Ellen Tebbits
Authors: Beverly Cleary
Contents
Enjoy all of Beverly Cleary’s books
Beverly Cleary
Ellen Tebbits
Illustrated by Tracy Dockray
1
Ellen’s Secret
Ellen Tebbits was in a hurry. As she ran down Tillamook Street with her ballet slippers tucked under her arm, she did not even stop to scuff through the autumn leaves on the sidewalk. The reason Ellen was in a hurry was a secret she would never, never tell.
Ellen was a thin little girl, with dark hair and brown eyes.
She wore bands on her teeth, and her hair was scraggly on the left side of her face, because she spent so much time reading and twisting a lock of hair around her finger as she read. She had no brothers or sisters and, since Nancy Jane had moved away from next door, there was no one her own age living on Tillamook Street. So she had no really best friend. She did not even have a dog or cat to play with, because her mother said animals tracked in mud and left hair on the furniture.
Of course Ellen had lots of friends at school, but that was not the same as having a best friend who lived in the same neighbor-hood and could come over to play after school and on Saturdays.Today, however, Ellen was almost glad she did not have a best friend, because best friends do not have secrets from one another. She was sure she would rather be lonely the rest of her life than share the secret of why she had to get to her dancing class before any of the other girls.
The Spofford School of the Dance was upstairs over the Payless Drugstore. When Ellen came to the entrance at the side of the building, she paused to look anxiously up and down the street. Then, relieved that she saw no one she knew, she scampered up the long flight of steps as fast as she could run.
There was not a minute to waste.
She pushed open the door and looked quickly around the big, bare room. Maybe her plan was really going to work after all.
She was the first pupil to arrive.
Ellen’s teacher,Valerie Todd Spofford, was looking at some music with Mrs.Adams, the accompanist, at the piano in the corner of the room. She was really Mrs. John Spofford and had a son named Otis, who was in Ellen’s room at school. Because she taught dancing, people did not call her Mrs. John Spofford. They called her by her full name, Valerie Todd Spofford.
“Good afternoon, Ellen,” she said. “You’re early.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Spofford,” answered Ellen, and hurried past the long mirrors that covered one wall.
When Ellen opened the dressing-room door, she made a terrible discovery. Someone was in the dressing room ahead of her.
Austine Allen was sitting on a bench lacing her ballet slippers. Austine was a new girl, both in the dancing class and in Ellen’s room at school. Ellen knew she had just come from California, because she mentioned it so often. She thought the new girl looked good-natured and untidy, but she really had not paid much attention to her.
“Oh,” said Ellen. “Hello. I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“I guess I’m early,” said Austine and then added, “but so are you.”
The girls looked at each other. Ellen noticed that Austine had already changed into the required costume of the Spofford School of the Dance. This was a short full skirt of tulle gathered onto a sateen top that had straps over the shoulders. Austine looked chubby in her green costume.
Neither girl spoke. Oh, why doesn’t she leave, thought Ellen desperately. Maybe if I wait long enough she’ll go into the other room. Ellen removed her jacket as slowly as she could. No, I can’t wait. The others will be here any minute.
“This is a silly costume we have to wear,” said Austine. “When I took ballet lessons in California we always wore shorts and T-shirts.”
“Well, I think it’s pretty,” said Ellen, as she took her pink costume from the rack along the wall.Why don’t you go away, she thought. She said, “It’s almost like real ballerinas wear. When I’m wearing it, I pretend I’m a real dancer.”
Austine stood up. “Not even real ballerinas practice in full skirts like these. They wear leotards. In California . . .”
“Well, I think leotards are ugly,” interrupted Ellen, who was glad she knew that leotards were long tight-fitting garments.
“They look just like long underwear and I wouldn’t wear one for anything. I like our dresses better.”
“I don’t,” said Austine flatly. “I don’t even like dancing lessons.At least in California . . .”
“I don’t care what anybody does in California,” said Ellen crossly. “I’m tired of hearing you talk about California and so is everyone at school. So there! If you think California is so wonderful, why don’t you go back there?”
For a second Austine looked hurt. Ellen almost thought she was going to cry. Instead she made a face.“All right for you!” she said, and flounced out of the dressing room, leaving her clothes in an untidy heap on the bench.
Instantly Ellen was sorry. What a terrible thing to say to a new girl! What if she herself were a new girl and someone had said that to her? How would she have felt? She hadn’t really meant to be rude, but somehow it had slipped out. She was so anxious to have Austine leave that she had not thought about what she was saying.
But now that Austine was gone and Ellen was alone, there was not a moment to waste, not even in feeling sorry for what she had done. Feverishly she unbuttoned her sweater. She was starting to unfasten her dress when she heard some of the girls coming through the classroom.
Frantically Ellen looked around the dressing room for a place to hide. She darted behind the costume rack. No, that wouldn’t do. The girls might see her when they took down their costumes.
Snatching her pink dancing dress from the bench, Ellen dashed across the room and into the janitor’s broom closet, just as the girls came into the room. If only there were some way of locking the closet door from the inside! Ellen stood silent and rigid.
When no one came near the door, she relaxed enough to look around by the light of the window high in the closet. She could see brooms, a mop and buckets, and a gunny sack full of sweeping compound.
Careful not to knock over the brooms and buckets, she leaned against the door to listen. She could hear Linda and Janet and Barbara.Then she heard Betsy come in and, after a few minutes, Amelia and Joanne.
Ellen counted them off on her fingers.Yes, they were all there.
Trying to move carefully so she wouldn’t bump into anything, she took off first her starched plaid dress and then her slip. But she was so nervous that she knocked over a broom. She stood terrified and motionless until she realized that the girls were chatter-ing so noisily they did not hear the thud. If one of the girls had opened the door at that moment, they all would have learned her terrible secret.
Ellen was wearing woolen underwear.
She was wearing a high-necked union suit that buttoned down the front and across the back. It did have short sleeves and short legs, so it could have been worse. Ellen didn’t know what she would have done if her mother had made her wear long underwear.
With trembling fingers she slipped her arms out of the despised garment, rolled it as flat as she could down to her waist, and pulled the elastic of her panties over the bulge.
Quickly she slipped into her costume.
“I wonder where Ellen is,” she heard someone ask.
“I don’t know,” someone answered.
“Maybe she isn’t coming today.” Ellen was limp with relief. She was safely in her costume. No one had seen her in her underwear. Nobody could tease her and tell her she was old-fashioned because, besides being the only girl in the third grade who had to wear winter underwear, she was the only girl in the whole school who did.
She took off her shoes and socks, laced her slippers, and waited, shivering, until all the girls left the dressing room. Then she slipped out of the closet and, after piling her clothes neatly on a bench, joined the others in the classroom.
A couple of girls were running and sliding the length of the room, and others were practicing at the exercise bar that was built along the mirror-covered wall. All the girls stopped when Ellen appeared.
“Well, where did you come from?” asked Linda Mulford.
“The dressing room,” answered Ellen briefly, as she took hold of the bar and began to practice a circular movement of one leg that Mrs. Spofford called a
rond de jambe
. She felt uncomfortable, because all the girls were looking at her. She hoped the bulge around her middle did not show.