Free Jean and Johnny by Beverly Cleary Page A

cookies, whipping cream, and maraschino cherries. The rain slanted against the street in sheets and she had to leap the gutters, which boiled with muddy water rushing down from the hills. She thought sympathetically of her father, his mail pouch protected by the cape on his black raincoat, who had been walking in this weather all morning. For herself she did not care. She felt exhilarated by the bad weather and even found a childish pleasure in getting her sneakers wet. What difference did it make? By evening it would all be over, and when Johnny arrived the stars would be out and sparkling through the atmosphere that was now being so thoroughly washed. It almost seemed as if the whole world was being washed clean for Johnny. In the market she smiled radiantly, for no reason at all, at the boy who packed her groceries in a bag, and was surprised when he smiled back.Smiling at a boy was not so difficult after all.
    Jean enjoyed puttering around the kitchen preparing dessert for Johnny. She stacked the cookies carefully with layers of whipped cream between, frosted them with graceful swirls of more whipped cream, and topped each small tower with a red cherry. She made five servings, three for her mother and father and Sue to eat for supper, and two for herself and Johnny later in the evening. She would be too excited to eat dessert with her family anyway.
    When the kitchen clock told her it was almost time for her father to come home, Jean got out the percolator, measured coffee and water into it, and set it over one of the burners on the gas stove. While she waited for the coffee to perk, she leaned on the windowsill of the breakfast nook and scanned the sky for even one light spot in the dark clouds. It was a soggy, soggy day and for the first time Jean began to wonder if it really would clear up before eight o’clock. The coffee began a few tentative eruptions into the glass percolator knob before it settled into a rapid perk. Come on, weather, thought Jean intently. Clear up, clear up, clear up for Johnny.
    The kitchen was filled with the fragrance of hotcoffee, and Jean, who timed coffee by her sense of smell rather than by the clock, turned down the heat under the percolator. Her father should be home by now. Clear up, clear up for Johnny, she went on thinking. Through the window she saw Sue, her umbrella held low against the wind, hurrying up the driveway, and hastened to open the back door for her.
    â€œM-m-m, hot coffee!” exclaimed Sue, handing her wet umbrella to Jean, who thrust it into the sink to drip. “I’m starved. I skipped lunch because everything cost so much downtown. Where’s Daddy?”
    â€œHe hasn’t come home yet,” answered Jean, thinking that the cold air had made Sue’s face glow until she was actually pretty. “How would you like me to make you a delicious peanut-butter sandwich, specialty of the house?”
    â€œWould you?” asked Sue gratefully, as she glanced at the kitchen clock. “He shouldn’t be this late even if the weather is awful.”
    â€œAt least all the dogs that don’t like mailmen will be inside on a day like this,” observed Jean, spreading peanut butter with a lavish hand. “Want some coffee with your sandwich?”
    â€œLove it.” Sue removed her wet coat and hung it on a corner of the kitchen door so it would dry over the linoleum. Then she clasped both hands around the hot cup Jean handed her. “This feels good. My hands are practically numb, they are so cold.”
    â€œGet the information for your paper?” Jean cut the sandwich diagonally and laid it on a plate.
    â€œEnough to make a good start, even though the book I need most is out,” answered Sue, carrying the sandwich and coffee into the breakfast nook. “And, Jean, you will never guess who I ran into in the reference room!”
    â€œThe reference librarian?” guessed Jean, joining her sister at the breakfast table