by Judy Blume
“Well, I had a really good time,” I told her. “So ha ha! I walked down the Up escalator.”
“Did you hear that, Dad?” the Great One said. “Did you hear what he did? He walked down the Up escalator. And do you know how many times Mom’s told him that’s dangerous?”
“Abigail,” Dad said, taking the Great One’s hand. “Jake,” he said, taking mine. “Let’s just be glad we’re all together. Now, how about lunch?”
“Lunch is on the house!” the manager of the pizza place called.
“That’s very nice of you,” Dad said. “But not necessary.”
“I insist,” the manager said.
Everyone at the food court cheered.
Then the Great One said, “I’ll see that robot movie if you still want to.”
And I knew she was glad she found me.
“SAY ‘CHEESE!’”
We’re going to visit Grandpa Pete for his birthday. Fluzzy can’t come, so Charlie, our babysitter, is going to watch him. “Goodbye, Fluzzy,” I said. But Fluzzy wouldn’t look at me. He knew we were going away and leaving him behind. I always feel sad when I have to say goodbye to Fluzzy. I wish I could pack him in my suitcase.
Grandpa Pete lives in Florida. Not the Disney World part of Florida. Not the beach part, either. He lives in Everglades City. It’s the-middle-of-nowhere, Florida. He never comes to visit us because he won’t leave his birds. They’re not really his birds, but that’s what he calls them. Every morning and every night Grandpa Pete hangs his binoculars around his neck and goes out in his canoe to watch them. He knows his birds the way Mom and Dad know me and the Pain.
“Maybe we’ll see an alligator this time!” the Pain sang. “Maybe we’ll see a snake!” The Pain has a book, Wildlife of the Florida Everglades. He likes to look at the pictures.
“I don’t want to see a snake,” I told him.
“One time Justin had a birthday party,” the Pain said. “And Reggie Reptile came with his snakes. One of them was a boa constrictor. That was so cool!”
“I don’t want to hear any more about snakes!” I shouted.
The Pain laughed.
I decided to wear my cowboy boots on the plane.
“You don’t need boots in Florida,” Mom said when she saw me.
“Snakes can’t bite through leather,” I told her.
“Where did you hear that?” she asked.
“I read it in the Pain’s book.”
Mom shook her head, but she didn’t say I couldn’t wear my boots.
When we got to Grandpa Pete’s, he acted like he saw us yesterday, even though it’s been a year. He’s not the huggy kind of grandpa. He never says how much we’ve grown or how glad he is to see us.
“I’ve got something for you,” Grandpa Pete said, holding out two cameras. “Throwaways. You each get twenty-four pictures.”
“You mean it’s not a digital?” the Pain asked.
“Digital?” Grandpa Pete said, as if he’d never heard the word. “This camera uses film, Jacob.” Grandpa Pete never calls the Pain Jake—only Jacob. “When you’ve taken all your pictures, the film gets developed into photos. So take your pictures carefully. You can’t put more film in this camera.”
“Thanks, Grandpa Pete!” I said.
I elbowed the Pain. “Oh, thanks,” he said to Grandpa. He was already snapping pictures.
“Say ‘cheese!’” he said to Dad. He got him unpacking his underwear.
“Say ‘cheese!’” he said to Mom. He got her yawning.
“Say ‘cheese!’” he said to Grandpa Pete. He caught him scratching his belly.
“You’re going to be sorry,” I told him. “You’ve only got twenty-four pictures.”
“So?” he said.
“So, we’re going to be here three days. And when you run out, don’t ask if you can use my camera, because the answer is no!”
“Did I say I want to use your camera?”
“I’m just telling you the rules.”
“Say ‘cheese!’” He snapped a picture of me with my mouth open.
“And stop taking my picture!” I told him.
He laughed.
As soon as it was dark, we went to sleep on blow-up mattresses. Grandpa Pete doesn’t have a TV. He doesn’t have a computer or a cell phone either. His house is just a big screened porch with one small inside room. The screens keep out most of the bugs. There are plenty of bugs. Too many for Mom. She’s always swatting at something.
Early the next morning, before the sun came up, Grandpa Pete woke the Pain and me. “Shhhh …” he whispered, because Mom and Dad were sound asleep. We got into our long pants, long-sleeve shirts, and floppy hats. We grabbed our cameras. Outside, Grandpa Pete looked down at my cowboy boots.
“You can’t wear those in a canoe,” he told me.
“But I have to,” I said.
“They’ll get wet.”
“That’s okay,” I told him. “I don’t mind.”
“She’s afraid of snakes,” the Pain told Grandpa Pete. “She thinks they can’t bite her if she’s wearing boots.”
“I always thought it was alligators that couldn’t bite through leather,” Grandpa Pete said.
