Soupy Saturdays With the Pain and the Great One

O
THER
B
OOKS BY
J
UDY
B
LUME

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

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.

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.”