Ramona and Her Mother by Beverly Cleary Page A

Ramona’s mother. “I was afraid my working full time might be too much for you, and just when we have decided Daddy will quit his job at the market and go back to school.”
    Ramona was astonished. “School! You mean do homework and stuff like that? Daddy?”
    â€œI expect so,” answered Mrs. Quimby.
    â€œWhy does he want to go and do a thing like that?” Ramona could not understand.
    â€œTo finish college,” her mother explained. “So he can get a better job, he hopes. One that he likes.”
    So this was what her parents had been talking about at night in their room. “Will he have to go away?” asked Ramona.
    â€œNo. He can go to Portland State right here in town,” explained Mrs. Quimby. “But I will have to go on working full time, which I want to do anyway because I like my job. Do you think you can manage to get along with Mrs. Kemp?”
    Ramona thought how much happier her family would be if her father never came home tired from working in the express line again. “Of course I can,” she agreed with courage. “I’ve gotten along—sort of—so far.” After this she would stay away from pinking shears and bluing. As for Willa Jean—maybe she would go to nursery school and learn to shape up. Yes, Ramona could manage. “And I guess we’ll have to scrimp and pinch some more,” she said.
    â€œThat’s right. Scrimp and pinch and save as much money as we can while Daddy is studying, even though he hopes to find part-time work after school starts,” said Mrs. Quimby. “And by the way, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I am curious. Why are your pajamas at school?”
    â€œOh.” Ramona made a face; it all seemed so ridiculous now. She gave her mother the shortest possible explanation.
    Mrs. Quimby did not seem upset. She merely said, “What next?” and laughed.
    â€œDid Mrs. Rudge say anything about my spelling?” Ramona hesitated to ask the question, but she did want to know the answer.
    â€œWhy, no,” said Mrs. Quimby. “She didn’t even mention spelling, but she did say you were one of her little sparklers who made teaching interesting.” And with that Ramona’s mother left the room.
    A little sparkler! Ramona liked that. She thought of the last Fourth of July when she had twirled through the dusk, a sparkler fizzing and spitting in each hand and leaving circles of light and figure eights as she had spun across the front yard until she had fallen to the grass with dizziness. And now she was one of Mrs. Rudge’s little sparklers!
    Ramona held out her arms and twirled across the room, pretending she was holding sparklers. Then she seized a pencil and paper that were lying on her bureau and wrote her name in good, bold cursive:

    There. A girl who was a sparkler needed a name that looked like a sparkler. And that was the way Ramona Quimby was going to write her name.
    Ching-chong, ching-chong went the roller skates out on the sidewalk. Ramona opened the suitcase and pulled out her skates.

EXCERPT FROM RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8
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    RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8

1
THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
    R amona Quimby hoped her parents would forget to give her a little talking-to. She did not want anything to spoil this exciting day.
    â€œHa-ha, I get to ride the bus to school all by myself,” Ramona bragged to her big sister, Beatrice, at breakfast. Her stomach felt quivery with excitement at the day ahead, a day that would begin with a bus ride just the right length to make her feel a long way from home but not long enough—she hoped—to make her feel carsick. Ramona was going to ride the bus, because changes had been made in the schools in the Quimbys’ part of the city during the summer. Glenwood, the