a bright-green pants suit. Umbrellas were leaned outside the front door, coats taken into the bedroom, and the usual grown-up remarks exchanged. “Happy New Year!” “Good to see you!” “We thought we would have to swim over, it’s raining so hard.” “Do you think this rain will ever stop?” “Who says it’s raining?” “This is good old Oregon sunshine!” Ramona felt she had heard that joke one million times, and she was only in the second grade.

  Then Mr. Huggins said to Ramona’s father, “Congratulations! I hear you have a new job.”

  “That’s right,” said Mr. Quimby. “Starts tomorrow.”

  “Great,” said Mr. Huggins, and Ramona silently agreed. Having a father without a job had been hard on the whole family.

  Then Mrs. Swink smiled at Ramona and said, “My, Juanita, you’re getting to be a big girl. How old are you? I can’t keep track.”

  Should Ramona tell Mrs. Swink her name was not Juanita? No, Mrs. Swink was very old and should be treated with courtesy. Last year Ramona would have spoken up and said, My name is not Juanita, it’s Ramona. Not this year. The room fell silent as Ramona answered, “I’m seven and a half right now.” She was proud of herself for speaking so politely.

  There was soft laughter from the grown-ups, which embarrassed Ramona. Why did they have to laugh? She was seven and a half right now. She would not be seven and a half forever.

  Then the Grumbies arrived, followed by Howie’s mother and father, the Kemps, and of course Willa Jean. Although Willa Jean was perfectly capable of walking, her father was carrying her so she would not get her little white shoes and socks wet. Willa Jean in turn was carrying a big stuffed bear. When Mr. Kemp set his daughter down, her mother peeled off her coat, one arm at a time so Willa Jean would not have to let go of her bear.

  There stood usually messy Willa Jean in a pink dress with tiny flowers embroidered on the collar. Her curly blond hair, freshly washed, stood out like a halo. Her blue eyes were the color of the plastic handle on Ramona’s toothbrush. When she smiled, she showed her pearly little baby teeth. Willa Jean was not messy at all.

  Ramona in her corduroy slacks and turtleneck sweater suddenly felt big and awkward beside her little guest and embarrassed to have jack-o’-lantern teeth.

  And the things those grown-ups said to Willa Jean! “Why, hello there, sweetheart!” “My, don’t you look like a little angel!” “Bless your little heart. Did Santa bring you the great big bear?” Willa Jean smiled and hugged her bear. Ramona noticed she had lace ruffles sewn to the seat of her underpants.

  “What is your bear’s name, dear?” asked Mrs. Swink.

  “Woger,” answered Willa Jean.

  Mr
s. Kemp smiled as if Willa Jean had said something clever and explained, “She named her bear Roger after the milkman.”

  Mrs. Quimby said with amusement, “I remember when Ramona named one of her dolls Chevrolet after the car.” Everyone laughed.

  She didn’t have to go and tell that, thought Ramona, feeling that her mother had betrayed her by telling, as if it were funny, something she had done a long time ago. She still thought Chevrolet was a beautiful name, even though she was old enough to know that dolls were not usually named after cars.

  “See my bear?” Willa Jean held Woger up for Ramona to admire. Because everyone was watching, Ramona said politely, “He’s a nice bear.” And he was a nice bear, the nicest bear Ramona had ever seen. He was big and soft with a kindly look on his furry face and—this was the best part—each of his four big paws had five furry toes. You could count them, five on each paw. Even though Ramona felt she should be outgrowing bears, she longed to hold that bear, to put her arms around him, hug him close and love him. “Would you like me to hold the bear for you?” she asked.

  “No,” said Willa Jean.

  “Ramona,” whispered Mrs. Quimby, “take Willa Jean into the kitchen and sit her at the table so she won’t spill orange juice on the carpet.” Ramona gave her mother a balky look, which was returned with her mother’s you-do-it-or-you’ll-catch-it look. Mrs. Quimby was not at her best when about to serve a meal to a living room full of guests.

  In the kitchen Willa Jean set Woger carefully on the chair before she climbed up beside him, displaying her ruffled underpants, and grasped her orange juice with both hands, dribbling some down the front of her fresh pink dress.

