The Party

6

The Party

Before Ramona’s scratches healed and her Band-Aids were pulled off, Ramona had grown bored with her sister’s party invitation, the shopping, and most of all with the telephone calls. Beezus seemed always to be talking on the telephone. Boredom did not prevent Ramona from listening to her sister’s half of the conversations:“I’m sorry. I won’t be able to baby-sit that evening. I’m going to a party.” “If George won’t come, maybe you could ask Randy. He’s only a semi-creep.” “I just love my new skirt. We found it on sale. Have you bought yours yet?” Then there were dancing lessons given by Mr. Quimby with much twirling and step, slide, step, step, slide, step. One evening when the lesson was finished and Beezus went off to do her homework, Mr. Quimby held out his hand to Ramona. “Let’s give it a try,” he said. Ramona shook her head. It all looked so silly.

Silliness did not stop Ramona from telling Daisy about the dancing lesson or from giving her a demonstration when she came to the Quimbys’ after school.The girls stepped and slid, getting in the way of each other’s feet, until, laughing, they fell over on the couch.

Another evening when Beezus was talking on the telephone, Ramona heard her father say to her mother, “I’ll be glad when this party is over and we can all settle down again.” Mrs. Quimby lowered her voice, which of course made Ramona listen harder.“I’m glad Beezus is finally coming out of her shell. She has always been such a quiet girl.

I do hope she has a good time. It could be a terrible letdown.”

This conversation was a surprise to Ramona. She had assumed Beezus would have a good time twirling and gliding and eating good things. Maybe not. Maybe their mother was right.

Mrs. Quimby was not the only one concerned. When the girls were in bed, Beezus confided, “I hope Daddy’s dancing isn’t too old-fashioned.” “Daddy’s a good dancer,” said Ramona, loyal to their father even though his dancing did not look like some of the dancing she had seen on television.

Finally, to the relief of everyone, the day of the party arrived. Beezus washed her hair in the afternoon and was so nervous and excited she could scarcely eat her dinner.

Afterward she lingered in the bath.“Whew!” said Ramona as perfume from bubble bath wafted down the hall.

At last Beezus appeared, ready for the party. “Ta-dah!” she announced as she came into the living room. “Do I really look all right?” She was wearing her new long skirt, a pretty blouse, small gold hoops in her ears, and her hiking shoes that laced above her ankles. Her hair was shining, her cheeks pink.

“You look lovely, dear,” said Mrs. Quimby,

“but—ah—don’t you think you should change your shoes?”

“Oh, Mom, nobody wears party shoes anymore these days.” She gave her mother a pitying look.

“Oh,” said her mother. “I didn’t know.”

“I think you look great.” Ramona was impressed by the change in Beezus but somehow missed her plain big sister. Oh, well, at least her feet still looked sensible.Will I look like that someday? she wondered as she put her hand to her own hair and decided maybe she should brush it more often, the way her mother was always telling her.

Mrs. Quimby kissed Beezus and said,

“Have a good time, dear. But don’t you think you should wear a coat? This is November, you know.”

“Oh, Mo- ther,” said Beezus.“I don’t want to wrinkle my new blouse. Besides, it’s not like it’s snowing or anything.”

“I’ll turn on the car heater,” reassured Mr.Quimby. “We can’t wrinkle that blouse.” Ramona suddenly did not want to let go of her sister. “Can I come, too?” she asked.

“Sure. Come along,” Mr. Quimby said.

The ride was made in silence with Beezus sitting up straight in the backseat and unwrinkled. In spite of the car heater she hugged her arms to keep warm.When they pulled up in front of Abby’s house, Beezus said in anguish, “Dad, what do I do? My hands are all clammy.” “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine,” said her father, “and it will all be over by eleven o’clock.” After he dropped Beezus off among the arriving guests, he said, almost as if he were speaking to himself, “Well, there goes our little girl.” Ramona moved as close to her father as her seat belt would permit. “You still have me,” she reminded him.

“That’s right.” Her father patted her knee. “And Roberta.”

“Yes,” whispered Ramona with a tiny sigh. She loved her baby sister, but sometimes she wished her father did not have 97

quite so many daughters.

When the two returned home, Mrs. Quimby looked up from her book (she did not have many pages left) and said, as if her thoughts were far away,“I’ll never forget my first dance. It was in the school gym, and the only boy who asked me to dance I didn’t want to dance with. He was a weird little fellow who grew up to be an interesting man, but at the time I wanted to dance with a tall, handsome boy. Silly me. I was a real wallflower and spent most of the evening hiding in the girls’ bathroom with a couple of other miserable wallflowers.” Ramona was indignant. Stupid boys, not asking her nice mother to dance. She hoped Beezus wasn’t hiding in the bathroom, even though the Alexanders’ bathroom was sure to be nicer than a school bathroom. Their bathroom wouldn’t have scratchy tan paper towels.

When her father told her to stop stalling and go to bed, Ramona lay awake thinking.

She would never hide in a bathroom. She would march right up and ask a boy to dance if she ever wanted to do such a silly thing as dance.

