Beezus and Ramona

by Beverly Cleary

  “Let me in!” screamed Ramona from the hall. “Let me in the bathroom.”

  “Ramona, who are you talking to?” asked Mother as she went into the hall.

  “Ribsy,” said Ramona, and beat on the door with her fists.

  Ribsy began to bark. From behind the bathroom door his barks made a hollow, echoing sound. Puzzled, Henry looked at Beezus. Ribsy in the bathroom? Henry decided he had better investigate. Reluctantly Beezus left the game and followed him into the hall.

  “Open the door and let him out,” said Mother.

  “I can’t,” shouted Ramona angrily, above Ribsy’s furious barks. “The bad old dog went and locked the door.”

  “Oh, stop pretending.” Beezus was exasperated with Ramona for interrupting the game a second time. It was too bad that a girl couldn’t have a friend over for a game of checkers without her little sister spoiling all her fun.

  “I’m not pretending,” screamed Ramona, clinging to the doorknob while Ribsy barked and scratched at the other side of the door.

  “Ramona!” Mother’s voice was stern. “Let that dog out.”

  “I can’t,” cried Ramona, rattling the bathroom door. “The bad old dog locked me out.”

  “Nonsense. Dogs can’t lock doors,” scolded Mother. “Now open that door and let him out.”

  Ramona began to sob and Ribsy barked louder. Ramona gave the door a good hard kick.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” muttered Henry.

  “Ramona, I am very cross with you,” said Mother. She pried Ramona’s fingers loose and started to open the door. The knob would not turn. “That’s strange,” she remarked, and rattled the door herself. Then she hit the door with her fist to see if it might be stuck. The door did not budge. There was no doubt about it. The bathroom door was locked.

  “But how could it be locked?” Henry asked.

  “I told you Ribsy locked it,” Ramona shouted.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Beezus impatiently.

  “Now how on earth—” began Mother in a puzzled voice and then she interrupted herself. “Do you suppose when Ribsy was pawing at the door he bumped against the button in the center of the knob and really did lock the door? Of course! That’s exactly what must have happened.”

  A dog that locked the bathroom door! That Ribsy, thought Beezus. He’s always getting into trouble, and now he’s locked the Quimbys out of their bathroom.

  “I told you he locked the door,” Ramona said.

  “Yes, but what was my dog doing in the bathroom in the first place?” Henry demanded.

  “I put him there,” said Ramona.

  “Ramona Quimby!” Even Mother sounded exasperated. “Sometimes I don’t know what gets into you. You know dogs don’t belong in the bathroom. Now go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out.”

  “Yes, but—” Ramona began.

  “I don’t want to have to speak to you again.” It was unusual for Mother to be as stern as this.

  Still crying, Ramona went to her room, which was next to the bathroom. Since Mother had not told her to close the door, Ramona stood just inside it and waited to see what would happen next.

  “Where is the key?” Beezus asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered Mother. “I don’t remember that we ever had a key.”

  “But there’s a keyhole,” said Beezus.

  “There must be a key.”

  “Ribsy, be quiet,” ordered Henry. “We’ll get you out.” But Ribsy only barked harder, and his barks echoed and re-echoed around the small room.

  “No one gave us a key to the bathroom when we rented the house,” explained Mother. “And when Ramona first learned to walk we fastened the button down with Scotch tape so she couldn’t lock herself in.”

  “You did?” Ramona, fascinated with this bit of information about herself, stopped crying and leaned out into the hall. “How big was I then?” No one bothered to answer her.

  “We’ve got to get Ribsy out of the bathroom,” said Beezus.

  “Yes,” agreed Mother, “but how?”

  “If you have a ladder I’ll climb in the bathroom window and unlock the door,” Henry offered.

  “The window is locked too,” said Mother, bending over to examine the knob on the door.

  “Maybe we could call the fire department.” Henry tried another suggestion.

  “They’re always rescuing cats and things.”

  “They couldn’t do anything with the bathroom window locked,” Beezus pointed out.

  “I guess that’s right.” Henry sounded disappointed. It would have been exciting to have the fire department rescue Ribsy.

