“Cheer up,” Mr. Quimby half smiled.“At

least you don’t need a new transmission, and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“What’s a transmission?” asked Ramona.

“That’s what makes the car go,” explained

her father.

“Oh,” said Ramona. Then to show her

father that her life was not so easy, she added,

“I have to give a book report at school.”

“Well, make it interesting,” said Mr.

Quimby, as he went off to wash for supper.

Ramona knew her father was worried, but

she could not help thinking he might have

felt sorrier for his sick little girl. Anyone 131

would think he loved the car more. She lay back genuinely weak, exhausted by television, and sorry her father would have to work more hours in the frozen-food warehouse where, no matter how many pairs of

woolen socks he wore, his feet were always cold and he sometimes had to go outside

until feeling came back into his cheeks.

When her mother, after serving the rest

of the family, said the time had come for

Ramona to get into her own bed and have

a little supper on a tray, she was ready to go.

The thought that her mother did not think

she was a nuisance comforted her.

132

8

Ramona’s Book Report

The Quimby family was full of worries.

The parents were worried about man-

aging without a car while a new transmission was installed and even more worried about

paying for it. Beezus was worried about a

party she had been invited to, because boys had also been invited. She was afraid it would turn out to be a dancing party, and she felt silly trying to dance. Besides, eighth-grade 133

boys acted like a bunch of little kids at parties.

Ramona, still feeling weak, moped around

the house for another day worrying about

her book report. If she made it interesting, Mrs. Whaley would think she was showing

off. If she did not make it interesting, her teacher would not like it.

On top of everything, Beezus happened

to look at her father’s head as he bent over his books at the dining-room table that evening.

“Daddy, you’re getting thin on top!” she cried out, shocked.

Ramona rushed to look.“Just a little thin,”

she said, because she did not want her father’s feelings hurt. “You aren’t bald yet.”

Mrs. Quimby also examined the top of her

husband’s head.“It is a little thin,” she agreed, and kissed the spot.“Never mind. I found a gray hair last week.”

“What is this? A conference about my

hair?” asked Mr. Quimby, and he grabbed his wife around the waist. “Don’t worry,” he told 134

her. “I’ll still love you when you’re old and gray.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Mrs. Quimby, not

wanting to think of herself as old and gray.

They both laughed. Mr. Quimby released

his wife and gave her a playful slap on the bottom, an act that amused and shocked his daughters.