through the straps at each end of the accordion. “You squeeze in and pull out while

you press the little buttons,” he explained.

Before he could give any more instruc-

tions, Howie grabbed his uncle by the hand and dragged him outdoors. Mrs. Kemp, sure

that bones were about to be broken, followed.

Ramona watched through the window.

Uncle Hobart hopped on the unicycle and,

waving to his audience, pedaled to the corner and back.“See, nothing to it,” he said.“Once you know how.”

“Hobart, where on earth did you learn

to ride that thing?” his mother called out from the front steps.

“In college,” answered her son.“Come on,

Howie, it’s your turn.” Holding the unicycle upright with one hand, he helped Howie

15

mount the seat over the single wheel. “Now pedal,” he directed. Howie pedaled; the unicycle tipped forward, setting Howie on the sidewalk.

Indoors, Willa Jean struggled with the

accordion, too heavy for her, and made it

give out a loud groan, as if it were in pain.

“No, not that way,” Ramona heard Uncle

Hobart say. “It’s like riding a bicycle, only instead of balancing sideways, you have to balance back and forth at the same time.”

With a flushed and determined face,

Howie mounted the unicycle again. If he

learns to ride it, maybe he’ll let me ride his bicycle, thought Ramona, who longed for

a bicycle, even a secondhand, three-speed

bicycle. Howie tipped over backward into

his uncle’s arms. The accordion squawked.

Ramona felt rather lonely, left out and in the way.

“Hobart, do be careful,” shouted Mrs.

16

Kemp above the squawk and screech of Willa Jean’s playing.

Ramona could see that learning to ride a

unicycle was going to take time, so she

turned her attention to Willa Jean and the accordion.

Willa Jean set her gift on the floor and sat down on her camel saddle with a scowl.“It’s too big and it won’t play music.”

“Let me try.” Ramona was sure she could

make music come out of the accordion. It

looked so easy. She slipped her hands through the straps. The only song she could think of was, unfortunately, “Ramona.” She pumped

and pushed the buttons, only to produce the cry of a suffering accordion. She tried push-ing different buttons while she pushed the bellows in and out. Hee-haw, hee-haw. This was not the music Ramona had in mind.

“Maybe your uncle can show you how when

he has more time,” she told Willa Jean as she 17

set the accordion down carefully on Howie’s camel saddle.

From outside, Mrs. Kemp’s warnings con-

tinued. “Hobart! Howie! Be careful!”

Ramona and Willa Jean stood by the

window to watch Howie, protected by his

uncle, actually ride a few feet before he

pitched forward onto the sidewalk.“I did it!”

he shouted.

He’s going to learn to ride it, thought

Ramona, and then I’ll get to ride his bicycle.