Friend or Fiend? with the Pain and the Great One
Page 4
Mom tried scraping off the burned part, but nothing helped. What was left of them was hard as wood. “It’s all Jake’s fault!” I said, then burst into tears.
“My fault?” the Pain said. “What did I do?”
“He kept distracting me.” I could hardly get the words out, I was crying so hard. “That’s why I forgot to set the timer. And Charlie doesn’t even know how to bake! I had to do everything myself.”
“Oh, honey …” Mom hugged me. “You must be so disappointed.”
“I am. I had it all planned. We were supposed to have ice cream with our cupcakes.” I caught the Pain watching me. “Stop staring at me!” I told him.
“I’m not staring.”
“Yes, you are!”
“Who’d want to stare at you?”
“We can still have ice cream,” Dad said. He opened the freezer and lined up the flavors. “What kind for you, Jake?”
“Why bother to ask him when you already know the answer?” I was sniffling now.
“Abigail …” Dad began.
“I’ll have vanilla,” the Pain told Dad. “The white kind, not the yellow. In a dish, not a cone.”
“How unusual,” I said.
Dad took a deep breath. “Abigail …” he said again.
“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “The little baby can’t have a cone because it’s not white!”
This time Dad said, “Abigail … we’re all sorry about the cupcakes. But remember what we said about being sarcastic?”
Sarcastic is the same as talking fresh. We’re not supposed to talk to each other that way because we’re a family. The Pain is never fresh in front of Mom or Dad. When he feels like dissing me he does it in private. Then he says Ha ha! I hate hate hate when he says Ha ha!
Dad handed the Pain a dish of ice cream.
“You’re making him into such a baby,” I said.
“I’m not a baby!” he shouted.
“Baby is as baby does!” I shouted back. He hates when I call him a baby.
“Abigail, stop this right now,” Dad said.
“Why can’t he just eat like everyone else?” I asked.
“He will when he’s ready,” Mom said.
“When will that be? When he’s twenty-five? I’ll bet he wouldn’t have a clue if you blindfolded him and fed him different foods. I’ll bet he wouldn’t be able to tell what color food he was eating then.”
“Bet I could!” he said.
“Okay … let’s do an experiment,” I said. “My science teacher says we should always be looking for experiments we can do at home.”
Dad said, “That would be an interesting experiment, but Jake would have to agree.”
“I don’t agree,” he said. “I’m never going to agree!”
“You spoil him because he’s the favorite,” I cried. “It’s disgusting!”
“Oh, honey …” Mom said, hugging me again. “You know that’s not true. You know we don’t have favorites.”
“That’s what you say, but I can tell you love him best.” I felt myself choking up again.
“Abigail, sweetie …” Dad said.
The Pain said, “I don’t care if you love her best, because Fluzzy loves me best. So there!” He picked up Fluzzy and let him lick some of his ice cream.
“Fluzzy loves me as much as he loves you!” I shouted.
“Does not!”
“Does too!”
I tried to take Fluzzy away from him. But Fluzzy jumped down and ran around us in circles.
“Isn’t this supposed to be a party for Fluzzy?” Dad asked, handing me a chocolate ice cream cone.
“She ruined the party!” the Pain said, pointing at me. “Her and her stupid cupcakes!”
“What did you say?”
“I said you ruined the party crying over your stupid cupcakes. But who cares, because Fluzzy doesn’t need a party to know I love him … so ha ha!”
That did it! I flew across the room and smushed my ice cream cone against the Pain’s forehead. It stuck there. He looked like a unicorn! The ice cream started dripping down his face. When it got to his mouth he stuck out his tongue and lapped it up. “Um … good …”
“Did you hear that?” I asked Mom and Dad. “It’s chocolate! My unicorn is eating chocolate ice cream!”
“I’m not your unicorn. I’m your brother! And I’ll always be your brother.” He grabbed the ice cream cone off his forehead, took a look, saw that it was chocolate, then kept licking it anyway.
“And I’ll always be your sister,” I told him. “Your big sister. And don’t you forget it!”
“How could I forget?”
