Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume

Toddle-Bike in his commercial.
    Janet sent down to the coffee shop for some sandwiches and drinks. After we ate we all walked to another section of the agency where the cameras were set up. A make-believe street scene was the background. The Toddle-Bike was shiny red. My father told Fudge all he had to do was ride it around. Fudge liked that. He zoomed all over the place. “Vroom–vroom–vroom,” he called.
    My father, Mr. Vincent, and Janet sat on folding chairs and watched the action. I sat on the floor, at my father’s side. Mr. Denberg was the director. He said, “Okay, Fudge . . . we’re ready to begin now. You ride the Toddle-Bike where I tell you and I’ll take a picture of you doing it . . . all right?”
    â€œNo,” Fudge said.
    â€œWhat does he mean, Hatcher?” Mr. Vincent asked. “Why did he say
no
?”
    My father groaned. “Look, George . . . using Fudge was your idea—not mine.”
    Mr. Denberg tried again. “Okay, Fudge . . . this is it. . . .”
    The cameraman said, “Start riding this way . . . ready, set, go!”
    Fudge sat there on the Toddle-Bike. But he wouldn’t pedal.
    â€œCome on, kid . . . let’s go!” the cameraman called.
    â€œNo. Don’t want to!” Fudge answered.
    â€œWhat’s with this kid, Mr. Hatcher?” the cameraman asked.
    â€œFudge,” my father said, “do what the nice man tells you to.”
    â€œNo! Don’t have to!”
    Janet whispered to my father. “How about some cookies, Mr. Hatcher?”
    â€œGood idea, Janet,” my father told her.
    â€œI have some Oreos right here,” she said, patting her pocketbook. “Shall I give them to him?”
    â€œOne at a time,” my father said.
    Janet walked across the room to Fudge. He was still sitting on the Toddle-Bike. “If you do what the nice man says, you can have a cookie,” Janet told him.
    â€œShow me,” Fudge said.
    Janet held up a box of Oreos.
She was really well prepared,
I thought
. She must eat all day long, what with the crackers shaped like goldfish and a whole box of Oreos too.
I wondered what else she had in that pocketbook.
    â€œGive me,” Fudge said.
    Janet held up one cookie. Fudge reached for it, but Janet didn’t let him get it. “If you do what the nice man says you can have an Oreo. Maybe even two or three Oreos.”
    â€œFirst cookie,” Fudge said.
    â€œFirst do what the nice man says,” Janet told him.
    â€œNo! First cookie!”
    â€œGive him one, Janet,” Mr. Denberg called. “We haven’t got all day to fool around.”
    Janet gave Fudge one Oreo. He ate it up.
    â€œOkay, kid . . . all ready now?” the cameraman said. “You ride over to me.”
    Fudge didn’t do it.
    Mr. Vincent was losing his patience. “Hatcher,” he hollered. “You get that son of yours to ride my Toddle-Bike or I’m taking my whole account away from you and your agency!”
    â€œMust I remind you, George . . . using Fudge was your idea—not mine!” my father said.
    â€œForget about whose idea it was, Hatcher. He’s your kid. You better get through to him . . . now!”
    â€œI have an idea,” my father said. He walked to a corner of the room and beckoned to the others. Mr. Denberg and Mr. Vincent gathered around him, along with the cameraman and Janet. They looked like a bunch of football players huddled together talking about the next play.
    Soon my father called me. “Peter . . . would you join us, please?”
    â€œSure, Dad,” I said. “What is it?”
    â€œPeter . . . we want you to ride the Toddle-Bike for us. To show Fudge how it’s done.”
    â€œBut he already knows how to ride,” I said. “Didn’t you see him zooming