Ralph S. Mouse - Beverly Cleary [21]
Finally Brad must have felt Ralph’s toenails, for he looked down.
“You—you thug!” said Ralph. “You broke my motorcycle, my only way of getting out of this place. I’m too little to wade through slush, and anyway walking isn’t as much fun as riding my motorcycle, especially through puddles.”
Brad stared at Ralph. “You can talk,” he said, as if he didn’t believe it.
“Of course, I can talk,” said Ralph. “Not many people can understand me, but I can talk.”
“How come I understand you?” asked Brad.
“You’re the type. You’re lonesome, and you’re interested in cars and motorcycles. That’s the sort of person who understands me.” Brad seemed to be thinking this answer over as Ralph continued, “How come you’re lonesome? You’re not a new boy in school like Ryan.”
“None of your business,” said Brad. Then, realizing he had admitted more than he intended, he contradicted himself. “I’m not lonesome.”
“Aw, come on,” coaxed Ralph, who by now was genuinely curious. “You can tell me.”
Brad was stubbornly silent.
“I’m just a little mouse, you know,” Ralph reminded him.
“Well, I live with my father and Arfy, my dog. My folks got divorced, and my mom doesn’t live with us anymore. It’s lonesome without her,” confessed Brad.
“Oh, too bad.” Ralph was sympathetic. His own mother nagged him, but he missed her right now. “Ryan’s lonesome too, because he’s new here,” Ralph told Brad. “You two should get together.”
Suddenly Brad laughed, the first time Ralph had ever heard him laugh. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “A mouse telling me what to do.”
Ralph’s feelings were hurt. “Don’t believe it then,” he said, remembering his motorcycle.
“Aw, don’t be mad.” Brad was sorry he had hurt Ralph’s feelings. “Let’s be friends.”
“Why should we?” asked Ralph in his coldest squeak. “You wanted to make the maze too hard; you pushed my friend and broke my motorcycle. Why should we be friends?”
“Because—” began Brad, and then he stopped. “Look. I didn’t know Ryan had a motorcycle in his pocket or you either. I thought he was a rich—Oh, never mind what I thought. Was that really your motorcycle?”
“Yes, it was.” Ralph spoke in his crossest voice. “A boy gave it to me.”
“Wow!” breathed Brad. “A mouse with a motorcycle! Can you ride it?”
“Not when it’s broken,” said Ralph. “Now put me down and go eat your lunch. I need a little rest. Mice are supposed to be nocturnal, you know, and I need my sleep in the daytime.”
“Miss K locked the door,” Brad reminded him, “and you shouldn’t be running around the halls where you can get stepped on.”
“No problem. I can go under the door,” said Ralph.
“Will you talk to me again?” asked Brad, as he used the hand not in the sling to set Ralph on the floor.
“Maybe, maybe not,” answered Ralph. “It all depends.” With that noncommittal reply, he flattened himself and slipped under the door into the empty classroom. Inside, he entered what had become his home away from home, Melissa’s boot. He felt that he had only dozed off when Ryan’s hand closed around him.
“Gotcha!” said Ryan.
“Put me down,” snarled Ralph, needing his rest.
“Brad was right,” said Ryan. “I didn’t think you would come back, but he said he found you and you talked to him.”
The class began to return and to crowd around Ryan. “You found him!” they said. “Miss K, Ralph’s safe!” “Where will we keep him?” “We can’t let him get caught in a trap.”
“Traps,” snapped Ralph. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Only Ryan and Brad understood him.
“Let’s put him in the fishbowl for the time being,” said Miss K.
“Oh, no,” groaned Ralph. “Not again.”
“I think Ralph likes more privacy,” said Ryan.
“There’s that old mitten that’s been lying around,” said Melissa. “He could have it to sleep in.”
In spite of Ralph’s struggles, he found himself once again in the fishbowl, this time with the old mitten. Furious with Ryan for not managing to save him from this indignity, he crawled into the thumb, where he thought mean thoughts about everyone in Room 5.
Just before the last bell rang, Ryan set a bottle cap full