embarrassed.”

Ramona was suddenly subdued. She had

thought Beezus was angry at the boys, but

now it turned out she was angry with her

little sister, too. Maybe angrier. Ramona was used to being considered a little pest, and

she knew she sometimes was a pest, but this

was something different. She felt as if she

were standing aside looking at herself. She

saw a stranger, a funny little six-year-old girl with straight brown hair, wearing grubby

shorts and an old T-shirt, inherited from

Beezus, which had Camp Namanu printed

across the front. A silly little girl embarrassing her sister so much that Beezus was

ashamed of her. And she had been proud of

8

herself because she thought she was being

brave. Now it turned out that she was not

brave. She was silly and embarrassing.

Ramona’s confidence in herself was badly

shaken. She tried again. “Mama, I—”

Mrs. Quimby felt her older daughter

deserved all her attention. “Were they boys

you know?” she asked.

9

“Sort of,” said Beezus with a sniff. “They go to our school, and now when school

starts all the boys in the sixth grade will be saying it. Sixth-grade boys are awful.”

“They will have forgotten by then.” Mrs.

Quimby tried to be reassuring. Beezus

sniffed again.

“Mama, I think we should stop calling her Beezus.” Even though her feelings were

hurt, and her confidence shaken, Ramona

had a reason of her own for trying to help

Beezus.

Whenever someone asked Beezus where

she got such an unusual nickname, Beezus

always answered that it came from Ramona.

When she was little she couldn’t say Beatrice.

Now that Ramona was about to enter first

grade, she did not like to remember there

was a time when she could not pronounce

her sister’s name.

“Just because I have an Aunt Beatrice, I

10

don’t see why I have to be named Beatrice, too,” said Beezus. “Nobody else has a name

like Beatrice.”

“You wouldn’t want a name like every-

one else’s,” Mrs. Quimby pointed out.

“I know,” agreed Beezus, “but Beatrice.”

“Yuck,” said Ramona, trying to be help-

ful, but her mother frowned at her. “How

about Trissy?” she suggested hastily.

Beezus was rude. “Don’t be dumb. Then

they would call me Sissy Trissy or something.

Boys in the sixth grade think up awful names.”

“Nobody ever calls me anything but

Ramona Kimona.” Ramona could not help

thinking that an awful nickname might be

interesting to have. “Why not just be

Beatrice? Nobody can think up a bad nick-

name for Beatrice.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” agreed Beezus.

“I’ll have to be plain old Beatrice with her plain old brown hair.”

11

“I think Beatrice is fancy,” said Ramona, who also had plain old brown hair but did

not take it so hard. Agreeing with Beezus—

Beatrice—gave Ramona a cozy feeling, as if

something unusually pleasant had taken

place. Beezus honored Ramona with a