“You can’t. Because if it weren’t for me you’d still be eating vanilla ice cream!” Now he wasn’t just tasting my ice cream, he was gobbling it up as fast as he could. “He’s eating my whole ice cream cone!” I cried.
Mom said, “Don’t worry about it.” And she made me another one.
After our ice cream we all sang “Happy Birthday” to Fluzzy. And this time when Dad snapped a picture, I think even Fluzzy smiled.
No Hats for Fluzzy
Hats, hats, hats!
Hats for cold white stuff.
Hats for wet stuff.
Hats for riding on wheels.
But no hats for Fluzzy!
She wanted me to wear hats.
That girl with tails coming out of her ears.
I hissed to tell her I don’t like hats.
But she didn’t get it.
She called me Mister.
What kind of name is that?
That boy was even worse.
He tried to push me into the bathtub.
Don’t you want to learn to swim? he said.
No, I didn’t want to learn to swim!
So I hissed and I stuck out my claws.
He pulled my tail.
I tried to bite him before he bit me.
They chased me through the house.
Stupid cat! she called.
When the door opened I flew out.
I ran as fast as I could
And as far as I could.
I was never going to let them find me.
When the big booms came I was scared.
But I kept going.
When the sky lit up I shook all over.
But I kept going.
When the water fell from the sky
I got wet.
But I still kept going.
I kept going until
I was too tired to run anymore.
I cried, Meow … meow …
A door opened.
I ran inside.
A different boy and girl lived here.
Ohhh … he’s so wet, she said.
And he’s shaking, he said.
Poor little kitty!
They dried me.
They gave me milk
And a soft place to sleep.
When the mom asked,
But who does he belong to?
I didn’t tell.
Besides, I never really belonged to those
other two,
Even if they didn’t know it.
These two were different.
They called me Fluffy.
Or maybe it was Fuzzy.
No, wait… it was Fluzzy.
Anything was better than Mister.
After that I was happy
Until the cold white day
When I saw them again.
Two Tails and Tail Puller.
I heard Two Tails say, I know that cat!
That cat looks just like Mister.
When she said that my fur stood up.
My whiskers stuck out.
Tail Puller said, “Mister was a bad cat!”
That did it!
I leaped across the cold white stuff
And crept under the house.
I didn’t come out till I was sure they were gone. Tonight when the big booms came again
And the sky lit up
And the water
came falling down
I hid in my secret place.
In the closet, way in back,
On top of the towels.
I didn’t come out for a long, long time.
When I did he said,
Guess what, Fluzz … you’re having a party!
Party? I tried to remember what party
means.
It didn’t sound good.
She tried to put a hat on me.
I knew party wasn’t a good word!
No hats for Fluzzy! I told her.
But she didn’t get it.
So I shook off the hat.
And I bit it a hundred times.
She said, Stop that, Fluzzy!
He laughed.
No hats for Fluzzy! I said again.
This time they understood.
They wore hats, but not me.
When they started fighting about who I
love best
I ran around them in circles.
I love it when they fight over me.
Then I let the two of them stretch me out.
She held my front end.
He held my rear.
I brushed his face with my tail.
They started singing a song.
I think it was about me.
They smiled when the dad snapped our
picture.
So I smiled too.
I’ll stay with them forever.
As long as they remember:
No hats for Fluzzy!
Also by Judy Blume
Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One
Cool Zone with the Pain and the Great One
Going, Going, Gone! with the Pain and the Great One
Friend or Fiend? with the Pain and the Great One
Judy Blume spent her childhood in Elizabeth, New Jersey, making up stories inside her head. She has spent her adult years in many places, doing the same thing, only now she writes her stories down on paper. Her twenty-eight books have won many awards, including the National Book Foundation’s Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters.
Judy lives in Key West and New York City. You can visit her at www.judyblume.com.
James Stevenson has written and illustrated more than a hundred books for children. In forty years at the New Yorker, he published more than two thousand cartoons and covers, as well as numerous written pieces. His illustrated column “Lost and Found New York” frequently appears on the op-ed page of the New York Times.