Free Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary Page B

all the day!”
    Ramona always felt safe while her father was awake. Dread of Something was worse after he had gone to bed and the house was dark. No need to turn herself into a paper doll for a while. Crying had left Ramona tired and limp, but somehow she felt better, more at peace with herself, as if trouble and guilt had been washed away by tears. She knew her father was singing about her, and in spite of her troubles Ramona found comfort in being her father’s spunky gal. Somehow Something seemed less frightening.
    Worn out as she was by anger and tears, Ramona faced the truth. She could no longer go on being afraid of the dark. She was too weary to remain frightened and sleepless. She could no longer fear shadows and spooks and strange little noises. She stepped bravely out of bed and, in the faint light from the hall, pulled the big flat book from her bookcase. She carried it into the living room and shoved it under a cushion. Her parents, busy with supper dishes in the kitchen, did not know she was out of bed. She walked back to her room, climbed into bed, and pulled up the covers. Nothing had grabbed her by the ankles. Nothing slithered out from under the curtains to harm her. Nothing had chased her. She was safe. Gratefully Ramona said her prayers and, exhausted, fell asleep.

9
Mr. Quimby’s Spunky Gal
    F illed with spirit and pluck, Ramona started off to school with her lunch box in her hand. She was determined that today would be different. She would make it different. She was her father’s spunky gal, wasn’t she? She twirled around for the pleasure of making her pleated skirt stand out beneath her car coat.
    Ramona was so filled with spunk she decided to go to school a different way, by the next street over, something she had always wanted to do. The distance to Glenwood School was no greater. There was no reason she should not go to school any way she pleased as long as she looked both ways before she crossed the street and did not talk to strangers.
    Slowpoke Howie, half a block behind, called out when he saw her turn the corner, “Ramona, where are you going?”
    â€œI’m going to school a different way,” Ramona called back, certain that Howie would not follow to spoil her feeling of adventure. Howie was not a boy to change his ways.
    Ramona skipped happily down the street, singing to herself, “Hippity-hop to the barber shop to buy a stick of candy. One for you and one for me and one for sister Mandy.” The sky through the bare branches overhead was clear, the air was crisp, and Ramona’s feet in their brown oxfords felt light. Beezus’s old boots, which so often weighed her down, were home in the hall closet. Ramona was happy. The day felt different already.

    Ramona turned the second corner, and as she hippity-hopped down the unfamiliar street past three white houses and a tan stucco house, she enjoyed a feeling of freedom and adventure. Then as she passed a gray shingle house in the middle of the block, a large German shepherd dog, license tags jingling, darted down the driveway toward her. Terrified, Ramona stood rooted to the sidewalk. She felt as if her bad dream had come true. The grass was green, the sky was blue. She could not move; she could not scream.
    The dog, head thrust forward, came close. He sniffed with his black nose. Here was a stranger. He growled. This was his territory, and he did not want a stranger to trespass.
    This is not a dream, Ramona told herself. This is real. My feet will move if I make them. “Go ’way!” she ordered, backing away from the dog, which answered with a sharp bark. He had teeth like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood . Oh, Grandmother, what big teeth you have! The better to eat you with, my dear. Ramona took another step back. Growling, the dog advanced. He was a dog, not a wolf, but that was bad enough.

    Ramona used the only weapon she had—her lunch box. She slung her lunch box at the dog and