Beezus and Ramona - Beverly Cleary [4]
“Read it again,” said Ramona enthusiastically. “I like Big Steve. He’s better than Scoopy.”
“How would you like me to show you how to really write your name?” Beezus asked, hoping to divert Ramona from steam shovels.
“O.K.,” agreed Ramona.
Beezus found pencil and paper and wrote Ramona in large, careful letters across the top of the paper.
Ramona studied it critically. “I don’t like it,” she said at last.
“But that’s the way your name is spelled,” Beezus explained.
“You didn’t make dots and lines,” said Ramona. Seizing the pencil, she wrote,
“But, Ramona, you don’t understand.” Beezus took the pencil and wrote her own name on the paper. “You’ve seen me write Beatrice, which has an i and a t in it. See, like that. You don’t have an i or a t in your name, because it isn’t spelled that way.”
Ramona looked skeptical. She grabbed the pencil again and wrote with a flourish,
“That’s my name, because I like it,” she announced. “I like to make dots and lines.” Lying flat on her stomach on the floor she proceeded to fill the paper with i’s and t’s.
“But, Ramona, nobody’s name is spelled with just…” Beezus stopped. What was the use? Trying to explain spelling and writing to Ramona was too complicated. Everything became difficult when Ramona was around, even an easy thing like taking a book out of the library. Well, if Ramona was happy thinking her name was spelled with i’s and t’s, she could go ahead and think it.
The next two weeks were fairly peaceful. Mother and Father soon tired of tooting and growling and, like Beezus, they looked forward to the day Big Steve was due at the library. Father even tried to hide the book behind the radio, but Ramona soon found it. Beezus was happy that one part of her plan had worked—Ramona had forgotten The Littlest Steam Shovel now that she had a better book. On Ramona’s second trip to the library, perhaps Miss Evans could find a book that would make her forget steam shovels entirely.
As for Ramona, she was perfectly happy. She had three people to read aloud a book she liked, and she spent much of her time covering sheets of paper with i’s and t’s. Sometimes she wrote in pencil, sometimes she wrote in crayon, and once she wrote in ink until her mother caught her at it.
Finally, to the relief of the rest of the family, the day came when Big Steve had to be returned. “Come on, Ramona,” said Beezus. “It’s time to go to the library for another book.”
“I have a book,” said Ramona, who was lying on her stomach writing her version of her name on a piece of paper with purple crayon.
“No, it belongs to the library,” Beezus explained, glad that for once Ramona couldn’t possibly get her own way.
“It’s my book,” said Ramona, crossing several t’s with a flourish.
“Beezus is right, dear,” observed Mother.
“Run along and get Big Steve.”
Ramona looked sulky, but she went into the bedroom. In a few minutes she appeared with Big Steve in her hand and a satisfied expression on her face. “It’s my book,” she announced. “I wrote my name in it.”
Mother looked alarmed. “What do you mean, Ramona? Let me see.” She took the book and opened it. Every page in the book was covered with enormous purple i’s and t’s in Ramona’s very best handwriting.
“Mother!” cried Beezus. “Look what she’s done! And in crayon so it won’t erase.”
“Ramona Quimby,” said Mother. “You’re a very naughty girl! Why did you do a thing like that?”
“It’s my book,” said Ramona stubbornly.
“I like it.”
“Mother, what am I going to do?” Beezus demanded. “It’s checked out on my card and I’m responsible. They won’t let me take any more books out of the library, and I won’t have anything to read, and it will all be Ramona’s fault. She’s always spoiling my fun and it isn’t fair!” Beezus didn’t know what she would do without her library card. She couldn’t get along without library books. She just couldn’t, that was all.
“I do not spoil your fun,” stormed