Title Page

ii

Beverly Cleary

I L L U S T R AT E D B Y

Tracy Dockray

viii

Contents

1. A Present for Willa Jean 1

2. Slacks for Ella Funt 26

3. Nobody Likes Ramona 49

4. The Quarrel

78

5. The Great Hair Argument 103

6. Ramona’s New Pajamas

135

7. The Telephone Call 159

About the Author

Other Books by Beverly Cleary

Credits

Cover

Copyright

About the Publisher

1

A Present

for Willa Jean

When will they be here?” asked

“

Ramona Quimby, who was sup-

posed to be dusting the living room but

instead was twirling around trying to make

herself dizzy. She was much too excited to

dust.

“In half an hour,” cried her mother from

the kitchen, where she and Ramona’s big

sister Beatrice were opening and closing the 1

refrigerator and oven doors, bumping into one another, forgetting where they had laid

the pot holders, finding them and losing the measuring spoons.

The Quimbys were about to entertain

their neighbors at a New Year’s Day brunch

to celebrate Mr. Quimby’s finding a job at

the ShopRite Market after being out of

work for several months. Ramona liked the

word brunch, half breakfast and half lunch, and secretly felt the family had cheated

because they had eaten their real breakfast

earlier. They needed their strength to get

ready for the party.

“And Ramona,” said Mrs. Quimby as

she hastily laid out silverware on the dining-room table, “be nice to Willa Jean, will you?

Try to keep her out of everyone’s hair.”

“Ramona, watch what you’re doing!” said

Mr. Quimby, who was laying a fire in the fire-place. “You almost knocked over the lamp.”

2

Ramona stopped twirling, staggered from

dizziness, and made a face. Willa Jean, the

messy little sister of her friend Howie

Kemp, was sticky, crumby, into everything,

and always had to have her own way.

“And behave yourself,” said Mr. Quimby.

“Willa Jean is company.”

Not my company, thought Ramona, who

saw quite enough of Willa Jean when she

played at Howie’s house. “If Howie can’t

come to the brunch because he has a cold,

why can’t Willa Jean stay home with their

grandmother, too?” Ramona asked.

“I really don’t know,” said Ramona’s

mother. “That isn’t the way things worked

out. When the Kemps asked if they could

bring Willa Jean, I could hardly say no.”

I could, thought Ramona, deciding that

since Willa Jean, welcome or not, was coming to the brunch, she had better prepare to

defend her possessions. She went to her

room, where she swept her best crayons and

drawing paper into a drawer and covered

them with her pajamas. Her Christmas roller

skates and favorite toys, battered stuffed animals that she rarely played with but still

4

loved, went into the corner of her closet.

There she hid them under her bathrobe and

shut the door tight.

But what could she find to amuse Willa

Jean? If Willa Jean did not have something

to play with, she would run tattling to the

grown-ups. “Ramona hid her toys!” Ramona

laid a stuffed snake on her bed, then doubted if even Willa Jean could love a stuffed snake.

What Ramona needed was a present for

Willa Jean, a present wrapped and tied with

a good hard knot, a present that would take

a long time to unwrap. Next to receiving

presents, Ramona liked to give presents, and if she gave Willa Jean a present today, she

would not only have the fun of giving, but

of knowing the grown-ups would think,

Isn’t Ramona kind, isn’t she generous to

give Willa Jean a present? And so soon after Christmas, too. They would look at Ramona

in her new red-and-green-plaid slacks and

5

red turtleneck sweater and say, Ramona is one of Santa’s helpers, a regular little

Christmas elf.

Ramona smiled at herself in the mirror

and was pleased.Two of her most important

teeth were only halfway in, which made her

look like a jack-o’-lantern, but she did not mind. If she had grown-up teeth, the rest of her face would catch up someday.

Over her shoulder she saw reflected in

the mirror a half-empty box of Kleenex

on the floor beside her bed. Kleenex! That

was the answer to a present for Willa Jean.

She ran into the kitchen, where Beezus was

beating muffin batter while her father fried sausages and her mother struggled to

unmold a large gelatine salad onto a plate

covered with lettuce.

“A present is a good idea,” agreed Mrs.

Quimby when Ramona asked permission,

“but a box of Kleenex doesn’t seem like much 6

of a present.” She shook the mold. The salad refused to slide out. Her face was flushed and she glanced at the clock on the stove.

