Author's note: Trust me when I say this, I did not plan on this being my 50th story at all. I actually had plans on celrock's idea being my 50th one, but I was thinking about this book series earlier today and it only ended up leading me to this.
(Also, this one is pretty darn short, trust me.)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Ramona series – it belongs to Beverly Cleary of course, who's birthday is in the same month as mine! I grew up on these books, read them all throughout elementary school, and I have to say, this is a really good series, if you've never checked it out before (which I presume you have if you're reading this,) you should really give the series a try!
The Pest
Pest. That was the word. The word that she hated.
Almost everywhere she went, Ramona heard it being used, and it was just about always used for her – "Oh, what a pest," may as well have been her older sister Beezus' catchphrase.
And, of course, since she was apparently such a "pest" no one ever cared when she stomped her foot and shouted "I'm no pest!" because, she'd learned, when someone called you a pest, they'd already made their mind up, and if she tried to deny it it wouldn't change a single thing.
That, she decided, was something she hated about grownups. Grownups treated each other like they were people – they would treat each other with respect, and they would talk to each other like, like, well… like grownups, she supposed. And yet, when they saw that Ramona was right at her whim's end, that she was about to explode, she never got any sympathy, no "I'm sorry about the bad day" at all – it was always a "oh, what a pest" from one of Beezus' friends, and that was just that.
One day, she decided, that was all going to change. One day, she too would be a grownup, and when she was a grownup, she would never call any kids who used to be like her a pest, and she would treat kids younger than her like they were grownups too – she would solve the problem, and never would another misunderstood girl like her be called a "pest."
Just as the girl began to day dream about this, Mrs. Quimby walked in, opening the door.
"Ramona, it's time for your afternoon nap," Mrs. Quimby announced.
Ramona growled. Taking her afternoon nap was something she hated twice as much as the word "pest" – what good would an afternoon nap be? Beezus didn't have to take an afternoon nap, and neither did her parents! Why was she always the one who had to take one?
"But mama, I hate my afternoon nap," Ramona complained.
Mrs. Quimby frowned. "Now, Ramona, what have I told you about that word? 'Hate' is a very strong word, Ramona…"
In response, the five-year old just growled again. "What good is an afternoon nap?"
Mrs. Quimby smiled. "Well, Ramona, you can relax, close your eyes, lay back, and maybe even dream of some of the things you day dream about during the day."
And, suddenly, Ramona remembered everything she'd just been thinking about – how one day, when she too was a grownup, she would stop any and everyone from calling misunderstood little girls like she was now a "pest" and how she'd be a hero on Klickitat Street, instead of a "pest" like she was now…
So, for the moment, she decided she would back down, and sighed. "Fine, but don't expect me to stay asleep the whole time."
With a smile, her mother fluffed her pillows for her, and Ramona lay down right after it happened. Mrs. Quimby kissed her forehead, walking over to the door.
"Have a good sleep, dear," Mrs. Quimby said.
And, as she closed the door, Ramona's dreams began of a land where she, Ramona the Grownup, was the hero of Klickitat Street, the one who all misunderstood little girls looked up to…
As she dreamed of this, she smiled.
It would be nice, for once, to be the one who was looked up to, the one who was thought of us as mature and responsible, instead of the "pest" that everyone on Klickitat Street seemed to think of her as now…
Oh, yes, it would be nice.