Even though Ramona thought that dancing was silly, she wanted her sister to have a good time. She even said a little prayer as she lay awake, waiting, full of hope and curiosity. The minute she heard her father drive off to bring Beezus home, Ramona bounced out of bed and went into the living room, where her mother was finally finishing Moby Dick. Of course Mrs.Quimby said, “Ramona, you should be in bed asleep.” Parents always said that.

Ramona ignored this remark and snuggled up under her mother’s arm. She loved moments alone with her mother, which made her feel cozy and protected. She must have nodded off, for suddenly there was Beezus, her eyes still shining, her cheeks still pink.The rest of her face was unrecog-nizable. She was wearing dark red lipstick and green eyeshadow.

“Wow!” was Ramona’s comment. “What happened to you?”

Beezus dropped into a chair and laughed.

Mrs. Quimby laughed as well, distracted from Beezus’s new makeup by her relief at seeing her happy.

Ramona spoke up before Beezus could answer. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Boys,” said Beezus. “Boys are funny.”

“Who says boys are funny?” Mr. Quimby had come in from the garage. “I was a boy once. I wasn’t funny.”

“I say boys are funny,” said Beezus.“So do all the girls.”

Mrs. Quimby asked, “What do boys do that is so funny?”

Beezus explained. “Except for one boy, they wouldn’t even come in the house. One boy brought a miniature chess set and he and another boy played chess under the porch light. The others just sort of flopped around or tried standing on their hands in the wet grass. Some boys who weren’t even invited joined in.There was a lot of whooping and yelling and neighbors coming out to see what was going on. One boy pulled a night crawler out of the lawn and chased another boy around with it. You know the stuff boys do. Mrs. Alexander got all upset because she wants Abby to be popular, and she wasn’t being popular with all the boys sitting outside acting like a bunch of little kids. Somebody must have called the police, because we saw them drive by, but they kept on going.” “What about the boy in the house?” asked Mr. Quimby.

“He watched TV,” Beezus explained.

“Nobody paid any attention to him. The other boys said they had just come for the food.”

Sounds like Yard Ape, Ramona thought, and Howie might bring a chess set.

“Poor hungry boys,” said Mr. Quimby. “I hope somebody fed them.”

“Oh, sure,” said Beezus as if this was not important. “The girls had fun experiment-ing with free samples of lipstick and all the other free samples Mrs.Alexander gets when she buys cosmetics.” “I wondered what happened to your face,” said Mrs. Quimby with a smile, “but I was afraid to ask.”

“Mrs. Alexander wears lots of makeup,” Beezus continued, “and her hair is a funny color. She wears it all fluffed up and it looks something like those coppery things we scour pans with.” “You look weird, like a vampire or something” was Ramona’s comment. “What about the dancing?”

“That’s the best part. We didn’t have to dance,” said Beezus. “Some girls were disappointed, but we sort of played Monopoly and Scrabble. Mostly we talked about—oh, you know—and had a good time anyway, and then the boys began to yell that they were hungry. Mrs. Alexander just about had a fit after paying for Abby’s dancing lessons and everything, but we took sandwiches and punch and cookies out to them. Mrs. Alexander had old-fashioned food instead of pizza and stuff. They quieted down after that.” “What a relief,” said Mr. Quimby. “I was worried about those poor hungry kids out there in the cold.”

“Dad, you’re just being silly.” Beezus giggled and continued, “I didn’t really want to dance anyway.At least not yet, not until boys get over being such little kids.” “Well, how do you like that?” said Mr. Quimby.“My dancing lessons wasted. Those boys had probably shined their shoes and didn’t want girls stepping all over them.” Ramona could see her sister was so happy she didn’t mind being teased.“But what about the night crawler?” she asked.

“When we brought out the food, they threw it back in the grass,” Beezus explained.

Ramona was only slightly disappointed.

“Did you get anything to eat?” What was the point of a party without food?

“Of course,” said Beezus.“You don’t think we’d let the boys have everything, do you?

We ate the salad and the ice cream.”

“I’m so glad you had a good time, dear,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Now wash your face good with soap and run along to bed. It’s almost midnight.” Beezus paused in the doorway.“You know something?” she asked. “I don’t think Abby and I are the popular type. And you know something else? I don’t care.” “I’m glad you feel that way,” said Mrs. Quimby with a tender smile. “I wish I had been that sensible when I was your age.”

“C’est la vie,” said Beezus and, as she headed to the bedroom, added to Ramona,

“That’s French for ‘That’s life.’” Ramona made a face.“Au revoir.” She had picked up a word or two of French herself.

“You, too, kiddo,” said Mrs. Quimby to Ramona.

Ramona snuggled against her mother, stalling for time, and said, “I’m glad I have a nice plain mother instead of a mother with hair you could scour pans with.” If she could postpone going to bed, she might get to hear what her parents would say about Beezus.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Quimby smiled affectionately and rumpled Ramona’s hair. “But compliments won’t keep you out of bed.

Now run along.”

Ramona pattered on light feet down the hall and climbed into bed. Her next-to-last thought, before she fell asleep, was, I can’t wait to tell Daisy. Her last thought was, I’m glad Beezus is still sensible on the inside.