Karen's Worst Day

by Ann M. Martin

  I like Mr. Venta almost as much as I like Mr. Tastee, the ice-cream man.

  I stood on our front steps. I looked up and down the street. No mail truck. Maybe Hannie and Linny and David Michael would come home. I felt bad about yelling at Hannie. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. And I wanted to play with her.

  But I did not see them, either.

  I sat down on the steps. I watched a beetle in the grass. I read all the signatures on my cast. Then I counted them. Then —

  I heard squeaky brakes. I looked up. There was the mail truck!

  Mr. Venta was several houses away. Perfect. I could run to his truck, climb on, and ride back to my house!

  I took off. I am not supposed to run fast with my cast on, so I ran slowly. I jogged to the mail truck. It was at the Werners’ house.

  “Hi, Mr. Ven — ”

  I stopped. Mr. Venta was not driving the truck. A woman was driving it. I had never seen her before.

  “Do you live here?” asked the woman.

  “No,” I replied sadly. “I live down there.” I pointed to our house.

  Then I began walking home. I couldn’t ask a stranger for a ride in the mail truck. That would not be safe. Besides, I only like riding with Mr. Venta.

  I could feel my bad luck coming back again.

  It’s a new day, it’s a new day, I reminded myself as I waited by our mailbox. It isn’t a bad day yet. Maybe something will come in the mail for me! Maybe I will get a letter … or a package! Even a sample would be good. I like samples of shampoo and hand lotion.

  The mail truck crept toward me. At last it pulled up at our box. I held my hands out, and the lady placed a stack of mail in them. On top of the stack was a package! I hoped it was for me, but I didn’t look at the address. I would not look at it until I was sitting on our steps again. I would look at the rest of the mail first. Then I would look at the package. I would look at the return address, too. If I knew who it was from, maybe I could guess what it was.

  “Thanks!” I called as the truck pulled away.

  I carried the mail to our house. I was careful not to look at it. I sat down. I put the package under the letters. Then I looked at the letters. The first one was for Daddy. The second was for Elizabeth. Then Elizabeth again, then Daddy, Daddy, Charlie, Elizabeth, Daddy, Elizabeth, David Michael, then two catalogues, and finally a magazine for Sam.

  I was down to the package. I turned it over and read the address.

  It was for Andrew.

  Mr. Baldy

  “Hello! We’re home!” called Daddy.

  Daddy and Andrew came into the kitchen. They were home from the barber. I was sitting at the table watching Elizabeth make hamburger patties. Elizabeth had asked me what I wanted for dinner, and I had said, “Hamburgers, please.”

  The mail was on the kitchen counter.

  “Hi, there,” replied Elizabeth. “Andrew, you look very handsome.”

  I did not say anything. I did not think Andrew looked handsome. I thought he looked funny. The barber had cut his hair too short.

  I did not want to hurt his feelings, even though he had gotten a package in the mail.

  I was pretty mad about that package. In fact, I was furious. How come Andrew got the prize in the Crunch-O cereal box and a package? If it was my bad day, it must have been Andrew’s good day, maybe his best day.

  The package was from Andrew’s godparents. His godparents give him presents on his birthday and at Christmas and at lots of other times. Sometimes they send him a present for no reason at all.

  I have godparents, too, and they do the same thing. But since today was my worst day and it was Andrew’s best day, I did not get a present and he did.

  Maybe Andrew’s present would be very, very boring. Maybe it would be socks or a sweater or even underwear.

  I tried to act happy for Andrew, though. “Guess what,” I said to him. “You got a present from Uncle Lou and Aunt Ann.”

  “I did?!” cried Andrew. “Oh, boy!”

  I gave Andrew the package. He ripped the paper off. Inside a white box he found two movie cassettes — Lady and the Tramp and The Secret of NIMH.

  Those were not terrible, boring presents. They were wonderful presents!

  I couldn’t believe it.

  “Wow!” cried Andrew. “New movies! Look Karen!”

  “Yeah, I see.”

  “Let’s go watch them right now!”

  “No way,” I replied.

  “Why not?” asked Andrew.

