Ramona the Brave (8 page)

“Ramona, everyone has to go to school,” Mrs. Quimby answered. “Loving you has nothing to do with it.”

“Then why can't I be in the other first grade, the one in Room Two?” Ramona asked. “Mrs. Griggs doesn't like me.”

“Of course she likes you,” contradicted Mrs. Quimby.

“No, she doesn't,” said Ramona. “If she liked me, she wouldn't make me tell Susan in front of the whole class that I was sorry I scrunched her owl, and she would ask me to lead the Pledge Allegiance. And she wouldn't say bad things about me on my progress report.”

“I told you Mrs. Griggs was great on apologies,” Beezus reminded her family. “And she will get around to asking Ramona to lead the flag salute. She asks everybody.”

“But Beezus, you got along with Mrs. Griggs when you had her,” said Mrs. Quimby.

“I guess so,” said Beezus. “She wasn't my favorite teacher, though.”

“What was wrong with her?” asked Mrs. Quimby.

“There wasn't anything really wrong with her, I guess,” answered Beezus. “She just wasn't very exciting is all. She wasn't mean or anything like that. We just seemed to go along doing our work, and that was it.”

“Was she unfair?” asked Mrs. Quimby.

Beezus considered the question. “No, but I was the kind of child she liked. You know…neat and dependable.”

“I bet you never wasted paste,” said Ramona, who was not a paste waster herself. Too much paste was likely to spoil a piece of artwork.

“No,” admitted Beezus. “I wasn't that type.”

Ramona persisted. “
Why
can't I change to Room Two?”

Mr. Quimby took over. “Because Mrs. Griggs is teaching you to read and do arithmetic, and because the things she said about you are fair. You do need to learn self-control and to keep your hands to yourself. There are all kinds of teachers in the world just as there are all kinds of other people, and you must learn to get along with them. Maybe Mrs. Griggs doesn't understand how you feel, but you aren't always easy to understand. Did you ever think of that?”

“Please, Daddy,” begged Ramona. “Please don't make me go back to Room One.”

“Buck up, Ramona,” said Mr. Quimby. “Show us your spunk.”

Ramona felt too exhausted to show anyone her spunk, but for some reason her father's order made her feel better. If her mother had said, Poor baby, she would have felt like crying again. Mrs. Quimby led her from the room and, skipping her bath, helped her into bed. Before the light was turned out, Ramona noticed that
Wild Animals of Africa
had been returned to her bookcase.

“Stay with me, Mama,” coaxed Ramona, dreading solitude, darkness, and the gorilla in the book. Mrs. Quimby turned off the light and sat down on the bed.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Ramona?”

“Isn't
guts
a bad word?”

Mrs. Quimby thought for a moment. “I wouldn't say it's exactly a bad word. It isn't the nicest word in the world, but there are much worse words. Now go to sleep.”

Ramona wondered what could be worse than guts.

Out in the kitchen Mr. Quimby was rattling dishes and singing, “Oh, my gal, she am a spunky gal! Sing polly-wolly doodle all the day!”

Ramona always felt safe while her father was awake. Dread of Something was worse after he had gone to bed and the house was dark. No need to turn herself into a paper doll for a while. Crying had left Ramona tired and limp, but somehow she felt better, more at peace with herself, as if trouble and guilt had been washed away by tears. She knew her father was singing about her, and in spite of her troubles Ramona found comfort in being her father's spunky gal. Somehow Something seemed less frightening.

Worn out as she was by anger and tears, Ramona faced the truth. She could no longer go on being afraid of the dark. She was too weary to remain frightened and sleepless. She could no longer fear shadows and spooks and strange little noises. She stepped bravely out of bed and, in the faint light from the hall, pulled the big flat book from her bookcase. She carried it into the living room and shoved it under a cushion. Her parents, busy with supper dishes in the kitchen, did not know she was out of bed. She walked back to her room, climbed into bed, and pulled up the covers. Nothing had grabbed her by the ankles. Nothing slithered out from under the curtains to harm her. Nothing had chased her. She was safe. Gratefully Ramona said her prayers and, exhausted, fell asleep.

F
illed with spirit and pluck, Ramona started off to school with her lunch box in her hand. She was determined that today would be different. She would make it different. She was her father's spunky gal, wasn't she? She twirled around for the pleasure of making her pleated skirt stand out beneath her car coat.

Ramona was so filled with spunk she decided to go to school a different way, by the next street over, something she had always wanted to do. The distance to Glenwood School was no greater. There was no reason she should not go to school any way she pleased as long as she looked both ways before she crossed the street and did not talk to strangers.

