Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One Read online

  OTHER BOOKS BY JUDY BLUME

  Picture and Story Books

  The Pain and the Great One

  The One in the Middle Is the Green Kangaroo

  Freckle Juice

  The Fudge Books

  Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing

  Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great

  Superfudge

  Fudge-a-Mania

  Double Fudge

  For Middle-Grade Readers

  Iggie’s House

  Blubber

  Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself

  It’s Not the End of the World

  Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.

  Then Again, Maybe I Won’t

  Deenie

  Just as Long as We’re Together

  Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson

  For Young Adults

  Tiger Eyes

  Forever …

  Letters to Judy

  Published by Delacorte Press

  an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

  a division of Random House, Inc.

  New York

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2007 by P&G Trust

  Illustrations copyright © 2007 by James Stevenson

  All rights reserved.

  Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  www.randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at

  www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Blume, Judy.

  Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One / Judy Blume;

  illustrated by James Stevenson.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Revisits the sometimes challenging relationship between a six-year-old (The Pain) and his eight-year-old sister (The Great One). eISBN: 978-0-307-55989-0 [1. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 2. Sibling rivalry—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B6265Sou 2007

  [E]—dc19 2006026892

  v3.1_r1

  For Eli and Hannah Block,

  who are never a pain,

  and almost always great!

  —J.B.

  For Edwina

  —J.S.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Meet the Pain

  Meet the Great One

  One: Mr. Soupy

  Two: Soccer Doc

  Three: The Great Pretender

  Four: Party Girl

  Five: Olive One

  Six: Olive Two

  Seven: Weirdo on Wheels

  The Last Word from the Great One

  The Last Word from the Pain

  The Last Word from Fluzzy

  About the Authors

  Meet the Pain

  My sister’s name is Abigail. I call her the Great One because she thinks she’s so great. She says, “I don’t think it, I know it!” When she says that I laugh like crazy. Then she gets mad. It’s fun to make her mad. Who cares if she’s in third grade and I’m just in first? That doesn’t make her faster. Or stronger. Or even smarter. I don’t get why Mom and Dad act like she’s so special. Sometimes I think they love her more than me.

  Meet the Great One

  My brother’s name is Jacob but everyone calls him Jake. Everyone but me. I call him the Pain because that’s what he is. He’s a first-grade pain. And he will always be a pain—even if he lives to be a hundred. Even then, I’ll be two years older than him. I’ll still know more about everything. And I’ll always know exactly what he’s thinking. That’s just the way it is. I don’t get why Mom and Dad act like he’s so special. Sometimes I think they love him more than me.

  Mr. Soupy

  On Saturdays we do errands with Dad. He’s good at errands. Today, even though it was really warm, the Pain was wearing earmuffs. Big fluffy ones. Our first stop was the shoe store. The shoe salesman took one look at the Pain and said, “We have some nice snow boots on sale. Half price.”

  “Why would I want snow boots in May?” the Pain asked.

  The shoe man shrugged. “Looks like you’re getting ready for winter,” he said, pointing to the Pain’s earmuffs.

  “I’m getting ready for a haircut,” the Pain told him.

  “Oh,” the shoe salesman said, as if that made perfect sense.

  The Pain got a pair of sandals. So did I.

  From the shoe store the three of us walked up the street to Mr. Soupy’s. Mr. Soupy is our haircutter. You have to be under twelve to have Mr. Soupy cut your hair. In the window of his shop there’s a sign. It says

  Mr. Soupy sings while he snips your hair. “No more than an inch,” I reminded him when it was my turn.

  “A big inch or a little inch?” Mr. Soupy sang.

  “A little inch,” I said.

  I knew when Mr. Soupy was done because he whipped off my cape and shook out the hair. I watched as it floated to the floor. It looked like more than an inch to me.

  Then it was the Pain’s turn. But he was still outside. He looked over at Dad. Dad was in the waiting area, reading a magazine. Then the Pain looked at me.

  “What?” I said, even though I knew what. The Pain is scared of haircuts. He didn’t used to be scared. Nobody knows why he’s suddenly weird about them. Maybe he knows. But if he does, he’s not telling.

  Finally, he climbed up into the chair.

  “Hmmm …” Mr. Soupy said, walking around him. “It’s hard to give a good haircut when a person is wearing earmuffs.”

  The Pain just sat in the chair pretending he couldn’t hear a word. I lifted one of his earmuffs halfway off and talked right into his ear. “Mr. Soupy says he can’t give you a good haircut while you’re wearing earmuffs.”

  As soon as I said it I started wondering if Mr. Soupy is his real name. Probably not. It’s probably just some name he invented. If it is his real name I wonder if it’s his first name or last? Probably his last. I wonder what his first name is? Sam Soupy? Scott Soupy? Zachariah Soupy?