Alligators, too? That made me feel even better about wearing my boots!
Grandpa Pete sprayed us with citronella to keep away the mosquitoes. Then we headed for his old Jeep.
Miss Memory was waiting for us. Miss Memory is Grandpa Pete’s best friend. No kidding—that’s her real name. Memory Clark. She lives next door.
Grandpa Pete said, “I don’t have to worry about forgetting things because I’ve always got my Memory with me.” He makes the same joke every time we visit. The Pain doesn’t get it. He says he does, but I can tell he doesn’t.
Miss Memory is a birder too. A birder is someone who watches birds. There are more than 350 kinds of birds in the Everglades, and I think Grandpa Pete and Miss Memory know them all.
The Pain got into Grandpa Pete’s canoe and I went with Miss Memory. Grandpa Pete has rules for canoeing in the Everglades. Rule number one is look and listen. If we see something interesting, we can point at it, but we can’t call out. That’s the hardest rule for the Pain. He has no self-control. But he knows Grandpa Pete will leave him behind if he can’t keep still. And then he’ll never get to see an alligator in the wild.
Canoeing in the Everglades is like being on another planet. It’s so quiet. Everywhere you look it’s just water, little islands full of birds, and us. No other people. Just the lap, lap, lap of our canoes paddling along.
Click. I snapped a picture of a pink and white bird with a beak that looked like a spoon.
Click. I got a shot of a really big turtle.
Click. I got an osprey flying overhead.
Click. I got Grandpa Pete and the Pain in their canoe.
So far, no snakes. And no alligators either. I can’t decide if I want to see an alligator or not. Suppose I see one and get so scared I scream? Suppose the alligator swims under our canoe and tips it over? Then what?
We went out in the canoes twice a day, early in the morning and just before sunset. On our last day Miss Memory invited me over to keep her company while she baked a pineapple upside-down cake. “It’s your grandpa’s favorite,” she said.
“My favorite is chocolate,” I told her.
“If you come back for your birthday, I’ll bake you a chocolate cake.”
“That’s really nice, but my birthday is July fourth.” I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I didn’t want to say we have a party every year and all the relatives come, except Grandpa Pete—even though he’s invited.
Later, Miss Memory said to Mom and Dad, “I wish you’d stay longer. Three days is nothing.”
“I’d say it’s just about the right amount of time,” Grandpa Pete said. “Any longer and they’d be bored. Or I might get sick of them.”
“Pete!” Miss Memory said. “They don’t know you’re kidding.”
“Who’s kidding?” G
randpa Pete said.
I couldn’t tell if he was or if he wasn’t.
“I want to stay until I see an alligator,” the Pain said.
“Why don’t we just take them to Gatorama on the way to the airport tomorrow?” Mom suggested.
Grandpa Pete gave Mom a look. “That’s for tourists,” he said. It’s the real deal or nothing for my grandchildren.”
Mom grew up in the city. What does she know about alligators?
Just before supper we went out in the canoes again. I must have been hungry, because I was thinking about Miss Memory’s pineapple upside-down cake and wondering if I’d like it. I like cake and I like pineapple. But I’ve never tried them together upside down.
Suddenly, I had a creepy feeling. It wasn’t just the quiet or the gray sky. I felt prickles on the back of my neck. I sat up straight, the way Fluzzy does when he knows something is going to happen. And then I saw them. In the distance. First it was just their snouts. Then they lifted their heads. Alligators! I looked over at the Pain. But I could tell he and Grandpa Pete didn’t see them yet. If they did, they’d be pointing. I turned my head to look at Miss Memory, but she was paddling along same as always. I was the only one who saw them. Just me. They were my secret! I picked up my camera. Say “cheese,” I told them inside my head.
I was already thinking of how I would tell Ms. Valdez, my science teacher, about seeing four alligators. Right in front of us, I’d say. Close enough to touch. That wasn’t true, but it made a better story. I was so glad I was wearing my leather cowboy boots.
But how would I feel if the Pain saw alligators and didn’t tell me? Not that the Pain has ever kept a secret in his entire life. But still, it would be so unfair. So I pointed. Miss Memory stopped paddling and pointed too. Then Grandpa Pete tapped the Pain on his shoulder and pointed. The Pain clapped his hand over his mouth. He was so excited he started rocking the canoe. If he fell in and got eaten by an alligator, Mom and Dad would be really mad at Grandpa Pete.
Two of the alligators crawled up onto one of the small islands. My hands shook as I snapped pictures of them. After a minute Miss Memory started paddling backward, very slowly, very quietly. Grandpa Pete did the same. The alligators didn’t see us. At least, I don’t think they did.
When we got back to the house, the Pain started yelling, “Alligators! We saw alligators.”
“I hope you weren’t close to them,” Mom said.