  Mrs. Quimby, assisted by Beezus, set out a platter of scrambled eggs and another of bacon and sausage beside the gelatine salad. Hastily she snatched two small plates from the cupboard and dished out two servings of brunch, which she set in front of Ramona and Willa Jean. Beezus, acting like a grown-up, filled a basket with muffins and carried it into the dining room. Guests took plates from the stack at the end of the table and began to serve themselves.

  Ramona scowled. If Beezus got to eat in the living room with the grown-ups, why couldn’t she? She was no baby. She would not spill.

  “Be a good girl!” whispered Mrs. Quimby, who had forgotten the marmalade.

  I’m trying, thought Ramona, but her mother was too flurried to notice her efforts. Willa Jean took one bite of scrambled eggs and then went to work, patting the rest flat on her plate with the back of her spoon.

  Ramona watched her charge give her egg a final pat with the back of her spoon, pick up her bear, and trot off to the living room, leaving Ramona alone to nibble a muffin, think, and look at her artwork, arithmetic papers, and some cartoons her father had drawn, which had been taped to the refrigerator door for the family to admire. Nobody missed Ramona, all alone out there in the kitchen. Conversation from the living room was boring, all about high prices and who would be the next president, with no mention of children or anything interesting until someone said, “Oops. Careful, Willa Jean.”

  Then Mrs. Kemp said, “No-no, Willa Jean. Mustn’t put your fingers in Mr. Grumbie’s marmalade. It’s sticky.”

  Mrs. Quimby slipped into the kitchen to see if the coffee was ready. “Ramona, it’s time to take Willa Jean to your room and give her your present,” she whispered.

  “I changed my mind,” said Ramona.

  Mr. Quimby, refilling the muffin basket, overheard. “Do as your mother says,” he ordered in a whisper, “so that kid will give us a little peace.”

  Ramona considered. Should she make a fuss? What would a fuss accomplish? On the other hand, if she gave Willa Jean her present, maybe she would have a chance to hold that lovable bear for a little while.

  “OK,” Ramona agreed without enthusiasm.

  Mrs. Quimby followed Ramona into the living room. “Willa Jean,” she said. “Ramona has a present for you. In her room.”

  Willa Jean’s attention was caught.

  “Go with Ramona,” Mrs. Quimby said firmly.

  Willa Jean, still clutching her bear, went.

  “Here.” Ramona thrust the package at Willa Jean, and when her guest set her bear on the bed, Ramona started to pick him up.

  Willa Jean dropped the package. “Woger’s my bear,” she said, and ran off to the living room with him. In a moment she returned bearless to pull and yank and tear the wrapping from the package. “That’s not a present.” Willa Jean looked cross. “That’s Kleenex.”

  “But it’s your very own,” said Ramona. “Sit down and I’ll show you what to do.” She broke the perforation in the top of the box and pulled out one pink sheet and then another. “See. You can sit here and pull out all you want because it’s your very own. You can pull out the whole box if you want.” She did not bother telling Willa Jean that she had always wanted to pull out a whole box of Kleenex, one sheet after another.

  Willa Jean looked interested. Slowly she pulled out one sheet and then a second. And another and another. She began to pull faster. Soon she was pulling out sheet after sheet and having such a good time that Ramona wanted to join the fun.

  “It’s mine,” said Willa Jean when Ramona reached for a tissue. Willa Jean got to her feet and, pulling and flinging, ran down the hall to the living room. Ramona followed.

  “See me!” Willa Jean ordered the grown-ups as she ran around pulling and flinging Kleenex all over the room. Guests grabbed their coffee mugs and held them high for safety.

  “No-no, Willa Jean,” said Mrs. Kemp. “Mrs. Quimby won’t like you wasting her Kleenex.”

  “It’s mine!” Willa Jean was carried away by the joy of wasting Kleenex and being the center of attention at the same time. “Ramona gave it to me.”

  Ramona looked around for the bear, which was sitting on Mr. Grumbie’s lap. “Would you like me to hold Roger?” Ramona asked, careful not to say Woger.

  “No.” The bear’s owner saw through Ramona’s scheme. “Woger wants to sit there.” Mr. Grumbie did not look particularly pleased.