  Mr. Soupy tried to get the Pain to take off his earmuffs. He made silly faces. He did a wild dance. But he wasn’t getting anywhere. The Pain just sat there.

  Finally, I said, “Why don’t you try it with just one ear covered? That way, if Mr. Soupy doesn’t cut off your first ear you’ll know you’re safe.”

  The Pain didn’t answer.

  “Look around,” I told him. “Do you see anyone without two ears?”

  The Pain looked at the kids who were waiting.

  They looked back at him.

  “That doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” he said. “Besides, if Mr. Soupy cut off your ear would you come back?”

  “The only cut you get at my shop is a haircut!” Mr. Soupy sang. Then he laughed at his own joke.

  I laughed with him.

  But the Pain didn’t even smile.

  “You can cut the back,” the Pain told Mr. Soupy. “You can cut the front. But you can’t cut around my ears. Those are the rules.”

  “Okay,” Mr. Soupy said. “No problem.”

  “You can do that?” the Pain asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Won’t he look funny?” I said.

  “Sure,” Mr.

  Soupy said. “But he didn’t say he cared about looking funny.”

  Mr.
Soupy raised his scissors to the Pain’s head. As soon as he did, the Pain let out a wail.… “Waaahhhh!!!”

  That got Dad’s attention. He came over to the chair. “What’s up?” Dad asked.

  Mr. Soupy put down his scissors and said, “I give up!”

  “You can’t give up,” Dad said. “You’re Mr. Soupy. You get the job done!”

  Mr. Soupy sighed. “Bring him back in a few days,” he told Dad. “When I don’t have a crowd waiting.”

  At home, the Pain said, “I’ll grow my hair long and wear it in a ponytail.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. “Fine.”

  “Fine?” I asked her. “How can you say that’s fine?”

  “What’s the problem?” she said. “If Jake wants a ponytail, he can grow a ponytail.”

  “George Washington had long hair,” the Pain said. He was racing two little cars around Mom’s chair. Fluzzy was trying to catch them.

  Oh, excellent! I thought. My brother’s going to look like George Washington. “Are you going to get wooden teeth, too?” I asked him. “Because George Washington had wooden teeth. Did you know that?”

  The Pain opened his mouth and showed off his teeth.

  Three weeks went by. The Pain’s hair was flopping in his eyes.

  “How long does it take to grow a ponytail?” he asked.

  “A long time,” I told him.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “All summer, at least.”

  “All summer?” he repeated, as if he couldn’t believe it.

  I offered him barrettes. He knocked them out of my hand. Fluzzy batted them around on the floor. I tried not to laugh.

  The next day I said, “I have an idea.” I got some cardboard, a pair of scissors, my best markers, and some string. Then I made the Pain a set of cardboard ears.

  “Green ears with pink dots?” the Pain said when I was finished.

  “Why not?” I asked, attaching them to his ears.

  “Suppose Mr. Soupy cuts through the cardboard?” the Pain asked.

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Did you ever try to cut through cardboard?” I said.

  The Pain checked himself in the mirror. “I look like someone from another planet.”

  “You act like someone from another planet,” I told him.

  “That’s how much you know!” he said.

  But the next Saturday, he wore his green ears with the pink dots to Mr. Soupy’s shop.

  “Nice ears,” Mr. Soupy said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I made them.”

  “Good job,” Mr. Soupy said.

  I had to agree.

  Mr. Soupy got to work. He saved the ear trim for last. The Pain closed his eyes. I whispered, “I didn’t want to tell you until now, but these ears have magical powers.”

  “What powers?” the Pain asked. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

  I whispered, “If Mr. Soupy gets too close to an ear …”

  “What?” the Pain said. “What will happen?”

  “Mr. Soupy will find out,” I said.

  “Stop!” Mr. Soupy said. “You’re scaring me.”

  But I noticed how carefully he trimmed around the Pain’s ears.

  When Mr. Soupy was done, he whipped the cape off the Pain. The hair fell to the floor. The Pain looked down at it. “Can I have some of that hair?” he asked.

  “Help yourself,” Mr. Soupy said. “No extra charge.”

  The Pain jumped out of the chair. He scooped his hair off the floor and mashed it into a ball.

  Mr. Soupy handed him a little bag.

  “What are you going to do with all that hair?” I asked.

  The Pain shrugged. “You never know.” Then he put his green ears back on.

  “You are so weird,” I told him.

  “I know,” he said. “That’s why you’re glad I’m your brother.”

  “Who says I’m glad you’re my brother?” I asked. “Did I ever say I’m glad you’re my brother?”

  “No, but you made me ears,” the Pain said.

  “So?”

  “So you must like me.”

  “Like you?” I said, as if that was the craziest thing I’d ever heard.

  “If you didn’t like me, why would you help me?” he asked.

  “Help you?” I said, as if that was the second-craziest thing I’d ever heard. “I wasn’t trying to help you! I was trying to help Mr. Soupy get the job done!”