“Close enough to touch!” the Pain sang. When he saw the looks on Mom’s and Dad’s faces he laughed. “Ha ha … fooled you, didn’t I?”
“So you didn’t see alligators?” Dad asked.
“We did!” I told Dad. “Four of them. We took pictures.”
“Really, Pete,” Mom said to Grandpa. “I hope you were thinking about their safety.”
“I always think about the alligators’ safety,” Grandpa Pete said.
The next day we flew home. Fluzzy pretended not to care we were back. He had that I don’t even see you! look on his face. But he couldn’t fool me. I knew he’d missed us.
When I got into bed, Mom came in, holding up my boots. “I don’t think we’re ever going to dry these out.” She sniffed inside them and made a face. I already knew they smelled terrible, like the muck we walked through every time we went in the canoes. But I was hoping Mom would know what to do.
“We’re going to have to throw them away,” she said. “They’re ruined.”
“But I love those boots!” I cried.
“Well, Abigail …” She didn’t say anything else. She just carried them out of my room.
“Can I get another pair?” I called.
“We’ll see.”
That probably meant no.
The next day Dad dropped off our film to be developed. He came home with the pictures that night. I couldn’t wait to see how mine turned out. I knew they would be good. I knew they’d be way better than the Pain’s. I opened the envelope. I took out the pictures. What? I thought as I flipped through half of them. “These can’t be my pictures!” I cried. They were so blurry you couldn’t make out anything. I grabbed the Pain’s envelope. “Let me see those….”
“Hey!” he said. And before I could stop him he grabbed my envelope.
He checked out my pictures while I checked out his. But these couldn’t be mine either. They were all black. “You had your finger over the lens,” I told the Pain.
“Not every time,” he said. “Look at this one!” He held it up. It was a perfect picture of an alligator. “Only our alligators came out right,” he said.
But only my alligator looked like he was saying “cheese.”
FLUZZY IN CHARGE
See if I care if they go away.
See if I care if they leave me home with the babysitter.
I’ll show them how much I care!
As soon as they’re gone I race into his room.
His elephant is gone!
He took his elephant with him but not me?
See if I care!
Next, I tear down the hall to her room.
I jump onto her bed and sniff everything.
I bite her troll doll.
I pull at its hair.
Then I knock it to the floor and hide it under the bed.
When I get thirsty I slurp from the toilet bowl.
The babysitter says,
Fluzzy, that’s disgusting!
You have your own water dish.
See if I care what the babysitter says!
I hide in the mom’s closet
way in back, behind the coats.
The babysitter can’t find me.
She calls, Fluzzy, where are you?
Fluzzy, what am I going to tell them if you get lost?
How can I get lost when she won’t let me out of the house?
When she finally opens the closet door I jump out and hiss at her.
See if I care how loud she screams!
At night I chase toy mice.
I skid across the floor.
Then back again.
She calls, Fluzzy, you’re driving me crazy!
See if I care!
In the morning I fly down the stairs and leap onto the kitchen counter.
I paw at everything.
Spices fall over.
Jelly beans tumble to the floor.
Sugar spills from the bowl.
It crunches when I walk in it, like snow.
Fluzzy! she cries when she sees the mess.
Let’s get this straight.
I’m in charge!
Ha ha! That’s what they think too!
You don’t want me to tell them you’re a bad kitty, do you? she asks.
A bad kitty? Me?
They’d never believe that!
They might not come back if they think you’re a bad kitty, she says.
But she can’t scare me.
They always come back.
And when they do,
I’ll pretend I didn’t even know they were gone.
Judy Blume spent her childhood in Elizabeth, New Jersey, making up stories inside her head. She has spent her adult years in many places, doing the same thing, only now she writes her stories down on paper. Her twenty-seven books have won many awards, including the National Book Foundation’s Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters.
Judy lives in Key West and New York City. You can visit her at www.judyblume.com.
James Stevenson has written and illustrated more than a hundred books for children. In forty years at the New Yorker, he has published more than two thousand cartoons and covers, as well as numerous written pieces. His illustrated column “Lost and Found New York” frequently appears on the op-ed page of the New York Times.
Published by Delacorte Press
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product o
f the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2008 by P&G Trust
Illustrations copyright © 2008 by James Stevenson
All rights reserved.
Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com/kids
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Blume, Judy.
Going, going, gone! with the Pain and the Great One / Judy Blume ;
illustrations by James Stevenson. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Further adventures of first-grader Jake “the Pain” and his sister, third-grader Abigail “the Great One,” include a trip to the beach with Grandma, to a county fair with Aunt Diana, and to a mall with Dad.
eISBN: 978-0-307-75940-5
[1. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Family life—Fiction.]
I. Stevenson, James, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.B6265 Goi 2008
[Fic]—dc22
2008006634
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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