Free Jean and Johnny by Beverly Cleary Page B

with a cup of milk flavored with coffee.
    â€œSilly,” said Sue. “No. Kenneth Cory. I hadn’t seen him for ages. Not since he moved out of the neighborhood.”
    â€œYou mean Old Repulsive?” The words escaped Jean’s lips almost involuntarily. The expression that crossed Sue’s face made her instantly regret that she had recalled the nickname the neighborhood children, with the cruelty natural to childhood, had once given this boy.
    â€œYes, Old Repulsive. Only he isn’t anymore,” saidSue. “I almost didn’t know him at first. You know how he used to have buck teeth with bands on them? Well, his teeth are straight now. And his skin isn’t all blotchy the way it was when he was in high school, either. And he wears a crew cut, so his hair doesn’t stick out like porcupine quills the way it used to.”
    â€œWhere does he live now?” asked Jean, more from politeness than from interest.
    â€œHis family moved up into the hills,” answered Sue. “He’s going to the university now. He’s going to be an entomologist.”
    â€œIs that the study of bugs or words?” asked Jean. “I never can remember.”
    â€œInsects,” answered Sue.
    This confirmed Jean’s feelings about Old Repulsive. He was exactly the kind of boy she would expect to study insects.
    â€œHe talked to me quite a while,” said Sue, and added almost shyly, “I think he likes me.”
    â€œDo you want him to?” Jean hid her dismay upon realizing that her sister was so eager to have a boy like her that she would snatch at this one.
    â€œYes,” said Sue thoughtfully, “I do.”
    â€œI hope he does like you.” Jean kept the stiffnessshe felt out of her voice. How fortunate she was to have a good-looking boy like Johnny like her. There was something pathetic about Sue’s eagerness to make Kenneth sound attractive, as if perhaps she wanted to catch up with her younger sister.
    The girls heard a car turn into the driveway. Jean, glad to have the disturbing conversation about Old Repulsive interrupted, got up to set the coffeepot back on the burner to reheat.
    â€œWhat happened to you?” both girls asked their father as soon as he opened the back door.
    Mr. Jarrett removed the black raincoat and handed it to Sue, who carried it into the bathroom to drip into the tub. “It was that little lady near the end of my route,” he said, stooping to pull off his rubbers and to pat Dandy, who had come running, his half a tail wagging, at the sound of his voice.
    â€œThe one with the son in New York who never writes?” Jean took a cup and saucer out of the cupboard.
    â€œYes,” answered Mr. Jarrett. “She came out on the porch in this rain to ask if I was positive I didn’t have a letter from New York for her. She was so sure she would get one today. She said she had a hunch.”
    â€œShe says that every day,” said Sue, coming out of the bathroom.
    â€œI know.” There was regret in Mr. Jarrett’s voice, and his daughters knew he would have liked to bring the lady a letter from her son every day. “She was so disappointed that when I got back to the post office I looked around and sure enough, there was a letter for her from New York. Airmail. I got to thinking about this poor woman living all alone and spending the whole weekend wishing she had that letter. So when I left the office I drove out to her house and gave it to her. I wish you could have seen her face when she saw that return address.”
    Jean and Sue smiled affectionately at their father. “We might have known,” said Sue. “Last week it was the lady who was watching for the colored slides of her trip to Europe, because she was having company that evening and wanted to show them.”
    â€œAnd the week before it was the girl watching for the letter from the sailor in Okinawa,” added Jean, pouring a