  “Well, I just can’t see any way to take the knob off,” said Mother. “There aren’t any screws on this side of the door.”

  “We’ve got to get him out some way,” said Henry. “We can’t leave him in there. He’ll get hungry.”

  Beezus did not think this remark of Henry’s was very thoughtful. Of course Ribsy would get hungry if he stayed in the bathroom long enough, but on the other hand they would need their bathroom and it was Henry’s dog who had locked them out. Then Beezus made a suggestion. “Maybe if we pushed some glue under the door so Ribsy would get his paws in it, and then called to him so he would scratch at the door, maybe his paws would stick to the button in the knob and he could unlock it himself.” Beezus thought her idea was a good one until she saw the disgusted look on Henry’s face. “I just thought it might work,” she said apologetically.

  “Mother—” began Ramona, leaning out into the hall.

  Mother paid no attention to her. “I just don’t see what we can do—”

  “Mother,” said Ramona urgently. This time she stepped into the hall.

  “Unless we get a ladder (Go back to your room, Ramona) and break the window so we can unlock it,” Mother continued, speaking with one sentence inside another, the way grown-ups so often did with Ramona around.

  “But Mother,” insisted Ramona even more urgently. “I have to—”

  “Oh, dear, I might have known,” sighed Mother. “Well, come on. I’ll take you next door.”

  Leave it to Ramona, thought Beezus, embarrassed to have her little sister behave this way in front of Henry.

  “Don’t worry, Ribsy,” said Henry. “We’ll get you out somehow.” He turned to Beezus and said gloomily, “If we don’t get him out by dinnertime, maybe we could cut some meat up in real little pieces and shove it under the door to him. I don’t see how we could get a drink of water to him, though.”

  “We have to get him out before then,” said Beezus. “Father wouldn’t like it if he came home and found Ribsy had locked him out of the bathroom.”

  “Ribsy couldn’t have locked the door if Ramona hadn’t put him in the bathroom in the first place,” Henry pointed out. “What a dumb thing to do!”

  Beezus had nothing to say to this. What could she say when it really had been Ramona’s fault?

  Mother and Ramona soon returned. “I think we’ll get Ribsy out now,” said Mother cheerfully. “The lady next door says her little grandson locks himself in the bathroom every time he comes to visit her, and she always unlocks the door with a nail file. She told me how to do it.” Mother found a nail file, which she inserted in the keyhole. She wiggled it around, the doorknob clicked, and Mother opened the door. It was as easy as that!

  With a joyous bark Ribsy bounded out and jumped up on Henry. “Good old Ribsy,” said Henry. “Did you think we were going to leave you in there?” Ribsy wriggled and wagged his tail happily because he was free at last.

  “Now maybe he’ll be a good dog,” said Ramona sulkily.

  “He is a good dog, aren’t you, Ribsy?” Henry patted him.

  “He is not a good dog,” contradicted Ramona. “He took my cookie away from me and gobbled it right up.”

  “Oh,” said Henry uncomfortably. “I didn’t know he ate your cookie.”

  “Well, he did,” said Ramona, “and I made him go in the bathroom until h
e could be a good dog.”

  From the way Henry looked at Ramona, Beezus could tell he didn’t think much of her reason for shutting Ribsy in the bathroom.

  “Oh, Ramona.” Mother looked amused and exasperated at the same time. “Just because you were sent to your room is no reason for you to try to punish Henry’s dog.”

  “It is, too,” said Ramona defiantly. “He was bad.”

  “Well, I guess I better be going,” said Henry. “Come on, Ribsy.”

  “Don’t go, Henry,” begged Beezus.

  “Maybe we could go out on the porch or someplace and play a game.”

  “Some other time maybe,” answered Henry. “I’ve got things to do.”

  “All right,” agreed Beezus reluctantly. Henry probably knew they wouldn’t be safe from Ramona anywhere, the way she was behaving today.

  When Henry had gone, Ramona gave a hop to make her rabbit ears flop. “Now we can play tiddlywinks!” she announced, as if she had been waiting for this moment all afternoon.

  “No, we can’t,” snapped Beezus, who could not remember when she had been so annoyed with Ramona.

