Judy Blume - Superfudge

"We have something wonderful to tell you, Peter," Mom said before dinner. She was slicing carrots into the salad bowl. I grabbed one.

"What is it?" I asked. I figured maybe my father's been made president of the company. Or maybe my teacher phoned, saying that even though I don't get the best grades in the fifth grade, I am definitely the smartest kid in the class.

"We're going to have a baby," Mom said.

"We're going to what?" I asked, starting to choke. Dad had to whack me on the back. Tiny pieces of

chewed up carrot flew out of my mouth and hit the counter. Mom wiped them up with a sponge.

"Have a baby," Dad said.

"You mean you're pregnant?" I asked Mom.

"That's right," she told me, patting her middle. "Almost four months."

"Four months! You've known for four months and you didn't tell me?"

"We wanted to be sure," Dad said.

"It took you four months to be sure?"

"I saw the doctor for the second time today," Mom said. "The baby's due in February." She reached over and tried to tousle my hair. I ducked and got out of the way before she could touch me.

Dad took the lid off the pot on the stove and stirred up the stew. Mom went back to slicing carrots. You'd have thought we were discussing the weather.

"How could you?" I shouted. "How could you? Isn't one enough?"

They both stopped and looked at me.

I kept right on shouting. "Another Fudge! Just what this family needs." I turned and stormed down the hall.

Fudge, my four-year-old brother, was in the living room. He was shoving crackers into his mouth and laughing like a loon at Sesame Street on TV. I looked

at him and thought about having to go through it all over again. The kicking and the screaming and the messes and more--much more. I felt so angry that I kicked the wall.

Fudge turned. "Hi, Pee-tah," he said.

"You are the biggest pain ever invented!" I yelled.

He tossed a handful of crackers at me.

I raced to my room and slammed the door, so hard my map of the world fell off the wall and landed on the bed. My dog, Turtle, barked. I opened the door just enough to let him squeeze through, then slammed it shut again. I pulled my Adidas bag out of the closet and emptied two dresser drawers into it. Another Fudge, I said to myself. They're going to have another Fudge.

There was a knock at my door, and Dad called, "Peter..."

"Go away," I told him.

"I'd like to talk to you," he said.

"About what?" As if I didn't know.

"The baby."

"What baby?"

"You know what baby!"

"We don't need another baby."

"Need it or not, it's coming," Dad said. "So you might as well get used to the idea."

"Never!"

"We'll talk about it later," Dad said. "In the meantime, scrub up. It's time for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

I zipped up my bag, grabbed a jacket and opened my bedroom door. No one was there. I marched down the hall and found my parents in the kitchen.

"I'm leaving," I announced. "I'm not going to hang around waiting for another Fudge to get born. Goodbye."

I didn't move. I just stood there, waiting to see what they'd do next.

"Where are you going?" Mom asked. She took four plates out of the cabinet and handed them to Dad.

"To Jimmy Fargo's," I said, although until that moment I hadn't thought at all about where I would go.

"They have a one-bedroom apartment," Mom said. "You'd be very crowded."

"Then I'll go to Grandma's. She'll be happy to have me."

"Grandma's in Boston for the week, visiting Aunt Linda."

"Oh."

"So why don't you scrub up and have your dinner, and then you can decide where to go," Mom said.

I didn't want to admit that I was hungry, but I was. And all those good smells coming from the pots and pans on the stove were making my mouth water. So I dropped my Adidas bag and went down the hall to the bathroom.

Fudge was at the sink. He stood on his stool, lathering his hands with three inches of suds. "Hello, you must be Bert," he said in his best Sesame Street voice. "My name is Ernie. Glad to meet you." He offered me one of his sudsy little hands.

"Roll up your sleeves," I told him. "You're making a mess."

"Mess, mess... I love to make a mess," he sang. "We know... we know," I told him. I ran my hands under the faucet and dried them on my jeans.

When we got to the table, Fudge arranged himself in his chair. Since he refuses to sit in his booster seat, he has to kneel so that he can reach his place at the table. "Pee-tah didn't scrub," he said. "He only rinsed."

"You little..." I started to say, but Fudge was already yapping away to my father.

"Hello, I'm Bert. You must be Ernie."

"That's right," my father said, playing along with him. "How are you, Bert?"

"Well, I'll tell you," Fudge said. "My liver's turning green and my toenails are falling off."

"Sorry to hear that, Bert," my father said. "Maybe tomorrow will be a better day."

"Yes, maybe," Fudge said.

I shook my head and piled some mashed potatoes on my plate. Then I drowned them in gravy. "Remember when we took Fudge to Hamburger Heaven," I said, "and he smeared the mashed potatoes all over the wall?"

"I did that?" Fudge asked, suddenly interested.

"Yes," I told him, "and you dumped a plate of peas on your head too."

My mother started to laugh. "I'd forgotten all about that day."

"Too bad you didn't remember before you decided to have another baby," I said.

"Baby?" Fudge asked.

My mother and father looked at each other. I got the message. They hadn't told Fudge the good news yet.

"Yes," Mom said. "We're going to have a baby."

"Tomorrow?" Fudge asked. "No, not tomorrow," Mom said. "When?" Fudge asked. "February," Dad said.

"January, February, March, April, May, June, July..." Fudge recited.

"Okay... okay..." I said. "We all know how smart you are."

"Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty..."

"Enough!" I said.

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G, R, B, Y, Z..."