by Barbara Park
This book is dedicated with love and smiles
to Junie B’s bestest new friend, Emily.
A special thank-you to the Make-A-Wish Foundation
for introducing me to this wonderful little girl.
Contents
1. Confusing Stuff
2. Stubby
3. Pictures
4. Cockle-Doodly-Doo
5. E-I-E-I-O
6. Farmer Flores
7. Spike
8. Confusion
1/Confusing Stuff
My name is Junie B. Jones. The B stands for Beatrice. Except I don’t like Beatrice. I just like B and that’s all.
I am almost six years old.
Almost six is when you get to go to school. And so, last summer Mother took me to the school office. And she ’rolled me in afternoon kindergarten.
’Rolled is the grown-up word for signed me up and made me go.
Only guess what?
I don’t even mind going there, hardly. ’Cause I made two bestest friends at that place, that’s why!
Their names are Lucille and that Grace.
We are like three peas in a row.
My teacher’s name is Mrs. She has another name, too. But I just like Mrs. and that’s all.
Only here is the trouble. Just when I was getting good at kindergarten, Mrs. made a ’nouncement to our class. And she said that pretty soon, school is going to end!
I did a gasp at that terrible news.
“No, Mrs.! No, no, no! How can school end? ’Cause Mother said I have to go to school till I am an old teenager. And I am not even six years old yet!”
Mrs. quick shaked her head.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry, Junie B.,” she said. “I’m afraid that you’ve misunderstood me. School isn’t going to end forever. School will just be taking a summer vacation.”
She smiled at me. “You, and everyone else in this class, will come back to school in September. It’s just that you won’t be in Room Nine anymore.”
I quick got out a paper and crayon.
“Okey-doke. Then tell me the name of our new room,” I said. “’Cause I will need to tell Mother where to bring me.”
Mrs. did a little frown. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But right now, I have no idea what room you’ll be in next year.”
Now I did a frown, too.
“So what am I s’posed to do, then? Just wander around the school until I find you people?”
Mrs. looked funny at me.
“You still don’t understand,” she said. “Next year you’re going to have a different teacher, Junie B. Next year you’re going to be in first.”
“First what?” I asked.
“First grade,” she said.
Just then, my stomach felt sickish inside. ’Cause I don’t even like first graders, that’s why. First graders are bullies to me at recess. And I don’t want to be in the same room as those guys.
Pretty soon, a boy named William started to sniffle very much. ’Cause William hates first graders even more than me.
That’s because one time a first grader stoled William’s winter hat with the ear flaps. And he put it on a dog that was running around the playground. And the dog runned away with William’s ear-flap hat forever.
I patted William very nice.
“Me and William don’t want to be in the same room as first graders,” I told Mrs. “Me and William prefer children our own age.”
“Me too,” said my bestest friend Lucille. “I prefer children my own age, too.”
“Me too,” hollered a boy named Paulie Allen Puffer.
“Me too,” said a girl named Charlotte.
Mrs. said shh to us.
“Boys and girls, please. Now everyone is misunderstanding me,” she said. “We need to get clear on this right now. Next year—when you come back to school—you will not be in class with the children who are first graders this year. Next year, those children will move up to second grade. And you people will move to first. Understand?”
I thought and thought about that.
Then, all of a sudden, a light bulb came on in my head.
“Ohhh! I get it now! All of the grades move up! Right, Mrs.? Everyone does!”
She clapped her hands. “Right! Exactly!” she said very happy. “Now may I please get on with my announcement?”
I brushed my skirt very smoothie.
“Yes, you may,” I said real polite.
“Okay,” said Mrs. “As I started to tell you earlier, I have very happy news for Room Nine. Because this year—for the first time ever—we are going to go on a special end-of-the-year field trip!”
She smiled real big. “We’re going to a farm! Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“A FARM!” shouted the children. “A FARM! A FARM! WE’RE GOING TO A FARM!”
Then Lucille hugged me very thrilled.
“A farm!” she said real squealy in my ear.
“A farm,” I said real glum.
’Cause guess what?
Farms are not my favorites.
2/Stubby
That night, I ate dinner with Mother and Daddy and my baby brother named Ollie.
Only I couldn’t even swallow that good. ’Cause I was still upset about the field trip, that’s why.
“I don’t want to go,” I said. “I don’t want to go to the farm with Room Nine. ’Cause a farm is the most dangerous place I ever heard of.”
Daddy looked surprised at me.
“What are you talking about, Junie B.?” he said. “What’s dangerous about a farm?”
“The ponies, of course,” I said. “The ponies are dangerous. Farms have ponies running in their fields. And ponies can stomple you into the ground and kill you to death.”
Mother covered her face with her hands.
“No, Junie B., please. Not this pony thing again. We’ve talked about this a hundred times. I’ve told you over and over that ponies do not hurt you.”
“Yes, they do too hurt you, Mother!” I said. “I saw it on TV with my own eyeballs!”
Mother looked at Daddy.
