Beezus and Ramona - Beverly Cleary [26]
Beezus read on, absorbed in the directions for making a vase out of an old tomato-juice can. Something smells funny, she thought as she turned a page. Then she stopped and sniffed. The air was no longer filled with the lovely warm fragrance of a baking cake. It was filled with a horrid rubbery smell. That’s funny, thought Beezus. I wonder what it can be. She sniffed again. Maybe somebody was burning trash outside and the smell was coming in through the window.
Mother came into the living room from the bedroom. “Beezus, do you smell something rubbery?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes, and it smells awful,” said Beezus. Ramona held her nose.
Mother sniffed again. “It smells as if something is scorching, too.”
Beezus went into the kitchen, where she found the smell so strong that it made her cough. “It’s worse in here, Mother,” she called, as she looked to see if anything was burning on the stove. Then Beezus remembered the oven. “Mother,” she said in a worried voice, “you don’t suppose something has happened to my birthday cake again?”
“Of course not,” said Mother, coming into the kitchen and opening the window.
“What could happen to it?”
Just to be sure, Beezus cautiously opened the oven door. “Mother!” she cried, horrified at what she saw. “Look!” Ramona’s rubber doll, Bendix, leaned over the edge of the cake pan, her head and arms buried in the batter. Her dress was scorched to a golden tan. “Oh, Mother!” repeated Beezus. Her birthday cake, her beautiful, fragrant birthday cake, was ruined.
“Is the witch done yet?” Ramona asked.
“Ramona—” began Mother and stopped. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Silently she turned off the oven and, with a pot holder, pulled out the doll and the remains of the cake.
“Ramona Geraldine Quimby!” said Beezus angrily. “You’re just awful, that’s what you are! Just plain awful. Spoiling your own sister’s birthday cake!”
“You told me to pretend I was Gretel,” protested Ramona. “And Gretel pushed the witch into the oven.”
Beezus looked at the cake and burst into tears.
Ramona promptly began to cry too. This made Beezus even angrier. “You stop crying,” she ordered Ramona furiously. “It was my birthday cake and I’m the one that’s supposed to be crying.”
“Girls!” said Mother in a tired voice.
“Ramona, you have been very naughty. You know better than to put anything into the oven. Now go to your room and stay there until I say you can come out.”
Sniffling, Ramona started toward the bedroom.
“And don’t you dare put your toys on my bed,” said Beezus. “Mother, can you fix the cake?”
“I’m afraid not.” Mother poked at the cake with her finger. “It’s fallen, and anyway it would probably taste like burnt rubber.”
Beezus tried to brush the tears out of her eyes. “Ramona always spoils everything. Now I won’t have any birthday cake, and Aunt Beatrice is coming and it won’t be like a birthday at all.”
“I know Ramona is a problem but we’ll just have to be patient, because she’s little,” said Mother, as she scraped the cake into the garbage can. “And you will still have a cake. I’ll phone your Aunt Beatrice and have her bring one from the bakery.”
“Oh, Mother, will you?” asked Beezus.
“That’s what I’ll do,” said Mother. “Now run along and wash your face and you’ll feel better.”
But as Beezus held her face cloth under the faucet she was not at all sure she would feel better. For Ramona to spoil one birthday cake was bad enough, but two… Probably nobody else in the whole world had a little sister who had spoiled two birthday cakes on the same day.
Beezus scrubbed away the tear stains, feeling more and more sorry for herself for having such a little sister. If Ramona were only bigger, things might be different; but since she was so much younger, she would always be…well, a pest. Then the terrible thought came to Beezus again—the thought she had had the time Ramona bit into all the apples and the time she shoved the dog into the bathroom. She tried not to think the thought, but she couldn’t help it. There were times