Ramona the Pest
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Ramona Quimby is excited to start kindergarten. No longer does she have to watch her older sister, Beezus, ride the bus to school with all the big kids. She's finally old enough to do it too!
Then she gets into trouble for pulling her classmate's boingy curls during recess. Even worse, her crush rejects her in front of everyone. Beezus says Ramona needs to quit being a pest, but how can she stop if she never was trying to be one in the first place?
Newbery Medal winning author Beverly Cleary expertly depicts the trials and triumphs of growing up through a relatable heroine in Ramona Quimby.
Supports the Common Core State Standards
catching Davy because he could run faster than she could trip-trap in her stiff new shoes. She trip-trapped to her seat, and later, because she was art monitor who got to pass out drawing paper, she trip-trapped to the supply cupboard and trip-trapped up and down the aisles passing out paper. “Ramona, I would like it if you walked quietly,” said Miss Binney. “I am the littlest Billy Goat Gruff,” explained Ramona. “I have to trip-trap.” “You may trip-trap when we go outdoors.” Miss Binney’s
Miss Binney could not get stuck in the mud, too. The morning kindergarten needed her. A man called out from a car, “What you need is a few boards.” “Boards would only sink into the muck,” said a passerby on the sidewalk. The first bell rang. Ramona sobbed harder. Now Miss Binney would have to go into school and leave her out here alone in the mud and the rain and the cold. By now some of the older boys and girls were staring at her from the windows of the big school. “Now don’t worry,
an instant, disdained to answer. Henry Huggins was the one, quite unintentionally, who really frightened Ramona. One afternoon when she was pedaling her lopsided, two-wheeled tricycle up and down in front of her house, Henry came riding down the street delivering the Journal. He paused with one foot on the curb in front of the Quimbys’ house while he rolled a paper. “Hi,” said Henry. “That’s quite a trike you’re riding.” “This isn’t a trike,” said Ramona with dignity. “This is my two-wheeler.”
might be about to say the wrong thing. “But I what?” asked Miss Binney. “Well . . . uh . . . you said if I sat here I would get a present,” said Ramona at last, “but you didn’t say how long I had to sit here.” If Miss Binney had looked puzzled before, she now looked baffled. “Ramona, I don’t understand—” she began. “Yes, you did,” said Ramona, nodding. “You told me to sit here for the present, and I have been sitting here ever since school started and you haven’t given me a present.” Miss
approaching with her son Howie and his little sister Willa Jean, who was riding in a stroller. “Hurry, Mama,” urged Ramona, not wanting to wait for the Kemps. Because their mothers were friends, she and Howie were expected to get along with one another. “Hi, there!” Mrs. Kemp called out, so of course Ramona’s mother had to wait. Howie stared at Ramona. He did not like having to get along with her any more than she liked having to get along with him. Ramona stared back. Howie was a