Ramona was insistent.“Willa Jean would

like it. I know she would.” There was no time for explaining what Willa Jean was to do

with the Kleenex.

Mrs. Quimby was having her problems

with the stubborn salad.“All right,” she con-sented. “There’s an extra box in the bath-

room cupboard.” The salad slid slowly from

the mold and rested, green and shimmering,

on the lettuce.

By the time Ramona had wrapped a large

box of Kleenex in leftover Christmas paper,

the guests had begun to arrive. First came

the Hugginses and McCarthys and little

Mrs. Swink in a bright-green pants suit.

Umbrellas were leaned outside the front

door, coats taken into the bedroom, and the

usual grown-up remarks exchanged. “Happy

7

New Year!” “Good to see you!” “We thought we would have to swim over, it’s

raining so hard.” “Do you think this rain

will ever stop?” “Who says it’s raining?”

“This is good old Oregon sunshine!”

Ramona felt she had heard that joke one

million times, and she was only in the

second grade.

Then Mr. Huggins said to Ramona’s

father, “Congratulations! I hear you have a

new job.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Quimby. “Starts

tomorrow.”

“Great,” said Mr. Huggins, and Ramona

silently agreed. Having a father without a

job had been hard on the whole family.

Then Mrs. Swink smiled at Ramona and

said, “My, Juanita, you’re getting to be a big girl. How old are you? I can’t keep track.”

Should Ramona tell Mrs. Swink her name

was not Juanita? No, Mrs. Swink was very

8

old and should be treated with courtesy. Last year Ramona would have spoken up and

said, My name is not Juanita, it’s Ramona.

Not this year.The room fell silent as Ramona answered, “I’m seven and a half right now.”

She was proud of herself for speaking so

politely.

There was soft laughter from the grown-

ups, which embarrassed Ramona. Why did

they have to laugh? She was seven and a half right now. She would not be seven and a

half forever.

Then the Grumbies arrived, followed by

Howie’s mother and father, the Kemps, and

of course Willa Jean. Although Willa Jean

was perfectly capable of walking, her father was carrying her so she would not get her

little white shoes and socks wet. Willa Jean in turn was carrying a big stuffed bear.When Mr. Kemp set his daughter down, her mother

peeled off her coat, one arm at a time so

9

Willa Jean would not have to let go of her bear.

There stood usually messy Willa Jean in a

pink dress with tiny flowers embroidered

on the collar. Her curly blond hair, freshly washed, stood out like a halo. Her blue eyes were the color of the plastic handle on

Ramona’s toothbrush.When she smiled, she

showed her pearly little baby teeth. Willa

Jean was not messy at all.

Ramona in her corduroy slacks and turtle-

neck sweater suddenly felt big and awkward

beside her little guest and embarrassed to

have jack-o’-lantern teeth.

And the things those grown-ups said to

Willa Jean! “Why, hello there, sweetheart!”

“My, don’t you look like a little angel!”“Bless your little heart. Did Santa bring you the

great big bear?”Willa Jean smiled and hugged her bear. Ramona noticed she had lace ruffles sewn to the seat of her underpants.

10

“What is your bear’s name, dear?” asked Mrs. Swink.

“Woger,” answered Willa Jean.

Mrs. Kemp smiled as if Willa Jean had

said something clever and explained, “She

named her bear Roger after the milkman.”

Mrs. Quimby said with amusement,

“I remember when Ramona named one of

her dolls Chevrolet after the car.” Everyone laughed.

She didn’t have to go and tell that,

thought Ramona, feeling that her mother

had betrayed her by telling, as if it were

funny, something she had done a long time

ago. She still thought Chevrolet was a beau-

tiful name, even though she was old enough

to know that dolls were not usually named

after cars.

“See my bear?” Willa Jean held Woger up

for Ramona to admire. Because everyone

was watching, Ramona said politely, “He’s a

11

nice bear.”And he was a nice bear, the nicest bear Ramona had ever seen. He was big and

soft with a kindly look on his furry face

and—this was the best part—each of his

four big paws had five furry toes. You could count them, five on each paw. Even though

Ramona felt she should be outgrowing bears,

she longed to hold that bear, to put her arms around him, hug him close and love him.

“Would you like me to hold the bear for

you?” she asked.

“No,” said Willa Jean.