“It was that stupid cable show the babysitter let her watch,” she said. “It was called—”
“WHEN PONIES ATTACK,” I hollered. “IT WAS CALLED WHEN PONIES ATTACK!”
After that, Daddy covered his face, too. Then, all of a sudden, he busted out in a loud hoot of laughing. And he couldn’t even stop himself.
Mother’s cheeks sucked way into her head.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re being a huge help here.”
Then Daddy got up from his chair. And he went to his room for a time-out.
That’s when me and Mother had another long talk about ponies.
She told me that her uncle Billy used to have a farm. And that the farm had a pony named Stubby. And that Stubby was gentle as a lamb.
“As a matter of fact, Uncle Billy had almost every kind of farm animal you can think of,” said Mother. “Pigs, cows, sheep, chickens, goats. He even had a mean old rooster named Spurs. But out of all those animals, the pony was the sweetest.”
Mother smiled. “You would have loved Stubby, Junie B.,” she said. “He used to follow me around like a puppy.”
“He did?” I said.
“He did,” she said back. “Honest, honey. I would never let you go to a farm if there was even the teeniest chance you would be hurt by any of the animals. But my uncle Billy’s farm had the gentlest animals I ever saw.”
Mother smiled a little bit. “Well, except for that mean old rooster, anyway,” she said.
Just then, Daddy came back into the kitchen.
He said a ’pology to me.
“I’m sorry, Junie B. I didn’t mean to laugh. But that TV sho
w you saw was just so ridiculous, I couldn’t help it.”
After that, he sat down at the table. And he filled out my permission slip for the farm.
“You’re going to love this trip,” he told me. “We’ll get you one of those little throwaway cameras from the drugstore. And you can take pictures of all the animals you see.”
“Great idea,” said Mother. “And I’ll take you shopping for a brand-new pair of overalls. And I’ll even pack you your very favorite lunch.”
After that, I got down from my chair very quiet. And I went to my room.
Then I climbed onto my bed. And I hugged my stuffed animals real tight.
’Cause I kept on thinking and thinking about what Mother said about Uncle Billy’s animals. But mostly, I kept thinking about that mean old rooster.
On account of one time at my school, a boy named meanie Jim brought his rooster for Pet Day. And he said that roosters can peck your head into a nub. And that is not pleasant, I tell you.
I hugged my animals even tighter.
’Cause guess what?
Roosters are a jillion times scarier than ponies.
3/Pictures
The next morning, Mother called me for breakfast.
“Good morning,” said Mother.
“Good morning,” said Daddy.
“Good morning,” I said. “Roosters can peck your head into a nub.”
Daddy put down his coffee cup. “Excuse me?”
I pointed to my head.
“A nub,” I explained. “A nub is a teensy little knob head. Roosters can peck your head into one.”
Mother looked strange at me. “What in the world is this about?”
I did a big breath at her.
’Cause how can I even be clearer on this subject?
“A nub! A nub! A roundish, ballish head knob! And do not tell me that roosters do not peck you. On account of we had Pet Day at my school. And meanie Jim brought a rooster to Room Nine. And that boy is a rooster expert.”
I looked at her. “Plus also, you said Uncle Billy’s rooster was mean, too. Right, Mother? Remember that?”
Mother looked fusstrated at me. Then she put her head on the table. And she didn’t come up for a real long time.
Finally, she peeked her eyes at Daddy.
“Now what?” she asked kind of quiet.
“Maybe it’ll blow over,” said Daddy.
I shook my head.
“No, it will not blow over,” I told them. “’Cause roosters do not listen to reason. And so there is nothing we can do about this pecking situation.”
Daddy rubbed his eyes. “Could we please just change the subject?” he said.
“Yeah, only not talking about a nub will not make it go away,” I said. “And so—”
“That’s enough,” said Daddy very growly.
I quick stopped talking then.
But even after we changed the subject, nubs kept staying on my mind.
That day at school, Mrs. told us to draw a picture about our trip to the farm. She said to make it a colorful picture of what we wanted to see there.
I drawed and drawed. Plus also, I colored and colored.
When all of us got done with our pictures, we sat our chairs in a big circle. And we told each other about what we drew.
My bestest friend named Lucille went first.
She drawed a picture of a pink flamingo.
“Flamingos are my favorite animals,” she said. “That’s because pink is my favorite color. And flamingos are pink. And I have a pink dress that will match them perfectly. So that is the dress I’ll be wearing on the field trip.”
She wrinkled her nose real cute.
“Pink brings out the natural blush of my complexion,” she told Mrs. “Have you ever noticed my satiny-smooth skin?”
Mrs. looked and looked at that girl.
“You’re a fascinating child, Lucille. But I’m afraid there aren’t any flamingos on a dairy farm,” she said.
Lucille looked surprised.
“So where are they, then?” she asked.
“Well, flamingos can be found a lot of places,” said Mrs. “South America, for example.”
Lucille shrugged her shoulders. “So, fine. We’ll just go there, instead.”
Mrs. said for Lucille to please sit down.