  Soccer Doc

  On Saturdays I’m going to play in a soccer league. Just like the Great One. And here’s the best news—Justin’s dad is the coach!

  We have a uniform. It’s red and blue. It has a jersey, long socks, shin guards, and cleats. I tried it on in my room. Then I raced around the house with my soccer ball, pretending I knew all the moves.

  “Watch where you’re going!” the Great One shouted as I tripped over her LEGO village.

  “Can’t,” I told her. “Wherever the ball goes, I go too.”

  Fluzzy took a flying leap onto the sofa.

  “Mommm …” the Great One yelled.

  “Jake!” Mom called. “Take your soccer ball and play outside.”

  So I kicked my ball to the front door, then down the steps, across the grass, and back again. Wait until Justin’s dad sees me in action, I thought.

  The next day we had our first practice. Justin’s dad said we should call him Soccer Doc because his last name is hard to say. But I know how to say it because it’s Justin’s last name too. So Si O Ski.

  I raised my hand and called out, “Dr. Sosioski—what if we know how to say your name?”

  “Everybody’s going to call me Soccer Doc,” he said.

  “Even me?” I asked.

  “Even you, Jake.”

  “Even me?” Justin asked, laughing and rolling around on the grass. Justin’s dad took off his glasses. He wiped them on his shirt. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Yes, Justin. Even you.”

  Justin didn’t say anything else. But he sat up and stopped laughing.

  Soccer Doc gave us some moves to practice. Dribbling around cones. Passing on lines. Kicking to shoot. One time he blew his whistle and shouted, “Justin … pay attention!” But Justin just stood there watching a squirrel collecting nuts. Soccer Doc shook his head.

  At our first game Soccer Doc made me goalie. When I put on the goalie jersey and the goalie gloves, I felt like a superhero. I could hardly wait for the game to begin.

  “You know what your job is, Jake?” Soccer Doc asked. He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Your job is to block the ball from going into the net.”

  “I know that,” I told him.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m counting on you.”

  The game began. For a long time everybody was at the other end of the field. It’s boring being goalie when everyone else is so far away. What was I supposed to do?

  Then I saw a dog break away from someone in the stands. The dog ran onto the field. His leash dragged behind him.

  “Mookie …” a woman called. “Mookie … come back here!”

  I tried to catch Mookie. But Mookie was faster than me.

  Suddenly, both teams started running in my direction. In the stands people were shouting. Uh-oh! I ran back to my position. Mookie followed me, barking. While I was trying to shoo him away from the goal, somebody from the other team kicked the ball and—wham! He scored a goal. The other team cheered.

  Then it was two goals.

  Then three.

  Four.

  Five.

  I couldn’t stop the ball from going into the net no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to lie down on the ground and cry. But I knew I couldn’t.

  At dinner the Great One asked about our first game.

  “I played goalie,” I told her. Then I took a long drink of milk. “I hate being goalie.”

  “How come?” the Great One asked.

  “Because,” I said.

  “Because why?” she
asked.

  “Just because.” I didn’t have to tell her anything if I didn’t want to. Besides, I was busy hiding my peas in my mashed potatoes. Why would Mom put peas on my plate when she knows I only eat white food?

  “Sometimes I play goalie,” the Great One said. “Nobody can score when I’m goalie!”

  “That’s why I don’t like being goalie,” I said.

  “What was the score?” the Great One asked.

  “Six–two,” I told her.

  “Don’t feel bad,” she said. “It’s not all your fault.” She tried to hide a smile.

  “Who says I feel bad?” I asked.

  Then Dad said, “It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about having fun playing the game.”

  And Mom said, “In the next game you’ll be more experienced.”

  But we lost the next game 7–1.

  I don’t get why the Great One thinks playing on a team is fun. “Do you have fun even when you lose?” I asked her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “How come?”

  “Because playing is fun! And Miranda is the best coach. She makes us feel good no matter how we play.” Then she said, “What’s Justin’s father like?”

  “He’s not fun,” I told her. I ran to my room. I wasn’t going to tell her anything else. I wasn’t going to tell her how Soccer Doc is always cleaning his glasses. And shaking his head. And how sometimes he says “Nice try”—but you can tell he doesn’t mean it.

  That night I had a dream. I dreamed I had stomach pains. In my dream I went to Soccer Doc’s office. “I have pains in my stomach,” I told him.

  Soccer Doc poked my stomach. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said. “Go home.”

  So I went home. But I didn’t get better. The next day I went back to Soccer Doc’s office. I said, Nice try, Dr. Sosioski! I said Nice try the way he does at soccer. I said it so he could tell I didn’t really mean it.

  When I woke up my stomach hurt for real. Mom gave me a spoonful of pink stuff and an extra hug. She said, “Grandma is coming to your next game.”