Ralph S. Mouse by Beverly Cleary Read Free Book Online Page B

missed—sort of—his little brothers and sisters and cousins. He wondered if the littlest one still fell over his own feet and became tangled in the fringe of the carpet. He wondered what they would say if they could see him now, cold and lonely, in the vast empty school. He also wondered what they would say if he went home with Ryan without his motorcycle. Something like, “Yah, yah! Serves you right for not wanting to give us rides.”
    The scoffing of his relatives was something Ralph could not face. Never. As he walked slowly back to the book bag in the library, he heard a dog bark in the distance and was reminded of the coyotes that howled in the night in the song about the lonely man trying to hitch a ride on the highway. What a sad world he lived in.

7
The Cucaracha Voice
    S ometime late Sunday night the weather changed. Snow began to melt. By Monday morning, the fleet of school buses came sloshing through slush. Boots and waffle stompers tracked mud and icy water into the halls of Irwin J. Sneed Elementary School, where the wearers were met by Mr. Costa holding a large mop.
    Ralph, whose weekend had been so long and so lonely, felt such a surge of joy and relief at the sound of school buses that he skittered back to Room 5 in a forgiving mood. There he hid in the old mitten. Anything, anything was better than that long, cold, miserable weekend, and perhaps Ryan had found a way of repairing the motorcycle.
    Miss K’s class arrived in a grouchy mood. Snow was fun; slush was not. There was more confusion than usual as the children peeled off their wraps and kicked off their boots. Many were carrying clippings from the Cucaracha Voice . Miss K was not in the room to welcome them, which did not help.
    Gordon told Melissa, who was wearing wet shoes and carrying her boots, that he was sure static electricity would not hold a mouse to a sock. Melissa told Gordon he had no imagination.
    Brad arrived with his arm in a sling. Instantly a rumor started that Brad had hit Ryan so hard he had injured his hand. Sides were taken; arguments began.
    Ryan glared at Brad. “You owe me a motorcycle for the one you broke. Serves you right if you hurt your hand.”
    â€œThat motorcycle you said was Ralph’s,” scoffed Brad. “What would that stupid mouse do with a motorcycle?”
    Someone dropped a clipping, and before it was picked up, Ralph was able to glimpse a picture of himself looking small and frightened in the goldfish bowl. The picture was not bad; in fact, it was quite good. His eyes were bright, and each hair was distinct. Ralph congratulated himself on being such a handsome mouse and wondered if Matt back at the inn—if he still worked there—would see the picture, recognize, and perhaps miss him.
    As the last bell rang, Miss K hurried into the room with a worried look on her face. Instantly she was surrounded by excited children, waving clippings from the Cucaracha Voice and trying to talk at once. “It wasn’t like that at all!” they said. “That reporter got it all wrong!” “It’s a bunch of lies!” “They didn’t even put our picture in the paper.” Most puzzling was, “Ralph isn’t that kind of mouse. He’s nice!”
    They’re behaving like a bunch of little mice, thought Ralph. At the same time, he wondered uneasily what the paper had said about him. That he wasn’t nice? Impossible.
    Miss K stood without speaking at the front of the room. Gradually the class grew quiet. “That’s better,” said Miss K.
    Amazing, thought Ralph. The teacher had silenced the class without using a single bad word. He was even more ashamed of the way he had treated his little relatives.
    After the class recited liberty-and-justice-for-all (But not for me, thought Ralph), Miss K said, “Class, we have a lot to talk about this morning, and we can’t talk if we all speak at once. Brad, suppose you begin by