Just then, Paulie Allen Puffer springed out of his chair.
“Look, Teacher! I drew a catfish!” he said. “See his whiskers? My brother said catfish whiskers are so sharp they can slice your finger to the bone.”
Mrs. made a sick face.
“Yes, well, thank you for sharing that, Paulie Allen. But we’re not going fishing. We’re going to a farm, remember?”
Paulie Allen Puffer looked upset.
“Yes, but my brother said there’s lots of catfish farms around here. And so that’s the kind of farm I think we should—”
“No, Paulie. No,” said Mrs. “We’re just going to a regular, plain old farm. With regular, plain old farm animals.”
Paulie Allen Puffer did a mad breath.
He said the word big whoop.
After that, Paulie Allen Puffer had to stand in the hall.
Mrs. did some deep breathing.
“Please, children. Please. Did anyone in Room Nine draw a picture of a regular farm animal? Anyone at all. That’s all I’m looking for here. Just a regular old farm animal.”
“I did! I did, Mrs.!” I yelled real excited. “I drew a picture of a rooster under a tree!”
“Oh, Junie B.! Thank you! That’s perfect!” she said.
I holded it up so she could see it.
“See it, Mrs.? See how pretty it is?”
Mrs. looked at my picture.
“Oh yes. That’s a very nice tree, Junie B.,” she said. “But why is it lying on its side?”
“It crashed over in a rainstorm,” I said.
“Oh,” said Mrs. “Oh dear.”
She looked even closer.
“But I’m afraid I don’t see the rooster, honey.”
I pointed.
“There,” I said. “See his foot under the branch? He did not get out in time, apparently.”
Mrs. covered her mouth with her hand.
Just then, a girl named Charlotte hollered, “I hate that picture! That’s a terrible picture!”
I crossed my arms at that girl.
“You would not say that if your head was a nub, sister,” I said.
Meanie Jim laughed real loud.
Then Mrs. said for all of us to take our chairs back to our tables.
And we did not show any more farm pictures.
4/Cockle-Doodly-Doo
On Saturday, Mother came into my room. She said we were going shopping for clothes for the farm trip.
I looked up from my coloring book.
“No thank you,” I said. “On account of I am getting a fever that day. So I won’t actually be going to the farm.”
Mother laughed. “Don’t be silly,” she said.
Then she picked me up. And she carried me out to the car.
“Yeah, only here’s the problem. You are not respecting my wishes,” I said.
Mother laughed some more. “I promise. This will be fun.”
I did a huffy breath. “Whatever,” I said.
Whatever is the grown-up word for that is the dumbest thing I ever heard.
And guess what?
I was right. Shopping was not fun at all. ’Cause Mother kept on making me try on clothes that I didn’t want.
First she made me try on a shirt with checkery squares. Then she made me try on overalls with big, giant pockets. Plus she tied a bandanna around my neck. And she put a straw hat on my head.
I looked in the mirror at myself.
“What do you know…I’m a cornball,” I said.
Only too bad for me. ’Cause Mother said I looked cute as a button. And she bought those clothes anyway. Plus also, she bought me a throw-away camera at the drugstore.
After we got home,
I started to color again.
Mother hanged up my new clothes.
“Do you want me to show you how to use the camera for your trip now?” she asked.
“No thank you,” I said. “On account of I am getting a fever that day. So I won’t actually be going to the farm.”
After that, Mother did a big sigh.
And she closed my door.
And she let me color in peace.
I got tricked!
’Cause on the day of the trip, I told Mother I had a fever. But that woman did not even take my word for it.
Instead, she took my temperature!
And so what kind of trust is that, I ask you?
“No fever,” she said.
Then Mother dressed me in my farm clothes. And she drove me right to my school.
We pulled into the parking lot.
“Oh no!” I said. “Oh no! Oh no!”
’Cause the bus was there for the field trip already! It was parked right at the curb!
“Believe me, Junie B.,” said Mother. “You are going to have a great day.”
Then she got me out of the car. And she pulled me to my teacher.
“Good morning, Junie B.,” said Mrs. “Don’t you look cute today?”
I felt my forehead.
“I’m ill,” I said.
Mrs. smiled. “I love your straw hat.”
“My head is a flaming fireball,” I said.
Mrs. bended down next to me. “And that bandanna is absolutely darling.”
“I am burning to a crinkle,” I told her.
“Crisp,” said Mother.
“Whatever,” I said.
After that, Mother lifted me onto the bus. And she handed me my backpack with my lunch and camera.
She waved good-bye to me.
I did not wave back. ’Cause my hand did not feel friendly.
Just then, my bestest friend named Grace came running to get me.
“Junie B.! Junie B.! Lucille and I saved you a seat!”
Then she grabbed my arm. And she took me way in the back.
I sat down next to Lucille.
“No!” said that Grace. “That’s my seat, Junie B.!”
She quick pulled me up.
“So where am I supposed to sit, then?” I asked.
Lucille pointed across the aisle.
