people thought they had seen Bigfoot slip-

ping through the forests, but no one had ever been able to prove he really existed.

Bigfoot indeed! Ramona’s feet had grown,

but they were not huge. She was not going to let him get away with this insult.“Superfoot to you, Yard Ape,” she said right out loud, realizing too late that she had given herself a new nickname.

To her astonishment,Yard Ape pulled her

eraser out of his pocket and handed it to her 24

with a grin. Well! With her nose in the air, Ramona squeaked back to her seat. She felt so triumphant that she returned the longest way around and bent her feet as much as she could to make the loudest possible squeaks.

She had done the right thing! She had not

let Yard Ape upset her by calling her Bigfoot, and now she had her eraser in her hand. He would probably call her Superfoot forever, but she did not care. Superfoot was a name she had given herself. That made all the difference. She had won.

Ramona became aware that she was

squeaking in the midst of an unusual silence.

She stopped midsqueak when she saw her

new teacher watching her with a little smile.

The class was watching the teacher.

“We all know you have musical shoes,”

said Mrs.Whaley. Of course the class laughed.

By walking with stiff legs and not bending her feet, Ramona reached her seat without

25

squeaking at all. She did not know what to think. At first she thought Mrs. Whaley’s

remark was a reprimand, but then maybe

her teacher was just trying to be funny. She couldn’t tell about grown-ups sometimes.

Ramona finally decided that any teacher

who would let Yard Ape wear his baseball

cap in the classroom wasn’t really fussy about squeaking shoes.

Ramona bent over her paper and wrote

slowly and carefully in cursive, Ramona

Quimby, age 8. She admired the look of

what she had written, and she was happy.

She liked feeling tall in her new school. She liked—or was pretty sure she liked—her

nonfussy teacher.Yard Ape— Well, he was a

problem, but so far she had not let him get the best of her for keeps. Besides, although she might never admit it to anyone, now

that she had her eraser back she liked him—

sort of. Maybe she enjoyed a challenge.

26

Ramona began to draw a fancy border, all scallops and curliques, around her name. She was happy, too, because her family had been happy that morning and because she was big enough for her family to depend on.

If only she could do something about

Willa Jean. . . .

27

2

At Howie’s House

“Now be nice to Willa Jean,” said Mrs.

Quimby, as she handed Ramona her

lunch box. Grown-ups often forgot that

no child likes to be ordered to be nice to another child.

Ramona made a face. “Mother, do you

have to say that every single morning?” she asked in exasperation. Deep down inside,