Slowpoke Howie, half a block behind, called out when he saw her turn the corner, “Ramona, where are you going?”

“I'm going to school a different way,” Ramona called back, certain that Howie would not follow to spoil her feeling of adventure. Howie was not a boy to change his ways.

Ramona skipped happily down the street, singing to herself, “Hippity-hop to the barber shop to buy a stick of candy. One for you and one for me and one for sister Mandy.” The sky through the bare branches overhead was clear, the air was crisp, and Ramona's feet in their brown oxfords felt light. Beezus's old boots, which so often weighed her down, were home in the hall closet. Ramona was happy. The day felt different already.

Ramona turned the second corner, and as she hippity-hopped down the unfamiliar street past three white houses and a tan stucco house, she enjoyed a feeling of freedom and adventure. Then as she passed a gray shingle house in the middle of the block, a large German shepherd dog, license tags jingling, darted down the driveway toward her. Terrified, Ramona stood rooted to the sidewalk. She felt as if her bad dream had come true. The grass was green, the sky was blue. She could not move; she could not scream.

The dog, head thrust forward, came close. He sniffed with his black nose. Here was a stranger. He growled. This was his territory, and he did not want a stranger to trespass.

This is not a dream, Ramona told herself. This is real. My feet will move if I make them. “Go 'way!” she ordered, backing away from the dog, which answered with a sharp bark. He had teeth like the wolf in
Little Red Riding Hood
. Oh, Grandmother, what big teeth you have! The better to eat you with, my dear. Ramona took another step back. Growling, the dog advanced. He was a dog, not a wolf, but that was bad enough.

Ramona used the only weapon she had—her lunch box. She slung her lunch box at the dog and missed. The box crashed to the sidewalk, tumbled, and came to rest. The dog stopped to sniff it. Ramona forced her feet to move, to run. Her oxfords pounded on the sidewalk. One shoelace came untied and slapped against her ankle. She looked desperately at a passing car, but the driver did not notice her peril.

Ramona cast a terrified look over her shoulder. The dog had lost interest in her unopened lunch box and was coming toward her again. She could hear his toenails on the sidewalk and could hear him growling deep in his throat. She had to do something, but what?

Ramona's heart was pounding in her ears as she stopped to reach for the only weapon left—her shoe. She had no choice. She yanked off her brown oxford and hurled it at the dog. Again she missed. The dog stopped, sniffed the shoe, and then to Ramona's horror, picked it up, and trotted off in the direction from which he had come.

Ramona stood aghast with the cold from the concrete sidewalk seeping through her sock. Now what should she do? If she said, You come back here, the dog might obey, and she did not want him any closer. She watched helplessly as he returned to his own lawn, where he settled down with the shoe between his paws like a bone. He began to gnaw.

Her shoe! There was no way Ramona could take her shoe away from the dog by herself.

There was no one she could ask for help on this street of strangers. And her blue lunch box, now dented, lying there on the sidewalk. Did she dare try to get it back while the dog was busy chewing her shoe? She took a cautious step toward her lunch box. The dog went on gnawing. She took another step. I really am brave, she told herself. The dog looked up. Ramona froze. The dog began to gnaw again. She darted forward, grabbed her lunch box, and ran toward school,
slap-pat, slap-pat
, on the cold concrete.

Ramona refused to cry—she was brave, wasn't she?—but she was worried. Mrs. Griggs frowned on tardiness, and Ramona was quite sure she expected everyone in her class to wear two shoes. Ramona would probably catch it from Mrs. Griggs at school and from her mother at home for losing a shoe with a lot of wear left in it. Ramona was always catching it.

When Ramona reached Glenwood School, the bell had rung and the traffic boys were leaving their posts. The children crowding into the building did not notice Ramona's predicament. Ramona
slap-patted
down the hall to Room One, where she quickly left her lunch box and car coat in the cloakroom before she sat down at her desk with one foot folded under her. She spread her pleated skirt to hide her dirty sock.

Susan noticed. “What happened to your other shoe?” she asked.

“I lost it, and don't you tell!” If Susan told, Ramona would have a good excuse to pull Susan's
boing-boing
curls.

“I won't,” promised Susan, pleased to share a secret, “but how are you going to keep Mrs. Griggs from finding out?”

Ramona cast a desperate look at Susan. “I don't know,” she confessed.

“Class,” said Mrs. Griggs in a calm voice. This was her way of saying, All right, everyone quiet down and come to order because we have work to do, and we won't accomplish anything if we waste time talking to one another. Ramona tried to warm her cold foot by rubbing it through her pleated skirt.