  “Yes, we can,” said Ramona. “Henry’s gone now.”

  “We can’t, because I won’t play. So there!” answered Beezus. It wasn’t as though Henry came over every day to play checkers. He came only once in a while, and then they couldn’t play because Ramona was so awful.

  Just then the telephone rang and Mother answered it. “Oh, hello, Beatrice,” Beezus heard her say. “I was hoping you’d call.”

  “Tiddlywinks, tiddlywinks, I want to play tiddlywinks,” chanted Ramona, shaking her head back and forth.

  “Not after the way you spoiled our checker game,” said Beezus. “I wouldn’t play tiddlywinks with you for a million dollars.”

  “Yes!” shouted Ramona.

  “Children!” Mother put her hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. “I’m trying to talk to your Aunt Beatrice.”

  For a moment Beezus forgot her quarrel with Ramona. “Is she coming over today?” she asked eagerly.

  “Not today.” Mother smiled at Beezus.

  “But I’ll tell her you wish she’d come.”

  “Tell her she hasn’t been here for two whole weeks,” said Beezus.

  “Tiddlywinks, tiddlywinks,” chanted Ramona, more quietly this time. “We’re going to play tiddlywinks.”

  “We are not!” whispered Beezus furiously. And as she looked at Ramona a terrible thought came to her. Right that very instant she was so exasperated with Ramona that she did not like her at all. Not one little bit. Crashing her tricycle into the checkerboard, throwing a tantrum, and shoving a dog into the bathroom—how could one four-year-old be such a pest all in one afternoon? And Ramona wasn’t one bit sorry about it, either. She was glad she had driven Henry home with her naughtiness. Just look at her, thought Beezus. Cookie crumbs sticking to the front of her overalls, her hands and face dirty, and those silly paper ears. She’s just awful, that’s what she is, perfectly awful—and she looks so cheerful. To look at her you wouldn’t know she’d done a thing. She’s spoiled my whole afternoon and she’s happy. She even thinks she’ll get me to play tiddlywinks with her. Well, I won’t. I won’t, because I don’t like her one little bit!

  To get away from Ramona, Beezus stalked into the living room and threw herself into her father’s big chair. Not one little bit, she thought fiercely. But as Beezus sat listening to her mother chatting and laughing over the telephone, she began to feel uncomfortable. She ought to like Ramona. Sisters always liked each other. They were supposed to. Like Mother and Aunt Beatrice. But that was different, Beezus thought quickly. Aunt Beatrice wasn’t like Ramona. She was—well, she was Aunt Beatrice, loving and understanding and full of fun. Ramona was noisy and grubby and exasperating.

  I feel so mixed up, thought Beezus. Sometimes I don’t like Ramona at all, and I’m supposed to like her because she’s my sister, and…Oh, dear, even if she’s little, can’t she ever be more like other people’s sisters?

  4

  Ramona and the Apples

  “Mother, I’m home,” Beezus called, as she burst into the house one afternoon after school.

  Mother appeared, wearing her hat and coat and carrying a shopping list in her hand. She kissed Beezus. “How was school today?” she asked.

  “All right. We studied about Christopher Columbus,” said Beezus.

  “Did you, dear?” said Mother absentmindedly. “I wonder if you’d mind keeping an eye on Ramona for half an hour or so while I do the marketing. She was up so late last night I let her have a long nap this afternoon, and I wasn’t able to go out until she woke up.”

  “All right, I’ll look after her,” agreed Beezus.

  “I told her she could have two marshmallows,” said Mother, as she left the house.

  Ramona came out of the kitchen with a marshmallow in each hand. Her nose was covered with white powder. “What’s Christopher Colummus?” she asked.

  “Christopher Columbus,” Beezus corrected. “Come here, Ramona. Let me wipe off your nose.”

  “No,” said Ramona, backing away. “I just powdered it.” Closing her eyes, Ramona pounded one of the marshmallows against her nose. Powdered sugar flew all over her face. “These are my powder puffs,” she explained.

  Beezus started to tell Ramona not to be silly, she’d get all sticky, but then decided it would be useless. Ramona never minded being sticky. Instead, she said, “Christopher Columbus is the man who discovered America. He was trying to prove that the world is round.”