  “Because I don’t want to watch movies with an egghead. You look like an egghead, Andrew. I think I will call you Mr. Baldy from now on.”

  Andrew’s eyes slowly filled with tears.

  “Karen,” said Daddy sharply, “apologize right now.”

  “No,” I replied. “Mr. Baldy, you are spoiled. And you won’t like the movies. That’s the real reason I don’t want to watch them. They are dumb and stupid and boring and bad.”

  “Are not!”

  “Are too. You will hate those rats of NIMH. You will hate Nicodemus and Jenner. You will hate Mrs. Frisby, too. And Lady and Tramp and everybody in the other movie.”

  “I will not!”

  “Will too!”

  “Karen,” said Daddy in a very loud voice, “go to your room. Right now. I know you’re having a bad day, but you may not take it out on Andrew. Please stay in your room for twenty minutes.”

  “O-kay!” I shouted.

  I stomped up to my room as loudly as I could.

  Karen’s Punishment

  No fair, no fair, no fair.

  It was not fair that I got sent to my room for having a bad day.

  After I had stomped, stomped, stomped to my room, I grabbed my door and flung it — but I caught it just before it slammed. I shut it quietly. Daddy and Elizabeth do not like slamming doors.

  I lay down on my bed with Moosie.

  I cried for awhile.

  I had done everything I could think of to make my bad day better. Elizabeth had even helped me to start it over. I thought I had been very patient.

  The bad day was not my fault. I did not mean to fall out of bed or leave my new jeans at Mommy’s. And I could not help the Crunch-O prize package being empty or Mr. Ed not being on TV or Moosie being ripped. And I certainly couldn’t help that Aunt Ann and Uncle Lou had sent Andrew a terrific present on his best day. Anyway, it might all be Morbidda Destiny’s fault.

  And now I was being punished.

  I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. “How are you feeling, Moosie?” I asked. I looked at his scar. It was neat and tidy. I barely noticed it. “I guess you’re feeling okay again, aren’t you?”

  I made Moosie nod his head.

  After awhile, I got up and went to my mirror. I stood in front of it. I made the saddest face I could think of. I stuck out my lower lip and pretended I was about to cry.

  “Everyone hates me,” I said, and felt even sadder. “Kristy hates me because I acted like a baby. Daddy and Elizabeth and Andrew hate me because I was mean to Andrew. Hannie hates me because I yelled at her. Maybe Mr. Venta even hates me. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t driving the truck today.”

  Then I remembered a song. The worm song. “Nobody likes me,” I sang sadly. “Everybody hates me. Guess I’ll go eat worms….”

  Ew. Yuck. That was a really gross song.

  I made an even sadder face and felt even sorrier for myself.

  Then I flumped onto my bed. I picked up Moosie and pretended he was Andrew. “Karen, look at the new movies I got!” I made Moosie say in a high voice.

  “You are so spoiled,” I replied in my regular voice.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Okay, I am spoiled. You’re right.”

  “Let me have your movies,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “All right. Here they are. They’re yours.”
<
br />   “Thanks … Mr. Baldy.”

  That was how our fight should have gone. I sighed hugely.

  I tiptoed to my door and opened it a crack. I listened. Nothing. I stuck my head into the hall. Nothing. I went out in the hall and peered between the railings of the bannister. Nothing. I couldn’t see anyone or hear anything below.

  So I went back in my room and just sat on my bed with Moosie in my lap. “Nobody likes me,” I sang. “Everybody hates me….”

  I sang the song ten whole times at the top of my lungs before Daddy knocked on my door. He said my punishment was over. I had only been in my room for about fifteen minutes. I think he just wanted me to stop singing the worm song.

  No More Cherry

  As I was leaving my room, I thought I heard a noise. It sounded like bells. I ran back into my room and looked out the window.

  Mr. Tastee was coming!

  I grabbed some change that I keep in my jewelry box. Good luck at last! Mr. Tastee was coming just when my punishment was over, and I had enough money for an ice cream.

  I ran downstairs.

  “Here comes Mr. Tastee!” I shouted to whomever might be listening.

  “Goody!” replied Andrew.

