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it was easy to see she knew that what Mr.

Cardoza had said was better.

“You mind your own business,” said

Ramona.

“Ramona, don’t talk that way.” Mr.

Quimby’s voice was mild.

“I will too talk that way,” said Ramona.

“I’ll talk any way I want!”

“Ramona!” Mr. Quimby’s voice held a

warning.

Ramona was defiant.“Well, I will!” Nothing

could possibly get any worse. She might as

well say anything she pleased.

“Now see here, young lady—” began Mr.

Quimby.

Ramona had had enough. She had been

miserable the whole first grade, and she no

longer cared what happened. She wanted to

do something bad. She wanted to do some-

thing terrible that would shock her whole

family, something that would make them sit

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up and take notice. “I’m going to say a bad

word!” she shouted with a stamp of her foot.

That silenced her family. Picky-picky

stopped washing and left the room. Mr.

Quimby looked surprised and—how could

he be so disloyal?—a little amused. This made Ramona even angrier. Beezus looked

interested and curious.After a moment Mrs.

Quimby said quietly, “Go ahead, Ramona,

and say the bad word if it will make you feel any better.”

Ramona clenched her fists and took a

deep breath.“Guts!” she yelled. “Guts! Guts!

Guts!” There.That should show them.

Unfortunately, Ramona’s family was not

shocked and horrified as Ramona had

expected. They laughed. All three of them

laughed. They tried to hide it, but they

laughed.

“It isn’t funny!” shouted Ramona.“Don’t

you dare laugh at me!” Bursting into tears,

she threw herself facedown on the couch.

She kicked and she pounded the cushions

with her fists. Everyone was against her.

Nobody liked her. Even the cat did not like

her. The room was silent, and Ramona had

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the satisfaction of knowing she had stopped

their laughing. She heard responsible old

Beezus go to her room to do her responsible

old homework. Her parents continued to sit

in silence, but Ramona was past caring what

anyone did. She cried harder than she ever

had cried in her life. She cried until she was limp and exhausted.

Then Ramona felt her mother’s hand on

her back. “Ramona,” she said gently, “what

are we going to do with you?”

With red eyes, a swollen face, and a stream-

ing nose, Ramona sat up and glared at her

mother.“Love me!” Her voice was fierce with hurt. Shocked at her own words, she buried

her face in the pillow. She had no tears left.

“Dear heart,” said Mrs. Quimby. “We do

love you.”

Ramona sat up and faced her mother,

who looked tired, as if she had been through many scenes with Ramona and knew many

more lay ahead. “You do not. You love

Beezus.” There. She had said it right out

loud. For years she had wanted to tell her

parents how she felt.

Mr. Quimby wiped Ramona’s nose on a

Kleenex, which he then handed to her. She

clenched it in her fist and glowered at her