  “Is it?” Ramona sounded puzzled. She beat the other marshmallow against her chin.

  “Why, Ramona, don’t you know the world is round?” Beezus asked.

  Ramona shook her head and powdered her forehead with a marshmallow.

  “Well, the world is round just like an orange,” Beezus told her. “If you could start out and travel in a perfectly straight line you would come right back where you started from.”

  “I would?” Ramona looked as if she didn’t understand this at all. She also looked as if she didn’t care much, because she went right on powdering her face with the marshmallows.

  Oh, well, thought Beezus, there’s no use trying to explain it to her. She went into the bedroom to change from her school clothes into her play clothes. As usual, she found Ramona’s doll, Bendix, lying on her bed, and with a feeling of annoyance she tossed it across the room to Ramona’s bed. When she had changed her clothes she went into the kitchen, ate some graham crackers and peanut butter, and helped herself to two marshmallows. If Ramona could have two, it was only fair that she should have two also.

  After eating the marshmallows and licking the powdered sugar from her fingers, Beezus decided that reading about Big Steve would be the easiest way to keep Ramona from thinking up some mischief to get into while Mother was away. “Come here, Ramona,” she said as she went into the living room. “I’ll read to you.”

  There was no answer. Ramona was not there.

  That’s funny, thought Beezus, and went into the bedroom. The room was empty. I wonder where she can be, said Beezus to herself. She looked in Mother and Father’s room. No one was there. “Ramona!” she called. No answer. “Ramona, where are you?” Still no answer.

  Beezus was worried. She did not think Ramona had left the house, because she had not heard any doors open and close. Still, with Ramona you never knew. Maybe she was hiding. Beezus looked under the beds. No Ramona. She looked in the bedroom closets, the hall closet, the linen closet, even the broom closet. Still no Ramona. She ran upstairs to the attic and looked behind the trunks.

  Then she ran downstairs to the basement. “Ramona!” she called anxiously, as she peered around in the dim light. The basement was an eerie place with its gray cement walls and the grotesque white arms of the furnace reaching out in all directions. Except for a faint sound from the pilot light everything was silent. Suddenly the furnace lit itself with such a whoosh that Beezus, her heart poundin
g, turned and ran upstairs. Even though she knew it was only the furnace, she could not help being frightened. The house seemed so empty when no one answered her calls.

  Uneasily Beezus sat down in the living room to try to think while she listened to the silence. She must not get panicky. Ramona couldn’t be far away. And if she didn’t turn up soon, she would telephone the police, the way Mother did the time Ramona got lost because she started out to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  Thinking of the rainbow reminded Beezus of her attempt to explain to Ramona that the world is round like an orange. Ramona hadn’t looked as if she understood, but sometimes it was hard to tell about Ramona. Maybe she just understood the part about coming back where she started from. If Ramona set out to walk to the end of the rainbow, she could easily decide to try walking around the world. That was exactly what she must have done.

  The idea frightened Beezus. How would she ever find Ramona? And what would Mother say when she came home and found Ramona gone? To think of Ramona walking in a straight line, hoping to go straight around the world and come back where she started from, trying to cross busy streets alone, honked at by trucks, barked at by strange dogs, tired, hungry…But I can’t just sit here, thought Beezus. I’ve got to do something. I’ll run out and look up and down the street. She can’t have gone far.

  At that moment Beezus heard a noise. She thought it came from the basement, but she was not certain. Tiptoeing to the cold-air intake in the hall, she bent over and listened. Sure enough, a noise so faint she could scarcely hear it came up through the furnace pipe. So the house wasn’t empty after all! Just wait until she got hold of Ramona!

  Beezus snapped on the basement light and ran down the steps. “Ramona, come out,” she ordered. “I know you’re here.”

  The only answer was a chomping sound from the corner of the basement. Beezus ran around the furnace and there, in the dimly lit corner, sat Ramona, eating an apple.

  Beezus was so relieved to see Ramona safe, and at the same time so angry with her for hiding, that she couldn’t say anything. She just stood there filled with the exasperated mixed-up feeling that Ramona so often gave her.