Beezus and Ramona - Beverly Cleary [23]
Beezus hastily counted the napkins. Yes, there were enough of each kind to go around. Two napkins apiece would be safer anyway. She handed each child a second napkin and they all began to eat their applesauce, except one little girl who didn’t like applesauce. Ramona was beaming, because refreshments were the most important part of any party and now at last her guests were behaving the way she wanted them to.
Mother came out of the kitchen with the plates of fig Newtons, which she handed to Beezus. “Here, pass these around,” she said. “I think I’d better help Willa Jean.” Willa Jean knew how to eat with a spoon. The trouble was, she had to pick up the food with her left hand and put it into the spoon, which she held in her right hand. Then, most of the time, she was able to get it into her mouth.
Ramona, her face shining with happiness, looked at her friends sharing the applesauce. “Those cookies are filled with worms. Chopped-up worms!” she gleefully told everyone.
“Why, Ramona!” Beezus was shocked.
“They aren’t either. They’re filled with ground-up figs. You know that.”
Ramona did not answer. Her mouth was full of fig Newtons.
Beezus passed the plate to a boy named Joey. “I don’t like worms,” he said.
“I don’t like worms,” said the next little girl, who had applesauce all over her chin.
Beezus noticed that Ramona was beginning to scowl. When Howie refused a cookie, it was too much for Ramona. “You eat that!” she shouted.
“I won’t,” yelled Howie. “You can’t make me.”
Ramona jumped up, spilling her applesauce on the sheet. She thrust a nibbled fig Newton at Howie. “You eat that,” she repeated as she stepped into the applesauce. “It’s my party and I want you to eat it!”
Howie knocked the cookie out of her hand. Ramona grabbed a handful of fig Newtons and thrust them at Susan. “Eat these,” she shouted.
Susan began to cry. “They’re full of worms,” she sobbed. “I don’t like worms.”
“They’re pretend worms,” yelled Ramona.
“No, they’re not,” cried Susan. “They’re real!”
“You eat these,” Ramona yelled, thrusting her handful of cookies at the children, who backed away. Ramona stamped her feet and screamed. Then she threw the fig Newtons at her guests as hard as she could.
“My mother won’t let me eat worms!” shouted a little boy.
Ramona threw herself on the floor and kicked.
“Ramona, stop that!” Mother appeared from the kitchen with Willa Jean balanced on one hip. She grabbed Ramona by one arm and tried to drag her to her feet, but Ramona’s legs were like rubber.
“All right, Howie, forward march!” Beezus ordered, hoping to draw attention from Ramona. No one moved. It was much more fun to see what was going to happen to Ramona.
“This is my party! They’re supposed to eat the refreshments!” Ramona howled, banging her heels on the floor.
“Ramona, you’re acting like a two-year-old. You may go to your room and close the door until you can behave yourself,” said Mother quietly.
Ramona kicked harder to show that she was not going to mind unless she felt like it.
“Ramona,” said Mother even more quietly. “Don’t make me count to ten.”
Gasping with sobs, Ramona got up from the floor and ran into the bedroom, where she slammed the door as hard as she could.
“All right, parade,” said Mother wearily.
“Forward march.”
Up and down, whistling, banging, tooting, marched the parade. Mother sat Willa Jean down and was just beginning to gather up the dishes and sheets when a car stopped in front of the house and Mrs. Kemp got out. “At last,” sighed Mother, hurrying to the door.
“I’ve come for Howie and Willa Jean,” said Mrs. Kemp, as several other cars stopped in front of the Quimbys’. The parade marched into the living room.
“I don’t want to go home,” protested Howie, when he saw his mother.
“The party must have been a success,” Mrs. Kemp observed.
“It certainly was.” Mother tried to push the uncurled side of her hair behind her ear and to smooth out her rumpled old dress.
“I like to play parade,” said Howie, “but I didn’t like what they had to eat.”
“Why, Howie,” scolded Mrs. Kemp. “We must remember our manners.