Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume Page A

around?”
    â€œHe won’t do it for the cameras, though,” my father explained. “So we need your help.”
    â€œWill I be in the commercial too?” I asked.
    â€œWell, the Toddle-Bike is really for very young children,” Mr. Denberg said. “Otherwise we’d have you do it in a minute.”
    I got the message. It was like buying the shoes and like at Dr. Brown’s office. They were going to use me to get Fudge to do what they wanted him to. I wondered how anybody would ever manage my brother without my help.
    I walked over to Fudge and told him I was going to ride the Toddle-Bike. “Get off,” I said.
    Fudge held onto the bike. “No . . . mine!”
    â€œIt’s not yours,” my father told him.
    But Fudge wouldn’t move for anything. He closed his eyes and screamed. Can he scream loud when he tries!
    So my father had to pull him off the Toddle-Bike. Fudge kicked and kept screaming and I’ll bet Mr. Vincent was sorry that he ever spotted my brother in the first place.
    I got on the Toddle-Bike. It was so small my knees practically touched the ground. But I managed to ride it around just where the cameraman told me to.
    â€œSee how nice Peter can ride the Toddle-Bike,” Janet said. “Here, Peter . . . come have an Oreo. You did that so well you can have two or three if you want.”
    Fudge stopped screaming. “ME!” he said.
    â€œWhat?” my father asked him.
    â€œMe . . . ride . . . me!”
    â€œYou can’t ride as well as Peter can,” Mr. Denberg said.
    â€œCan so,” Fudge told him.
    â€œI don’t think so,” Mr. Denberg said. “You already had a turn. You didn’t do what I told you to do.”
    â€œME!”
    â€œYou want to try again?” my father asked.
    â€œAgain,” Fudge said. “Again again again.”
    â€œWell . . . I don’t know,” Mr. Denberg said.
    â€œWell. . . .” Mr. Vincent said, chewing on his cigar.
    â€œWell. . . .” the cameraman said, scratching his head.
    â€œPlease!” Fudge begged.
    I never heard my brother say
please
before.
    Mr. Denberg said, “Okay . . . we’ll give you one more chance.”
    Fudge ran to the Toddle-Bike. I got off and he jumped on. “Now?” he asked Mr. Denberg.
    â€œNow,” Mr. Denberg said. “Ride this way, Fudge . . . over here . . . toward me.”
    Fudge did as he was told. “Just like Pee-tah!” he said. “See . . . just like Pee-tah!”
    Janet gave me a kiss on my cheek. “You saved the day, Peter Hatcher!” she said.
    When she wasn’t looking I wiped off my face. Her kiss was too juicy.

9
    Just Another Rainy Day
    The next day it rained. My father asked me how I’d like to go to the movies.
    â€œJust me?” I asked.
    â€œNo. All three of us,” he said.
    â€œFudge is very young to go,” I said. “Don’t you think so?”
    â€œMaybe. But I can’t think of anything else to do with him. And that will take up a few hours.”
    â€œYou could give him some socks,” I suggested. “You know how he loves to play with your socks.”
    â€œSocks won’t last the whole afternoon,” my father said. “That’s why I thought of the movies.”
    â€œWhat’ll we see, Dad?”
    My father checked his
New York
magazine. “
A Bear’s Life
is playing in the neighborhood. How does that sound?”
    â€œWhat’s it about?” I asked.
    â€œA bear’s life, I guess,” my father said. “It’s rated G.”
    I was thinking of a good Western with lots of action or else a picture rated R where you can’t get in if you’re under seventeen unless you’re with your parents. But my father had made up his mind.
A Bear’s Life
it was.
    I suggested that my