Ramona the Pest

by Beverly Cleary

  Ramona was fascinated. In her imagination she could see the cat lying on the carpet with the rabbit gripped in his teeth while he battered it with his hind feet. The look that Howie gave the rabbit was somehow lacking in love. Ramona waited for him to say that it wasn’t his rabbit, but he did not. He just stood there.

  Miss Binney, seeing that Howie could not be encouraged to speak in front of the class, opened a drawer in her desk, and as she reached inside she said, “I have a present for your bunny.” She pulled out a red ribbon, took the rabbit from Howie, and tied the ribbon around its neck in a bright bow. “There you are, Howie,” she said. “A nice new bow for your bunny.”

  Howie mumbled, “Thank you,” and as quickly as possible hid the rabbit in his cupboard.

  Ramona was delighted. She felt that the red ribbon Miss Binney had given her old rabbit took the place of the present she had not been given the day before. All morning she thought about the things she could do with that red ribbon. She could use it to tie up what was left of Chevrolet’s hair. She could trade it to Beezus for something valuable, an empty perfume bottle or some colored paper that wasn’t scribbled on. During rest time Ramona had the best idea of all. She would save the ribbon until she got a two-wheeled bicycle. Then she would weave it in and out of the spokes and ride so fast the ribbon would be a red blur as the wheels went around. Yes. That was exactly what she would do with her red ribbon.

  When the noon bell rang, Mrs. Quimby, Mrs. Kemp, and little Willa Jean were waiting by the fence. “Howie,” Mrs. Kemp called out, “don’t forget Ramona’s bunny.”

  “Oh, that old thing,” muttered Howie, but he returned to his cupboard while Ramona walked along behind the mothers.

  “Howie needs to learn responsibility,” Mrs. Kemp was saying.

  When Howie had caught up, he untied the ribbon and shoved the rabbit at Ramona. “Here. Take your old rabbit,” he said.

  Ramona took it and said, “Give me my ribbon.”

  “It’s not your ribbon,” said Howie. “It’s my ribbon.”

  The two mothers were so busy talking about their children needing to learn responsibility they paid no attention to the argument.

  “It is not!” said Ramona. “It’s my ribbon!”

  “Miss Binney gave it to me.” Howie was so calm and so sure that he was right that Ramona was infuriated. She grabbed for the ribbon, but Howie held it away from her.

  “Miss Binney tied it around my rabbit’s neck so it’s my ribbon!” she said, her voice rising.

  “No,” said Howie flatly and calmly.

  “Ribbons aren’t for boys,” Ramona reminded him. “Now give it to me!”

  “It isn’t yours.” Howie showed no excitement, only stubbornness.

  Howie’s behavior drove Ramona wild. She wanted him to get excited. She wanted him to get angry. “It is too mine!” she shrieked, and at last the mothers turned around.

  “What’s going on?” asked Mrs. Quimby.

  “Howie has my ribbon and won’t give it back,” said Ramona, so angry she was near tears.

  “It isn’t hers,” said Howie.

  The two mothers exchanged glances. “Howie, where did you get that ribbon?” asked Mrs. Kemp.

  “Miss Binney gave it to me,” said Howie.

  “She gave it to me,” corrected Ramona, as she fought back tears. “She tied it on my rabbit’s neck, so it’s my ribbon.” Anybody should be able to understand that. Anybody who was not stupid.

  “Now Howie,” said his mother. “What does a big boy like you want with a ribbon?”

  Howie considered this question as if his mother really expected an answer. “Well…I could tie it on the tail of a kite if I had a kite.”

  “He just doesn’t want me to have it,” explained Ramona. “He’s selfish.”

  “I am not selfish,” said Howie. “You want something that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “I do not!” yelled Ramona.

  “Now Ramona,” said her mother. “A piece of ribbon isn’t worth all this fuss. We have other ribbons at home that you can have.”

  Ramona did not know how to make her mother understand. No other ribbon could possibly take the place of this one. Miss Binney had given her the ribbon, and she wanted it because she loved Miss Binney so much. She wished Miss Binney were here now because her teacher, unlike the mothers, would understand. All Ramona could say was, “It’s mine.”