  Both Andrew and Kristy followed me outside. We ran to the sidewalk and waved our hands.

  Mr. Tastee was driving slowly up our street, bells clanging. Guess who was coming down the street in the other direction? Hannie, Linny, and David Michael. Their picnic was over. They threw their bicycles down on our lawn and waited with Andrew and Kristy and me. A few moments later, Amanda and Max Delaney joined us. They live across the street from us. Amanda is my friend.

  While we waited for Mr. Tastee, I glanced at Hannie. Was she still mad? Hannie looked at me. She smiled a tiny smile. I smiled a tiny smile back. Maybe things would be okay. At least we were smiling.

  Ding-ding-ding-ding!

  Mr. Tastee had arrived!

  He stopped his truck at the curb and got out.

  “Hello, kids,” he said. “Hi, Karen. Hi, Hannie.”

  “Hi, Mr. Tastee!” we answered.

  We all crowded around the truck.

  “Okay, okay! Form a line,” said Mr. Tastee. “That will be much easier.”

  We made a line. Andrew was at the front. I was at the back. But I didn’t care. I had ice-cream money. And in a few minutes, I would have a treat.

  “Well, Andrew, what would you like?” asked Mr. Tastee. He adjusted his white hat.

  “A double chocolate Popsicle, please.”

  “Right-o.”

  Mr. Tastee gave Andrew the Popsicle, and Andrew gave him some money.

  Amanda Delaney was next, and she bought a toasted almond Popsicle.

  What did I want? I leaned over to look at the ice-cream pictures on the truck. I saw a chocolate eclair Popsicle and a Nutty-Buddy cone and a rocket Popsicle and a Creamsicle and … Italian ices!

  A cherry Italian ice. That was exactly what I wanted.

  The line was growing shorter and shorter. Max and Linny and David Michael bought Nutty-Buddies. Hannie bought a Creamsicle.

  At last — my turn.

  “I’ll have a cherry Italian ice, please,” I said to Mr. Tastee.

  “Right-o.” Mr. Tastee rummaged around in the freezer in his truck. He looked and looked. At last he said, “I’m sorry, Karen. I’m out of cherry.”

  “No cherry?!” I cried.

  “No. But there’s lemon and grape and — ”

  “I wanted cherry!”

  “I’m very sorry, Karen.”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears and ran inside.

  Karen’s Worst Day

  “Karen! Dinnertime!”

  Kristy was calling me. I was in my room rocking Moosie. I was not a bit hungry.

  “I’m not hungry!” I yelled back.

  A few moments later, Elizabeth called to me. “Karen, we’d like you to come to dinner, please.”

  “But I’m not hungry,” I replied. I had not even had an Italian ice and I still wasn’t hungry.

  “Please come anyway.”

  I slogged downstairs. I dragged myself into the dining room. I slumped into my chair. I was the last person to sit down at the table.

  Everybody was there: Daddy, Elizabeth, Charlie, Sam, Kristy, David Michael, and Andrew. They had already been served. A plate of food was at my place.

  I stared at it. There was a hamburger and a baked potato and salad. I like all of those things. But I put my chin in my hands. I didn’t want to eat. My bad day had tired me out. I was too tired to eat.

  “Well,” said Daddy, after he had eaten a bite of his hamburger, “I guess you had a bad day today, didn’t you, Karen?”

  I nodded.

  “No Crunch-O prize and no cherry Italian ice,” said Andrew sadly.

  “No present and no Mr. Ed and I fell out of bed and Moosie got ripped,” I added.

  “Last week,” spoke up Sam, “I had a bad day. I lost my homework and I stepped on Boo-Boo’s tail. I felt awful.”

  “That’s just two bad things, though,” Kristy pointed out. “Once, my chair tipped over in English class and I’d forgotten my lunch money and my locker got stuck so I couldn’t open it and I missed the bus home.”

  “Once I threw up in a school assembly,” said Charlie.

  We all laughed.

  “But you know what?” I said suddenly. “I’ve had the worst bad day of all. More bad things happened to me than to anyone else.”

  “I think you’re right,” agreed Kristy. “On my bad day, four things happened.”

