Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary

Author:Beverly Cleary [Cleary, Beverly]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

No need to sign the note. Her mother would know who it was from, because Beezus wrote cursive. Ramona left her note on the table beside the front door, where the family always looked for mail and messages. She sidled closer to Howie’s grandmother, pretending interest in her knitting, which appeared to be a small sweater of strange shape.

“Is that for a doll?” asked Ramona.

Mrs. Kemp’s eyes were on the television screen, where two boring grown-ups were saying good-by forever to one another. “It’s a sweater for my little dachshund,” she answered. “When I finish I’m going to make a little beret to match. Now run along to bed.”

For a moment Ramona had enjoyed relief from her troubles. Reluctantly she returned to bed. She heard Beezus take her bath, get into bed, and turn out her light without being told. That was the kind of girl Beezus was. Beezus would never get herself into the sort of mess Ramona faced. Ramona’s conscience hurt, and a hurting conscience was the worst feeling in the world. Ramona thought of the ghost and the boneless gorilla that she and Beezus had scared themselves with the night of the hole in the house, but she quickly squashed the thoughts by thinking how surprised her mother would be when she discovered what a grown-up note Ramona had written. Ramona must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, her mother was whispering, “Ramona?”

“I’m awake, Mama. Did you get my note?”

“Yes, Ramona. I had no idea you were old enough to leave a note.” Mrs. Quimby’s words gave Ramona a good feeling. Her mother knew the right answers to questions.

Beezus called out from her room. “What did you talk about at the Kemps’?”

“Your mother’s new job,” answered Mr. Quimby.

“Oh,” said Beezus. “What else?”

“The high cost of living. Football. Things like that,” said Mr. Quimby. “No family secrets.”

Mrs. Quimby bumped against Ramona’s bed in the dark.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Ramona.”

“What did Mrs. Griggs say about me?”

Mrs. Quimby’s answer was honest and direct. “She said you refused to make an owl like the rest of the class and that for no reason you crumpled up the owl Susan worked so hard to make.”

Beezus was standing in the hall. “Oh, owls,” she said, remembering. “Next you make Thanksgiving things.”

Tears filled Ramona’s eyes. Mrs. Griggs was so unfair. Turkeys came next, and trouble would start all over again.

“I was sorry to hear it, Ramona,” said Mrs. Quimby. “What on earth got into you?”

Ramona’s stiff lips quivered. “She’s wrong, Mama,” she managed to get out. “Mama, she’s wrong.” Ramona struggled for control. Now Mr. Quimby and Beezus were listening shadows in the doorway. “Mama, I did make an owl. A good owl.” Ramona drew a long shuddering breath and described what had happened: how Mrs. Griggs had praised Susan’s owl and said she hadn’t wasted paste, and how she had thrown away her own owl because she did not want people to think she had copied from Susan. “And so I scrunched her owl,” she concluded, relieved to have told the whole story.

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