Friendship According to Humphrey by Betty G. Birney Read Free Book Online Page A

Golden, kissing Amy on the cheek. “Meet Humphrey the hamster.”
    “Cute,” Amy replied. “I think he should stay in the girls’ room.”
    “What about the living room?” asked Miranda. “Or the dining room table?”
    “I think he’d get in the way,” Mr. Golden said. “Let’s go to your room.”
    Miranda’s room in the apartment had a bed, a desk, a fish tank and stars on the ceiling. Her room in this house had two beds, a dresser, a desk and no stars. Everything in this room was pink, from the walls to the bedspreads to the carpet on the floor. A girl about Miranda’s age was sprawled across one bed, reading a magazine.
    “What’s THAT?” she asked in an unpleasant voice.
    “Humphrey. He’s our class hamster,” Miranda explained.
    “Well, he’s not staying in my room,” the girl stated firmly.
    “It’s Miranda’s room, too, Abby,” Amy said as she came in the door behind us. “Put Humphrey on the desk.”
    Miranda thoughtfully opened my cage to straighten out my ladder and my water bottle, which had slid around during the ride.
    “Mom, I have to do homework on that desk,” said Abby, sitting up.
    Huh? Amy was Abby’s mom and she was married to Miranda’s dad? Things were quite confusing.
    “Okay, we’ll put his cage on the floor,” said Amy.
    I heard a baby crying in another room. “I’ve got to see what Ben wants,” she said. Mr. Golden followed her and Abby got up to close the door.
    “He stays on your side of the room,” Abby told Miranda. “And don’t forget, no crossing the line.”
    Abby took her foot and dragged it in a straight line across the middle of the pink carpet. “No crossing the line. Ever.”
    Miranda sighed. “I know. You tell me every time I’m here.”
    “Sometimes you forget. And don’t touch anything of mine.”
    “I never do,” Miranda countered.
    “You used my barrette last time,” said Abby.
    “It was a mistake! It looks exactly like mine!” Good for Miranda for standing up for herself! “I didn’t complain when you borrowed my book without asking.”
    Abby plopped back on the bed again and thumbed through her magazine. “Just don’t cross the line,” she muttered.
    I hopped on my wheel for a spin. Sometimes it cheers people up to watch me spinning. Abby was not one of those people. She glared at me. “Don’t tell me it makes noise,” she said nastily. “Can’t you stop it?”
    “Humphrey is not an ‘it.’ He’s a ‘he.’ ” said Miranda. I love that girl! “You could read in the living room,” she suggested.
    “I was here first.” Abby suddenly slammed down her magazine and stood up. “Okay, anything to get away from you.”
    After she left, Miranda leaned down close to my cage. “I was hoping she’d like you, Humphrey. She sure doesn’t like me. It’s not my fault my dad married her mom. It’s not my fault she has to share her room with me every other weekend.” She sighed. “I’ve tried to be friends with her, but it’s no use. She’s a wicked stepsister, like in Cinderella .”
    Miranda looked SAD-SAD-SAD, so I leaped up on my ladder and hung from it by one paw to cheer her up.
    She smiled, so I leaped onto my tree and began swinging from branch to branch, like that Tarzan guy I saw on TV. That made Miranda laugh.
    Abby returned with a sour expression on her face. I must have looked that way the day somebody in Room 26 (I’m still trying to figure out who) slipped me a slice of lemon.
    “Mom wants us to help fix dinner. She’s got to feed the baby.”
    She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.
    “See you, Humphrey,” Miranda whispered. “And remember, don’t cross the line!”
    After she left, I squinted my eyes, but I couldn’t see a line anywhere. All I could see was a sea of pink. So much pink, I felt a little ill.
     
    Later that night, while Miranda took her bath, I was alone with Abby. I decided to try and be friendly.
    “Nice room you’ve got,” I squeaked politely.
    Abby turned toward