  “Seven bad things happened to me on my worst day,” said Daddy.

  “How about you, Elizabeth?” I asked. “How many bad things happened on the day you told me about while you were operating on Moosie?”

  “Let’s see,” said Elizabeth. She paused. “Six bad things.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “Now let me count up my bad things.” I used my fingers to help me. “I had a scary dream. I fell out of bed. I couldn’t find my jeans. No Crunch-O prize. No Mr. Ed. Shannon wouldn’t play with me. Then Boo-Boo wouldn’t play, either. I had a fight with Hannie. I sort of had a fight with you, Kristy. Moosie got ripped. There was no Mr. Venta. I didn’t get any mail. I got sent to my room for being mean to Andrew. And there was no cherry Italian ice. Fourteen bad things…. Fourteen!” (I left out the part about Morbidda Destiny’s spell, because grown-ups don’t like to hear about witch things.)

  “Gosh,” said Kristy, “if there were a prize for bad days, you would win it, Karen.”

  “I think,” I said, “that this is the first good thing that’s happened to me today. I set a bad-day record!”

  The Second Good Thing

  As soon as I realized that I had set a bad-day record, I began to feel better. I even felt hungry. So I ate every bite of my dinner.

  “Mmm,” said Charlie as my family and I were cleaning up the kitchen later, “you know what would taste good right now?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Ice cream.”

  “I don’t think we have any.”

  “I know. That’s why Sam and I were wondering if you would come to Sullivan’s Sweets with us tonight. We would like you to be our date.”

  “You want to go to the ice-cream parlor?!” I cried. “Just the three of us?”

  Charlie nodded. “You and Sam and I didn’t get any ice cream from Mr. Tastee this afternoon. So we should take care of that. Will you come?”

  “Sure! If it’s okay with Daddy and Elizabeth.”

  “It’s okay,” they said at the same time.

  “Then let’s go,” said Sam.

  Boy, did I feel grown-up. Charlie is old enough to drive, so we could go to Sullivan’s Sweets all by ourselves. I sat in the front seat of the car with Charlie. Sam sat in the back. When we left our house, it was still light out. I hoped somebody would see me. It wasn’t everyday I got to ride in the car to the ice-cream parlor with my big brothers.

  Charlie
drove us downtown. He parked right in front of Sullivan’s Sweets. We went inside and sat down at a small round table.

  “So far, so good,” I whispered to Sam and Charlie. “Nothing bad has happened.”

  Sam grinned. “Keep it up, kid.”

  Soon a waiter came to our table. “What’ll it be?” he asked us.

  Please, please, please don’t be out of chocolate sodas, I thought.

  “Karen?” asked Charlie. “Have you made up your mind?”

  “I’ll bet you don’t have any chocolate sodas left, do you,” I said.

  “Of course we do. We can make anything,” replied the waiter. “One chocolate soda, coming right up.”

  “Goody!” I exclaimed.

  Sam and Charlie each ordered a hot-fudge sundae, and then the waiter left. When he came back, one chocolate soda and two hot-fudge sundaes were on his tray.

  “So far, so good,” I said again.

  Slurp, slurp, slurp. I sipped my soda. It was the best one I’d ever had.

  We were just finishing our treats when the door to Sullivan’s opened. In came two big boys and two big girls.

  “Hey!” exclaimed Charlie. “Hi, you guys!”

  The kids came over to our table. They were friends of Charlie’s from high school.

  Charlie introduced them. “This is John and Greg and Kate and Sandy,” he said.

  “And who’s this?” asked John, pointing to me. “Do you have a new girlfriend, Charlie?”

  I beamed. John thought I was old enough to be Charlie’s girlfriend!

  “Nah,” replied Charlie, “this is my sister Karen.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend, Karen?” asked John. “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re married, right?”

  I started to giggle. “No!” I cried. “People don’t get married when they’re six.”

  “You’re only six? I thought you were twenty-six.”

  “No!” I said, still laughing.

  Charlie and his friends talked about school for awhile. Then his friends sat down at another table. It was time for us to leave.

  “Good-bye!” I called as we left Sullivan’s.