“Ramona,” whispered Mrs. Quimby, “take Willa Jean into the kitchen and sit her at the table so she won’t spill orange juice on the carpet.” Ramona gave her mother a balky

look, which was returned with her mother’s

you-do-it-or-you’ll-catch-it look. Mrs.

Quimby was not at her best when about to

serve a meal to a living room full of guests.

In the kitchen Willa Jean set Woger care-

fully on the chair before she climbed up

beside him, displaying her ruffled under-

pants, and grasped her orange juice with

both hands, dribbling some down the front

of her fresh pink dress.

Mrs. Quimby, assisted by Beezus, set out

a platter of scrambled eggs and another of

bacon and sausage beside the gelatine salad.

Hastily she snatched two small plates from

the cupboard and dished out two servings of

brunch, which she set in front of Ramona

and Willa Jean. Beezus, acting like a grown-

14

up, filled a basket with muffins and carried it into the dining room. Guests took plates

from the stack at the end of the table and

began to serve themselves.

Ramona scowled. If Beezus got to eat in

the living room with the grown-ups, why

couldn’t she? She was no baby. She would

not spill.

“Be a good girl!” whispered Mrs. Quimby,

who had forgotten the marmalade.

I’m trying, thought Ramona, but her

mother was too flurried to notice her efforts.

Willa Jean took one bite of scrambled eggs

and then went to work, patting the rest flat on her plate with the back of her spoon.

Ramona watched her charge give her egg

a final pat with the back of her spoon, pick up her bear, and trot off to the living room, leaving Ramona alone to nibble a muffin,

think, and look at her artwork, arithmetic

papers, and some cartoons her father had

15

drawn, which had been taped to the refrigerator door for the family to admire. Nobody missed Ramona, all alone out there in the

kitchen. Conversation from the living room

was boring, all about high prices and who

would be the next president, with no men-

tion of children or anything interesting until someone said, “Oops. Careful,Willa Jean.”

Then Mrs. Kemp said, “No-no, Willa

Jean. Mustn’t put your fingers in Mr.

Grumbie’s marmalade. It’s sticky.”

Mrs. Quimby slipped into the kitchen to

see if the coffee was ready. “Ramona, it’s

time to take Willa Jean to your room and

give her your present,” she whispered.

“I changed my mind,” said Ramona.

Mr. Quimby, refilling the muffin basket,

overheard. “Do as your mother says,” he

ordered in a whisper, “so that kid will give us a little peace.”

Ramona considered. Should she make a

16

fuss? What would a fuss accomplish? On the other hand, if she gave Willa Jean her present, maybe she would have a chance to hold that

lovable bear for a little while.

“OK,” Ramona agreed without enthusi-

asm.

Mrs. Quimby followed Ramona into the

living room.“Willa Jean,” she said.“Ramona

has a present for you. In her room.”

Willa Jean’s attention was caught.

“Go with Ramona,” Mrs. Quimby said

firmly.

Willa Jean, still clutching her bear, went.

“Here.” Ramona thrust the package at

Willa Jean, and when her guest set her bear

on the bed, Ramona started to pick him up.

Willa Jean dropped the package.“Woger’s

my bear,” she said, and ran off to the living room with him. In a moment she returned

bearless to pull and yank and tear the wrap-

ping from the package.“That’s not a present.”

17

Willa Jean looked cross. “That’s Kleenex.”

“But it’s your very own,” said Ramona.

“Sit down and I’ll show you what to do.”

She broke the perforation in the top of the

box and pulled out one pink sheet and then

another. “See.You can sit here and pull out

all you want because it’s your very own. You can pull out the whole box if you want.”

She did not bother telling Willa Jean that

she had always wanted to pull out a whole

box of Kleenex, one sheet after another.

Willa Jean looked interested. Slowly she

pulled out one sheet and then a second.And

another and another. She began to pull faster.

Soon she was pulling out sheet after sheet

and having such a good time that Ramona

wanted to join the fun.

“It’s mine,” said Willa Jean when Ramona

reached for a tissue. Willa Jean got to her

feet and, pulling and flinging, ran down the hall to the living room. Ramona followed.

18

“See me!” Willa Jean ordered the grown-ups as she ran around pulling and flinging

Kleenex all over the room. Guests grabbed

their coffee mugs and held them high for

safety.

“No-no, Willa Jean,” said Mrs. Kemp.

