Ramona's World by Beverly Cleary Page A

hungry. Mrs. Alexander just about had a fit after paying for Abby’s dancing lessons and everything, but we took sandwiches and punch and cookies out to them. Mrs. Alexander had old-fashioned food instead of pizza and stuff. They quieted down after that.”
    â€œWhat a relief,” said Mr. Quimby. “I was worried about those poor hungry kids out there in the cold.”
    â€œDad, you’re just being silly.” Beezus giggled and continued, “I didn’t really want to dance anyway. At least not yet, not until boys get over being such little kids.”
    â€œWell, how do you like that?” said Mr. Quimby. “My dancing lessons wasted. Those boys had probably shined their shoes and didn’t want girls stepping all over them.”
    Ramona could see her sister was so happy she didn’t mind being teased. “But what about the night crawler?” she asked.
    â€œWhen we brought out the food, they threw it back in the grass,” Beezus explained.
    Ramona was only slightly disappointed. “Did you get anything to eat?” What was the point of a party without food?
    â€œOf course,” said Beezus. “You don’t think we’d let the boys have everything, do you? We ate the salad and the ice cream.”
    â€œI’m so glad you had a good time, dear,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Now wash your face good with soap and run along to bed. It’s almost midnight.”
    Beezus paused in the doorway. “You know something?” she asked. “I don’t think Abby and I are the popular type. And you know something else? I don’t care.”
    â€œI’m glad you feel that way,” said Mrs. Quimby with a tender smile. “I wish I had been that sensible when I was your age.”
    â€œ C’est la vie ,” said Beezus and, as she headed to the bedroom, added to Ramona, “That’s French for ‘That’s life.’”
    Ramona made a face. “ Au revoir .” She had picked up a word or two of French herself.
    â€œYou, too, kiddo,” said Mrs. Quimby to Ramona.
    Ramona snuggled against her mother, stalling for time, and said, “I’m glad I have a nice plain mother instead of a mother with hair you could scour pans with.” If she could postpone going to bed, she might get to hear what her parents would say about Beezus.
    â€œThank you.” Mrs. Quimby smiled affectionately and rumpled Ramona’s hair. “But compliments won’t keep you out of bed. Now run along.”
    Ramona pattered on light feet down the hall and climbed into bed. Her next-to-last thought, before she fell asleep, was, I can’t wait to tell Daisy. Her last thought was, I’m glad Beezus is still sensible on the inside.

7
THE GROWN-UP LETTER
    I t was almost Thanksgiving when Ramona decided that she liked Mrs. Meacham most of the time. Not that Mrs. Meacham did not have flaws. She did, in Ramona’s opinion. Mrs. Meacham was enthusiastic about spelling and especially enjoyed words with silent letters such as knit and wrist . She was also a stickler for pronunciation and corrected anyone who said “gonna” or “shoulda.” “If you don’t pronounce correctly, you can’t spell,” she said much too often, Ramona thought.
    Most of the fourth grade thought Mrs. Meacham had another flaw. She confiscated any notes written by her class that were sailed, passed, or dropped on desks. She then read them for misspelled words and, if she found one, added it to the list on the chalkboard: Words We Need to Work On. She then tore up the notes and threw the pieces in the wastebasket.
    The fourth grade thought this was unfair, but Ramona was not much concerned. By the fourth grade she had learned to put up with teachers. She was not concerned, that is, until one day when Yard Ape, on his way to the pencil sharpener, dropped a note on her desk. She picked it up and was about to read it when Mrs. Meacham