  “I know!” said Mrs. Kemp, as if a brilliant idea had come to her. “You can share the ribbon.”

  Ramona and Howie exchanged a look in which they agreed that nothing would be worse than sharing the ribbon. They both knew there were some things that could never be shared, and Miss Binney’s ribbon was one of them. Ramona wanted that ribbon, and she wanted it all to herself. She knew that a grubby boy like Howie would probably let Willa Jean drool on it and ruin it.

  “That’s a good idea,” agreed Mrs. Quimby. “Ramona, you let Howie carry it halfway home, and then you can carry it the rest of the way.”

  “Then who gets it?” asked Howie, voicing the question that had risen in Ramona’s thoughts.

  “We can cut it in two so you each may have half,” said Mrs. Kemp. “We’re having lunch at Ramona’s house, and as soon as we get there we’ll divide the ribbon.”

  Miss Binney’s beautiful ribbon chopped in two! This was too much. Ramona burst into tears. Her half would not be long enough for anything. If she ever got a two-wheeled bicycle, there would not be enough ribbon to weave through the spokes of a wheel. There would not even be enough to tie up Chevrolet’s hair.

  “I’m tired of sharing,” said Howie. “Share, share, share. That’s all grown-ups ever talk about.”

  Ramona could not understand why both mothers were amused by Howie’s words. She understood exactly what Howie meant, and she liked him a little better for saying so. She had always had a guilty feeling she was the only person who felt that way.

  “Now Howie, it isn’t as bad as all that,” said his mother.

  “It is too,” said Howie, and Ramona nodded through her tears.

  “Give me the ribbon,” said Mrs. Kemp. “Maybe after lunch we’ll all feel better.”

  Reluctantly Howie surrendered the precious ribbon, and said, “I suppose we’re having tuna-fish sandwiches again.”

  “Howie, that’s not polite,” said his mother.

  At the Quimbys’ house, Ramona’s mother said, “Why don’t you and Howie play with your tricycle while I prepare lunch?”

  “Sure, Ramona,” said Howie, as the two mothers boosted Willa Jean’s stroller up the steps, and he and Ramona were left together whether they wanted to be or not. Ramona sat down on the steps and tried to think of a name to call Howie. Pieface wasn’t bad enough. If she used some of the names she had heard big boys use at school, her mother would come out and scold her. Perhaps “little booby boy” would do.

  “Where’s your trike?” asked Howie.

  “In the garage,” answered Ramona. “I don’t ride it anymore now that I’m in kindergarten.”

  “How come?” asked Howie.

  “I’m too big,” said Ramona. “Everybody else on the block rides two-wheelers. Only babies ride tricycles.” She made this remark because she knew Howie still rode his tricycle, and she was so angry about the ribbon she wanted to hurt his feelings.

  If Howie’s feelings were hurt, he did not show it. He seemed to be considering Ramona’s remarks in his usual deliberate way. “I could take off one of the wheels if I had some pliers and a screwdriver,” he said at last.

  Ramona was indignant. “And wreck my tricycle?” Howie just wanted to get her into trouble.

  “It wouldn’t wreck it,” said Howie. “I take the wheels off my tricycle all the time. You can ride on the front wheel and one back wheel. That way you’d have a two-wheeler.”

  Ramona was not convinced.

  “Come on, Ramona,” coaxed Howie. “I like to take wheels off tricycles.”

  Ramona considered. “If I let
you take off a wheel, do I get to keep the ribbon?”

  “Well…I guess so.” After all, Howie was a boy. He was more interested in taking a tricycle apart than he was in playing with any ribbon.

  Ramona was doubtful about Howie’s ability to turn her tricycle into a two-wheeler, but she was determined to have Miss Binney’s red ribbon.

  She trundled her tricycle out of the garage. Then she found the pliers and a screwdriver, and handed them to Howie, who went to work in a businesslike way. He used the screwdriver to pry off the hub. With the pliers he straightened the cotter pin that held the wheel in place, removed it from the axle, and pulled off the wheel. Next he returned the cotter pin to its hole in the axle and bent the ends out once more so the axle would stay in place. “There,” he said with satisfaction. For once he looked happy and sure of himself. “You have to sort of lean to one side when you ride it.”