  Willa Jean’s parents made no effort to stop their daughter’s spree of pull and fling. Ramona watched, feeling much older than she had earlier in the day. She also felt awkward while Beezus moved around the living room, dodging Willa Jean and pouring coffee as if she were a grown-up herself.

  At first guests were amused by Willa Jean. But amusement faded as coffee mugs had to be rescued every time Willa Jean passed by. Pink Kleenex littered the room. Ramona heard Mr. Huggins whisper, “How much Kleenex in a box anyway?”

  Mrs. McCarthy answered, “Two hundred and fifty sheets.”

  “That’s a lot of Kleenex,” said Mr. Huggins.

  When Willa Jean came to the last piece of Kleenex, she climbed on the couch and carefully laid it on Mr. Grumbie’s bald head. “Now you have a hat,” she said.

  Conversation died, and the party died, too. No one called Willa Jean an angel now or blessed her little heart.

  The Grumbies were first to leave. Mr. Grumbie handed the bear to Willa Jean’s mother as Willa Jean filled her arms with pink tissues and tossed them into the air. “Whee!” she cried, and scooped up another armful. “Whee!”

  Their departure seemed to be a signal for everyone to leave. “Don’t you want to take the Kleenex with you?” Mrs. Quimby asked Willa Jean’s mother. “We can put it in a bag.”

  “That’s all right. Willa Jean has had her fun.” Mrs. Kemp was helping Willa Jean into her coat.

  “Bye-bye,” said Willa Jean prettily as her father carried her and Woger out the door.

  Other guests were telling Mr. and Mrs. Quimby how much they had enjoyed the brunch. Beezus was standing beside them as if it had been her party, too. Mrs. McCarthy smiled. “I can see you are your mother’s girl,” she said.

  “I couldn’t get along without her,” Mrs. Quimby replied generously.

  “Good-bye, Juanita,” said little Mrs. Swink.

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Swink,” answered Ramona, polite to th
e end.

  She tossed an armful of Kleenex into the air so that her mother might notice her, too. Somehow tossing someone else’s pulled-out Kleenex was not much fun, and Mrs. Quimby was so busy saying good-bye to other guests she did not pay attention.

  At last the door was closed, and from the porch where the neighbors were opening umbrellas, Ramona’s sharp ears caught her name. “Willa Jean certainly reminds me of Ramona when she was Willa Jean’s age,” someone said.

  And someone else answered, “She’s Ramona all over again, all right.”

  Ramona was filled with indignation. Willa Jean is not me all over again, she thought fiercely. I was never such a pest.

  “Whew!” said Mr. Quimby. “That’s over. What’s the matter with those people, letting the kid show off like that?”

  “Too much grandmother, I suppose,” answered Mrs. Quimby. “Or maybe it’s easier for them to ignore her behavior.”

  “Come on, let’s all pitch in and clean up this place,” said Mr. Quimby. “Ramona, you find a bag and pick up all the Kleenex.”

  “Kleenex is made of trees,” said Beezus, already helping her mother collect coffee mugs from the living room. “We shouldn’t waste it.” Lately Beezus had become a friend of trees.

  “Put the bag of Kleenex in the cupboard in the bathroom,” said Mrs. Quimby, “and let’s all remember to use it.”

  I never was as awful as Willa Jean, Ramona told herself as she went to work collecting two hundred and fifty pieces of scattered pink Kleenex. I just know I wasn’t. She followed the trail of Kleenex back to her bedroom, and when the two hundred and fiftieth piece was stuffed in the bag, she leaned against her dresser to study herself in the mirror.

  How come nobody ever calls me my mother’s girl? Ramona thought. How come Mother never says she couldn’t get along without me?

  2

  SLACKS FOR ELLA FUNT

  The day Ramona’s father went to work at the checkout counter of the ShopRite Market, life in the Quimby household changed. Sometimes Mr. Quimby worked all day; sometimes he worked afternoons and evenings. Sometimes he took the car to work while Mrs. Quimby took the bus to her job in Dr. Hobson’s office. Sometimes she drove the car while he took the bus, or one would drop the other off at work.