Beezus and Ramona - Beverly Cleary [24]
Ramona, her face streaked with tears, came out of her room and stood staring unhappily at her departing guests. When the last child had struggled into his boots, she looked tearfully at her mother. “I’m behaving myself now,” she said meekly.
Mother dropped wearily into a chair. “Ramona, if you wanted a party, why didn’t you ask me to have one?”
“Because when I ask you don’t let me do things,” explained Ramona, sniffing.
Beezus couldn’t help feeling there was some truth in Ramona’s remark. She had often felt that way herself, especially when she was younger. “Mother, did I do things like Ramona when I was four?” she asked.
“You did some of the things Ramona does now,” said Mother thoughtfully, “but you were really very different. You were quieter, for one thing.”
This pleased Beezus. One of the reasons she sometimes disliked Ramona was that she was never quiet when she could manage to be noisy.
“Of course there are some things that all four-year-olds do,” Mother continued, “but even sisters are usually different. Just the way your Aunt Beatrice and I were different when we were girls. I was a bookworm and went to the library two or three times a week. She was the best hopscotch player and the fastest rope jumper in the neighborhood. And she was better at jacks than anybody in our whole school.”
This surprised Beezus. She had never thought about her mother and aunt as children before. She tried to picture her schoolteacher aunt jumping rope and found to her surprise that it was not very hard to do. Of course Mother and Aunt Beatrice must have been different when they were girls, because they were so different now that they were grown up. And she was glad they were different. She loved them both.
“Did I have tantrums, too?” Beezus asked.
“Once in a while,” said Mother. “I always dreaded cutting your fingernails, because you kicked and screamed.”
Beezus could not help feeling silly. Imagine having a tantrum over a little thing like having her fingernails cut!
Then Ramona spoke up. “I don’t cry when you cut my fingernails,” she boasted.
“Yes, but you scream when you have your hair washed,” Beezus could not help reminding her.
“Ramona,” said Mother, “you were a very naughty girl this afternoon. What are we going to do with you?”
Ramona stopped sniffing and looked interested. “Lock me in a closet for a million years?” she suggested cheerfully.
Mother and Beezus exchanged glances. How quickly Ramona recovered!
“Make me sleep outdoors in the rain?” Obviously Ramona was enjoying herself. “Not let me have anything to eat but carrots?”
Mother laughed and looked at Beezus. “I’m afraid all we can do is wait for her to grow up,” she said.
And when Mother said we like that, Beezus almost felt sorry for Ramona, because she would have to wait such a long time to be grown up.
6
Beezus’s Birthday
When Beezus came home from school on the afternoon of her tenth birthday, she felt that so far the day had been perfect—packages by her plate at breakfast, a new dress to wear to school, the whole class singing “Happy Birthday” just for her. But the best part was still to come. Aunt Beatrice was coming for dinner.
Beezus could hardly wait to tell her aunt about acting the part of Sacajawea leading Lewis and Clark across the plains to Oregon at a P.T.A. meeting. And of course Aunt Beatrice would bring more presents—very special presents, because she was Aunt Beatrice’s namesake. And at dinner there would be a beautiful birthday cake with ten candles. Mother had probably worked all afternoon baking and decorating the cake and now had it hidden away in a cupboard.
When Mother kissed Beezus she had said, “I’m sorry, Beezus, but I’ll have to ask you to keep Ramona out of the kitchen for a while.”
“Why?” asked Beezus, thinking her mother was planning a surprise.
“So I can bake your birthday cake,” Mother explained.
“Isn’t it baked yet?” exclaimed Beezus.
“Oh, Mother.”
“This has been one of those days when I couldn’t seem to get anything done,” said Mother. “It was my morning for the nursery-school car pool. After I