  Ramona was so impressed by Howie’s work that her anger began to drain away. Maybe Howie was right. She grasped her tricycle by the handlebars and mounted the seat. By leaning toward the side on which the wheel had been removed, she managed to balance herself and to ride down the driveway in an uncertain and lopsided fashion. “Hey! It works!” she called out, when she reached the sidewalk. She circled and pedaled back toward Howie, who stood beaming at the success of his alteration.

  “I told you it would work,” he bragged.

  “I didn’t believe you at first,” confessed Ramona, who would never again be seen riding a babyish three-wheeler.

  The back door opened, and Mrs. Quimby called out, “Come on, children. Your tuna sandwiches are ready.”

  “See my two-wheeler,” cried Ramona, pedaling in a lopsided circle.

  “Well, aren’t you a big girl!” exclaimed her mother. “How did you ever manage to do that?”

  Ramona came to a halt. “Howie fixed my trike for me and told me how to ride it.”

  “What a clever boy!” said Mrs. Quimby. “You must be very good with tools.”

  Howie beamed with pleasure at this compliment.

  “And Mama,” said Ramona, “Howie says I can have Miss Binney’s ribbon.”

  “Sure,” agreed Howie. “What do I want with an old ribbon?”

  “I’m going to weave it in and out of the front spokes of my two-wheeler and ride so fast it will make a blur,” said Ramona. “Come on, Howie, let’s go eat our tuna-fish sandwiches.”

  3

  Seat Work

  There were two kinds of children who went to kindergarten—those who lined up beside the door before school, as they were supposed to, and those who ran around the playground and scrambled to get into line when they saw Miss Binney approaching. Ramona ran around the playground.

  One morning as Ramona was running around the playground she noticed Davy waiting for Henry Huggins to lead him across the intersection. She was interested to see that Davy was wearing a black cape pinned to his shoulders with two big safety pins.

  While Henry held up two cars and a cement truck, Ramona watched Davy crossing the street. The more Ramona saw of Davy, the better she liked him. He was such a nice shy boy with blue eyes and soft brown hair. Ramona always tried to choose Davy for her partner in folk dancing, and when the class played Gray Duck Ramona always tagged Davy unless he was already in the mush pot.

  When Davy arrived, Ramona marched up to him, and asked, “Are you Batman?”

  “No,” said Davy.

  “Are you Superman?” asked Ramona.

  “No,” said Davy.

  Who else could Davy be in a black cape? Ramona stopped and thought, but was unable to think of anyone else who wore a cape. “Well, who are you?” she asked at last.

  “Mighty Mouse!” crowed Davy, delighted that he had baffled Ramona.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Mighty Mouse!” shrieked Ramona.

  Davy began to run and Ramona ran after him. Round and round the playground they ran with Davy’s cape flying out behind him. Under the traveling bars and around the jungle gym she chased him.

  “Run, Davy! Run!” screamed the rest of the class, jumping up and down, until Miss Binney was seen approaching, and everyone scrambled to get into line.

  Every morning afterward when Ramona reached the playground she tried to catch Davy so she could kiss him.

  “Here comes Ramona!” the other boys and girls shouted, when they saw Ramona walking down the street. “Run, Davy! Run!”

  And Davy ran with Ramona after him. Round and round the playground they ran while the class cheered Davy on.

  “That kid ought to go out for track when he gets a little older,” Ramona heard one of the workmen across the street say one day.

  Once Ramona came near enough to grab Davy’s clothes, but he jerked away, popping the buttons off his shirt. For once Davy stopped running. “Now see what you did!” he accused. “My mother is going to be mad at you.”

  Ramona stopped in her tracks. “I didn’t do anything,” she said indignantly. “I just hung on. You did the pulling.”

  “Here comes Miss Binney,” someone called out, and Ramona and Davy scurried to get in line by the door.

  After that Davy stayed farther away from Ramona than ever, which made Ramona sad because Davy was such a nice boy and she did so long to kiss him. However, Ramona was not so sad that she stopped chasing Davy. Round and round they went every morning until Miss Binney arrived.

