Help the Retarded. Two.
We watched as the last.
I was about to drop a light one on his forehead when he reached up, grabbed me around the neck and pulled me down. Then he planted a big, wet smackeroo right in the middle of my face. “Sweet dreams, Pete!
Besides, if they were going to be killed it would be better to be killed together, otherwise she’d have to explain to Lamb why Caitlin was murdered and she wasn’t.
Come on, who wouldn’t be nervous about seeing her first love? Who wouldn’t want her old boyfriend to find her attractive? If you don’t want that, you don’t go to high school reunions, you don’t go to the thirty-fifth commemoration of the worst year of your life. Besides, she’s not fifteen anymore. She’s not that girl whose heart was broken on a sunny afternoon in May. She’s a woman, married.
And then, from the other room, we could hear Fudge singing himself to sleep. “M-a-i-n-e spells Maine. F-u-d-g-e spells Fudgie. P-e-t-e-r spells Pee-tah. B-e-e-r spells whiskey.
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-seven 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.
And it sparkled!
Even now she can’t decide. She thinks about flipping a coin. Heads she goes, tails she stays. But isn’t indecisiveness an early sign of mental illness?
But I have discovered that if you love someone the way I love Mew, you learn to overlook the disgusting things.
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. What would you think of me doing a project on religion? You wouldn’t mind, would you God? I’d tell you all about it. And I won’t make any decisions without asking you first. I think it’s time for me to decide what to be. I can’t go on being nothing forever, can I?
To be ordinary was a fate worse than death.
You can fill a lifetime with if only’s or you can get on with it.
I really like you, Margaret. How do you want me to kiss you?
I love the way people always think they know somebody your age until you tell them how old you really are! “I’m going on twelve,” I said. “Gretchen is almost twelve too,” the doctor said. Well! He was right about my age.
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I’m going to temple today – with Grandma. It’s a holiday. I guess you know that. Well, my father thinks it’s a mistake and my mother thinks the whole idea is crazy, but I’m going anyway. I’m sure this will help me decide what to be. I’ve never been inside a temple or a church. I’ll look for you God.
Why anyone has children when they could have dogs is beyond me.
Well, that’s a first-year teacher for you! Didn’t he know that was a bad idea?
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. My father’s had an awful accident. Please help him God. He’s really very kind and nice. Even though he doesn’t know you the way I do, he’s a good father. And he needs his hand God. So please, please let him be all right. I’ll do anything you say if you help him. Thank you God.
She said, “I must – I must – I must increase my bust.” She said it over and over. We copied her movements and chanted with her. “We must – we must – we must increase our bust!
It’s funny how when you try to help somebody else feel better you wind up feeling better yourself.