Mrs. Griggs looked around her classroom. “Who has not had a turn at leading the flag salute?” she asked.

Ramona stared at her desk while trying to shrink so small Mrs. Griggs could not see her.

“Ramona, you have not had a turn,” said Mrs. Griggs with a smile. “You may come to the front of the room.”

Ramona and Susan exchanged a look. Ramona's said, Now what am I going to do? Susan's said, I feel sorry for you.

“Ramona, we're waiting,” said Mrs. Griggs.

There was no escape. Ramona slid from her seat and walked to the front of the room where she faced the flag and stood on one foot like a stork to hide her shoeless foot behind her pleated skirt. “I pledge allegiance,” she began, swaying.

“I pledge allegiance,” said the class.

Mrs. Griggs interrupted. “Both feet on the floor, Ramona.”

Ramona felt a surge of defiance. Mrs. Griggs wanted two feet on the floor, so she put two feet on the floor. “—to the flag,” she continued with such determination that Mrs. Griggs did not have another chance to interrupt. When Ramona finished, she took her seat. So there, Mrs. Griggs, was her spunky thought. What if I am wearing only one shoe?

“Ramona, what happened to your other shoe?” asked Mrs. Griggs.

“I lost it,” answered Ramona.

“Tell me about it,” said Mrs. Griggs.

Ramona did not want to tell. “I was chased by a…” She wanted to say gorilla, but after a moment's hesitation she said, “…dog, and I had to throw my shoe at him, and he ran off with it.” She expected the class to laugh, but instead they listened in silent sympathy. They did not understand about a hole in a house, but they understood about big dogs. They too had faced big dogs and been frightened. Ramona felt better.

“Why, that's too bad,” said Mrs. Griggs, which surprised Ramona. Somehow she had not expected her teacher to understand. Mrs. Griggs continued. “I'll call the office and ask the secretary to telephone your mother and have her bring you another pair of shoes.”

“My mother isn't home,” said Ramona. “She's at work.”

“Well, don't worry, Ramona,” said Mrs. Griggs. “We have some boots without owners in the cloakroom. You may borrow one to wear when we go out for recess.”

Ramona was familiar with those boots, none of them related and all of them a dingy brown, because no one would lose a new red boot. If there was one thing Ramona did not like, it was old brown boots. They were really ugly. She could not run and play kickball in one shoe and one boot. Spirit and spunk surged back into Ramona. Mrs. Griggs meant well, but she did not understand about boots. Miss Binney would never have told Ramona to wear one old boot. Ramona did not want to wear an old brown boot, and she made up her mind she was not going to wear an old brown boot!

Once Ramona had made this decision, it was up to her to decide what to do about it. If only she had some heavy paper and a stapler, she could make a slipper, one that might even be strong enough to last until she reached home. She paid attention to number combinations in one part of her mind, while in that private place in the back of her mind she thought about a paper slipper and how she could make one if she only had a stapler. A stapler, a stapler, where could she find a stapler? Mrs. Griggs would want an explanation if she asked to borrow Room One's stapler. To borrow Miss Binney's stapler, Ramona would have to run across the playground to the temporary building, and Mrs. Griggs was sure to call her back. There had to be another way. And there was, if only she could make it work.

When recess finally came, Ramona was careful to leave the room with several other members of her class and to slip down to the girls' bathroom in the basement before Mrs. Griggs could remind her to put on the boot. She jerked four rough paper towels out of the container by the sinks. She folded three of the paper towels in half, making six layers of rough paper. The fourth towel she folded in thirds, which also made six layers of paper.

Now came the scary part of her plan. Ramona returned to the hall, which was empty because both first grades were out on the playground. The doors of the classrooms were closed. No one would see the brave thing she was about to do. Ramona climbed the stairs to the first landing, where she paused to take a fresh grip on her courage. She had never gone to the upstairs hall alone. First graders rarely ventured there unless accompanied by their parents on Open House night. She felt small and frightened, but she held fast to her courage, as she ran up the second half of the flight of stairs.

Ramona found Mr. Cardoza's room. She quietly opened the door a crack. Mr. Cardoza was telling his class, “Spelling
secretary
is easy. Just remember the first part of the word is
secret
and think of a
secretary
as someone who keeps
secrets
. You will never again spell the word with two
a
's instead of two
e
's.”

Ramona opened the door a little wider and peeked inside. How big the desks looked compared to her own down in Room One! She heard the whir of a wheel spinning in a mouse's cage.

Mr. Cardoza came to investigate. He opened the door wider and said, “Hello, Ramona Q. What may we do for you?”