“Mrs. Quimby won’t like you wasting her

Kleenex.”

“It’s mine!” Willa Jean was carried away

by the joy of wasting Kleenex and being

the center of attention at the same time.

“Ramona gave it to me.”

Ramona looked around for the bear,

which was sitting on Mr. Grumbie’s lap.

“Would you like me to hold Roger?”

Ramona asked, careful not to say Woger.

“No.” The bear’s owner saw through

Ramona’s scheme.“Woger wants to sit there.”

Mr. Grumbie did not look particularly

pleased.

Willa Jean’s parents made no effort to stop

19

their daughter’s spree of pull and fling.

Ramona watched, feeling much older than

she had earlier in the day. She also felt awkward while Beezus moved around the living

room, dodging Willa Jean and pouring coffee

as if she were a grown-up herself.

At first guests were amused by Willa Jean.

But amusement faded as coffee mugs had to

be rescued every time Willa Jean passed by.

Pink Kleenex littered the room. Ramona

heard Mr. Huggins whisper, “How much

Kleenex in a box anyway?”

Mrs. McCarthy answered, “Two hundred

and fifty sheets.”

“That’s a lot of Kleenex,” said Mr.

Huggins.

When Willa Jean came to the last piece of

Kleenex, she climbed on the couch and

carefully laid it on Mr. Grumbie’s bald head.

“Now you have a hat,” she said.

Conversation died, and the party died,

too. No one called Willa Jean an angel now

or blessed her little heart.

The Grumbies were first to leave. Mr.

Grumbie handed the bear to Willa Jean’s

mother as Willa Jean filled her arms with pink 21

tissues and tossed them into the air.“Whee!”

she cried, and scooped up another armful.

“Whee!”

Their departure seemed to be a signal for

everyone to leave. “Don’t you want to take

the Kleenex with you?” Mrs. Quimby asked

Willa Jean’s mother.“We can put it in a bag.”

“That’s all right. Willa Jean has had her

fun.” Mrs. Kemp was helping Willa Jean into

her coat.

“By-by,” said Willa Jean prettily as her

father carried her and Woger out the door.

Other guests were telling Mr. and Mrs.

Quimby how much they had enjoyed the

brunch. Beezus was standing beside them as

if it had been her party, too. Mrs. McCarthy smiled.“I can see you are your mother’s girl,”

she said.

“I couldn’t get along without her,” Mrs.

Quimby replied generously.

“Good-by, Juanita,” said little Mrs. Swink.

22

“Good-by, Mrs. Swink,” answered Ramona, polite to the end.

She tossed an armful of Kleenex into the

air so that her mother might notice her, too.

Somehow tossing someone else’s pulled-out

Kleenex was not much fun, and Mrs.

Quimby was so busy saying good-by to other

guests she did not pay attention.

At last the door was closed, and from the

porch where the neighbors were opening

umbrellas, Ramona’s sharp ears caught her

name. “Willa Jean certainly reminds me of

Ramona when she was Willa Jean’s age,”

someone said.

And someone else answered, “She’s

Ramona all over again, all right.”

Ramona was filled with indignation.Willa

Jean is not me all over again, she thought fiercely. I was never such a pest.

“Whew!” said Mr. Quimby. “That’s over.

What’s the matter with those people, letting 23

the kid show off like that?”

“Too much grandmother, I suppose,”

answered Mrs. Quimby. “Or maybe it’s

easier for them to ignore her behavior.”

“Come on, let’s all pitch in and clean up

this place,” said Mr. Quimby. “Ramona, you

find a bag and pick up all the Kleenex.”

“Kleenex is made of trees,” said Beezus,

already helping her mother collect coffee

mugs from the living room. “We shouldn’t

waste it.” Lately Beezus had become a friend of trees.

“Put the bag of Kleenex in the cupboard

in the bathroom,” said Mrs. Quimby, “and

let’s all remember to use it.”

I never was as awful as Willa Jean, Ramona

told herself as she went to work collecting

two hundred and fifty pieces of scattered

pink Kleenex. I just know I wasn’t. She fol-

lowed the trail of Kleenex back to her bed-

room, and when the two hundred and fiftieth

24

piece was stuffed in the bag, she leaned against her dresser to study herself in the

mirror.

How come nobody ever calls me my

mother’s girl? Ramona thought. How come

Mother never says she couldn’t get along

without me?

