The Cybil War by Betsy Byars Page A

actually left the floor.
    â€œGood news!” She opened the door, came in and saw Mrs. Newton. “Oh, you must be Simon’s mom. Hi!”
    Before Simon’s mother could nod, Cybil turned back to Simon. “Guess what? Miss Vicki got first prize for Worst Behaved!” She looked delightedly from him to his mother. “It was between her and the cocker spaniel who bit the peekapoo, and we voted. This was after you left.”
    Simon nodded. After Tony’s disgrace, Simon had waited awhile and then slipped away too. He hadn’t thought anyone noticed. The fact that Cybil had gave him another pang of pleasure.
    â€œMiss Vicki won by a landslide! It would have been unanimous except for the peekapoo’s owner. I’m going over to Tony’s house and tell him.”
    â€œI’ll do that,” Simon offered quickly. He was halfway across the living room, no longer smiling. It came over him in a rush how much he did not want Cybil to go over to Tony Angotti’s house. “I was going over there anyway,” he lied.
    â€œNo, I want to see his face when I tell him.”
    â€œBut I—”
    Cybil turned to Mrs. Newton. “Did Simon tell you what Miss Vicki did to get Worst Behaved?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWet her diaper.” Cybil grinned. “You’d have to know Tony to appreciate it.”
    â€œI appreciate it,” Mrs. Newton said with a smile.
    It came over Simon that he had to prevent Cybil from going over to Tony’s. He had to keep her here. He made a desperate offer. “You want a Coke?”
    â€œNo, I’ve got to go.” She swirled. “Say good-bye to everybody, Paw-paw.” She made Paw-paw wave to each of them.
    Mrs. Newton waved back. It was the first time Simon had seen his mom wave to a cat, but that, he thought, was the effect Cybil had on people. Swinging Paw-paw under her arm, she went out the door.
    Simon stood in the middle of the rug as Cybil’s footsteps faded into the distance. His thoughts went with her as she crossed Brock Street, turned down Oak, went up the Angottis’ walk. As he thought of her ringing the bell, his face twisted with misery.
    â€œWho was that girl?” Simon’s mother asked.
    Simon looked at her. It sounded like the end of the Lone Ranger shows when somebody asks in an important voice, “Who was that masked man?” and somebody answers in an equally important voice, “That was the Lone Ranger.”
    Simon answered in an equally important voice, “That was Cybil Ackerman.”
    He did not move. He was overcome by how quickly tides could turn in love and war, how quickly up could become down, victory defeat.
    â€œThat was Cybil Ackerman,” he repeated to himself.
    And it was not as if there were dozens of Cybil Ackermans, he realized. There was only one. And in the world that swirled in confusion and conflict around him, she was an oasis, a patch of fresh air, a circle of peace.
    He started for his room, stumbled over the rug and missed a step. “Are you all right?” his mother asked quickly.
    â€œI’m fine,” he said with careful cheer.
    â€œYour face looked flushed.”
    â€œI’m hot.”
    â€œSimon—”
    â€œLet me alone.”
    He closed the door behind him.

The Saddest Sentence
    W hen Simon was in third grade, the teacher, Mr. Romano, asked the class to write in twenty words or less the saddest sentence they could think of.
    Billy Bonfili’s sentence was: Last summer I almost drowned in front of my cousins and they laughed.
    Cybil’s was: My cat Paw-paw has been missing for three weeks and I think he’s dead.
    Simon’s was: Last summer my mom sent me to Camp Okiechobie to make up for the fact that my dad left and on the third day I got the worst case of poison ivy the councelors had ever seen and finally it reached my eyes and I had to be led blindly to the toilets by a boy named Mervin Rollins who