Ramona and Her Father by Beverly Cleary

1
Payday
    â€œY e-e-ep!” sang Ramona Quimby one warm September afternoon, as she knelt on a chair at the kitchen table to make out her Christmas list. She had enjoyed a good day in second grade, and she looked forward to working on her list. For Ramona a Christmas list was a list of presents she hoped to receive, not presents she planned to give. “Ye-e-ep!” she sang again.
    â€œThank goodness today is payday,” remarked Mrs. Quimby, as she opened the refrigerator to see what she could find for supper.
    â€œYe-e-ep!” sang Ramona, as she printed mice or ginny pig on her list with purple crayon. Next to Christmas and her birthday, her father’s payday was her favorite day. His payday meant treats. Her mother’s payday from her part-time job in a doctor’s office meant they could make payments on the bedroom the Quimbys had added to their house when Ramona was in first grade.
    â€œWhat’s all this yeeping about?” asked Mrs. Quimby.
    â€œI’m making a joyful noise until the Lord like they say in Sunday school,” Ramona explained. “Only they don’t tell us what the joyful noise sounds like so I made up my own.” Hooray and wow , joyful noises to Ramona, had not sounded right, so she had settled on yeep because it sounded happy but not rowdy. “Isn’t that all right?” she asked, as she began to add myna bird that talks to her list.

    â€œYeep is fine if that’s the way you feel about it,” reassured Mrs. Quimby.
    Ramona printed coocoo clock on her list while she wondered what the treat would be this payday. Maybe, since this was Friday, they could all go to a movie if her parents could find one suitable. Both Ramona and her big sister, Beezus, christened Beatrice, wondered what went on in all those other movies. They planned to find out the minute they were grown up. That was one thing they agreed on. Or maybe their father would bring presents, a package of colored paper for Ramona, a paperback book for Beezus.
    â€œI wish I could think of something interesting to do with leftover pot roast and creamed cauliflower,” remarked Mrs. Quimby.
    Leftovers—yuck!, thought Ramona. “Maybe Daddy will take us to the Whopperburger for supper for payday,” she said. A soft, juicy hamburger spiced with relish, French fries crisp on the outside and mealy inside, a little paper cup of cole slaw at the Whopperburger Restaurant were Ramona’s favorite payday treat. Eating close together in a booth made Ramona feel snug and cozy. She and Beezus never quarreled at the Whopperburger.
    â€œGood idea.” Mrs. Quimby closed the refrigerator door. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    Then Beezus came into the kitchen through the back door, dropped her books on the table, and flopped down on a chair with a gusty sigh.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” asked Mrs. Quimby, not at all worried.
    â€œNobody is any fun anymore,” complained Beezus. “Henry spends all his time running around the track over at the high school getting ready for the Olympics in eight or twelve years, or he and Robert study a book of world records trying to find a record to break, and Mary Jane practices the piano all the time.” Beezus sighed again. “And Mrs. Mester says we are going to do lots of creative writing, and I hate creative writing. I don’t see why I had to get Mrs. Mester for seventh grade anyway.”
    â€œCreative writing can’t be as bad as all that,” said Mrs. Quimby.
    â€œYou just don’t understand,” complained Beezus. “I can never think of stories, and my poems are stuff like, ‘See the bird in the tree. He is singing to me.’”
    â€œTee-hee, tee-hee,” added Ramona without thinking.
    â€œRamona,” said Mrs. Quimby, “that was not necessary.”
    Because Beezus had been so grouchy lately, Ramona could manage to be only medium sorry.
    â€œPest!”