25

2

Slacks for Ella Funt

The day Ramona’s father went to work

at the checkout counter of the

ShopRite Market, life in the Quimby

household changed. Sometimes Mr. Quimby

worked all day; sometimes he worked after-

noons and evenings. Sometimes he took the

car to work while Mrs. Quimby took

the bus to her job in Dr. Hobson’s office.

Sometimes she drove the car while he took

26

the bus, or one would drop the other off at work.

Life was different for Ramona, too. She

now went home with Howie Kemp after

school. The Quimbys paid Howie’s grand-

mother to look after Ramona until one of

her parents could come for her after work.

Mrs. Quimby said she could not hold a job

unless she knew where Ramona was. Every

single minute. Beezus also went to the Kemps’

house after school unless she telephoned her mother for permission to go to a friend’s

house. Ramona had no choice.

One rainy Saturday morning, when Mr.

Quimby had worked at the market for

several weeks, Ramona asked her mother,

“Where do you have to go today?” Mr.

Quimby always worked Saturday, the busiest

day at the market, which meant Mrs. Quimby

had the use of the car to run errands. Ramona was concerned about her mother’s errands

27

because she always had to go with her, or as she thought of it, be dragged along. Most of them were of no interest to her.

Mrs. Quimby thought a moment before

she said in surprise,“Well, what do you know?

No place.We have groceries in the cupboard.

No one needs to go shopping for shoes. No

one needs a present to take to a birthday

party. I can stay home.”

“Then what are you going to do?” asked

Ramona. She hoped her mother would not

decide to clean house.

“Sew,” answered Mrs. Quimby.“I’ve been

trying to finish a blouse for weeks.”

Sewing seemed like a cozy way to spend

a rainy morning. Ramona watched her

mother get out the portable sewing machine

and set it on the dining-room table along

with a pattern and bundle of fabric.

“I’m going to wash my hair,” announced

Beezus.

28

“Again?” inquired Mrs. Quimby. “You washed it only day before yesterday.”

“But it’s so oily,” complained Beezus.

“Don’t worry, it’s just your age,” reassured Mrs. Quimby. “You’ll outgrow it.”

“Yes,” said Beezus gloomily. “In about a

million years when I’m too old to care.”

“You’ll never be that old,” said Mrs.

Quimby. “I promise.”

Ramona, bored with her sister’s daily

complaints about oily hair, leaned on the

dining-room table to watch her mother.

“I like it when you stay home,” she

remarked, thinking of the days before her

mother had gone to work when the house

had smelled of baking cookies or homemade

bread on Saturday morning.“Can I sew, too?”

she asked, picturing a companionable morn-

ing close to her mother. She imagined a

neighbor dropping in and saying, Ramona is

her mother’s girl, as the two of them stitched 29

away together. Yes, her mother would answer, I can’t get along without Ramona.

“Of course you may sew. You know where

the scrap bag is,” answered her mother with a smile. “What would you like to make?”

“I’ll have to think,” Ramona said. She

went to her room and in a moment

returned with a tired-looking stuffed ele-

phant and a large piece of red-and-white

checked cloth left over from a dress her

mother had made for her when she was in

kindergarten. Ramona had liked that dress

because it matched the red plastic hat the

firemen gave her when the kindergarten

class visited the fire department.

Mrs. Quimby looked up from the sewing

machine.“I haven’t seen Ella Funt for a long time,” she remarked as Ramona stood the

elephant on its four feet on the table.

“I’m going to make her some slacks,” said

Ramona as she spread out the fabric. “All

30

my other animals have clothes. Except that snake.”

Mrs. Quimby considered. “Slacks for an

elephant won’t be easy. Why not make slacks

for Chevrolet?”

“She’s too beat up,” said Ramona critically.

“If I were you, I would—” began Mrs.

Quimby as Ramona studied the checked

cloth.

“I can do it,” interrupted Ramona, who was impatient with instructions. Mrs. Quimby said no more. The sewing machine began to

hum. Ramona picked up her mother’s pink-

ing shears and began to cut. There was some-

thing satisfying about using pinking shears

and watching fabric part in such a neat zigzag line. Working quietly at the table with her

mother was even more satisfying. Even the

grouchy old cat, Picky-picky, sitting on a

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!

Read the complete book free online → 🔗

Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!

Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!

Happy Reading!