  Miss Binney, by this time, had begun to teach her class something more than games, the rules of the kindergarten, and the mysterious dawnzer song. Ramona thought of kindergarten as being divided into two parts. The first part was the running part, which included games, dancing, finger painting, and playing. The second part was called seat work. Seat work was serious. Everyone was expected to work quietly in his own seat without disturbing anyone else. Ramona found it difficult to sit still, because she was always interested in what everyone else was doing. “Ramona, keep your eyes on your own work,” Miss Binney said, and sometimes Ramona remembered.

  For the first seat-work assignment each member of the class was told to draw a picture of his own house. Ramona, who had expected to learn to read and write in school like her sister Beezus, used her new crayons quickly to draw her house with two windows, a door, and a red chimney. With her green crayon she scrubbed in some shrubbery. Anyone familiar with her neighborhood could tell the picture was of her house, but somehow Ramona was not satisfied. She looked around to see what others were doing.

  Susan had drawn a picture of her house and was adding a girl with boing-boing curls looking out the window. Howie, who had drawn his house with the garage door open and a car inside, was adding a motorcycle parked at the curb. Davy’s house looked like a clubhouse built by some boys who had a few old boards and not enough nails. It leaned to one side in a tired sort of way.

  Ramona studied her own drawing and decided she would have to do something to make it more interesting. After considering various colors of crayon, she selected the black and drew big black swirls coming from the windows.

  “You aren’t supposed to scribble on your picture,” said Howie, who also was inclined to pay attention to other people’s work.

  Ramona was indignant. “I didn’t scribble. The black is part of my picture.”

  When Miss Binney asked the class to set their pictures on the chalk rail so that everyone might see them, the class noticed Ramona’s picture at once, because it was drawn with bold, heavy strokes and because of the black swirls.

  “Miss Binney, Ramona scribbled all over her house,” said Susan, who by now had revealed herself as the kind of girl who always wanted to play house so she could be the mother and boss everybody.

  “I did not!” protested Ramona, beginning to see that her picture was going to be misunderstood by everyone. Maybe she had been wrong to try to make it interesting. Maybe Miss Binney did not want interesting pictures.

  “You did, too!” Joey ran up to the chalk rail and pointed to Ramona’s black swirls. “See!”

&nbs
p; The class, including Ramona, waited for Miss Binney to say Ramona should not scribble on her picture, but Miss Binney merely smiled and said, “Remember your seat, Joey. Ramona, suppose you tell us about your picture.”

  “I didn’t scribble on it,” said Ramona.

  “Of course you didn’t,” Miss Binney said.

  Ramona loved her teacher even more. Well,” she began, “that black isn’t scribbling. It’s smoke coming out of the windows.”

  “And why is smoke coming out of the windows?” gently pressed Miss Binney.

  “Because there’s a fire in the fireplace and the chimney is stopped up,” explained Ramona. “It’s stopped up with Santa Claus, but he doesn’t show in the picture.” Ramona smiled shyly at her teacher. “I wanted to make my picture interesting.”

  Miss Binney returned her smile. “And you did make it interesting.”

  Davy looked worried. “How does Santa Claus get out?” he asked. “He doesn’t stay in there, does he?”

  “Of course he gets out,” said Ramona. “I just didn’t show that part.”

  The next day seat work got harder. Miss Binney said that everyone had to learn to print his name. Ramona saw right away that this business of names was not fair. When Miss Binney handed each member of the class a strip of cardboard with his name printed on it, anyone could see that a girl named Ramona was going to have to work harder than a girl named Ann or a boy named Joe. Not that Ramona minded having to work harder—she was eager to learn to read and write. Having been the youngest member of her family and of the neighborhood, however, she had learned to watch for unfair situations.

  Carefully Ramona printed R the way Miss Binney had printed it. A was easy. Even a baby could print A. Miss Binney said A was pointed like a witch’s hat, and Ramona was planning to be a witch for the Halloween parade. O was also easy. It was a round balloon. Some people’s O’s looked like leaky balloons, but Ramona’s O’s were balloons full of air.

  “I like the way Ramona’s O’s are fat balloons full of air,” Miss Binney said to the class, and Ramona’s heart filled with joy. Miss Binney liked her O’s best!