Elizabeth was a Good Girl. Everybody said so. Grandpa David
said she was his Little Princess; Mummy said she was Good as Gold; and even Mr.
Barkowski, the mailman, said she was the Perfect Child. Everybody said she must
be so happy to be so good. And when her Grandma Molly asked, “Are you sure?”
they all said, “Of course...”
For when she came to dinner she ate everything on her plate,
even the sauerkraut. Heaven knows she never spilled her milk or had grease
spots on her dress. She said please and thank you nicely and wouldn’t think of
asking for seconds of dessert.
At school she was the Perfect Student. She did lovely sums
and wrote ever-so-neatly. She never wiggled in her seat or spoke out-of-turn.
Her teacher said she was a Little Angel.
When she went out to play she was Always Good. She didn’t
get mud on her slippers and she was never rowdy. She always put her toys away.
And when she stumbled and scratched her knee, not one tear appeared; she was so
Brave.
But that was before Billie Sue. Billie Sue was Bad.
Elizabeth knew for sure Billie Sue was Bad. You could hear
her racing down the street from a block away, she tooted her bicycle horn so.
Her hair always flew out of her pony-tail in curly wisps and her knees were
permanently green from grass stains. In school she always shouted “I know; I
know!” before their teacher even hinted at the question, and her homework,
though it was always in on time, was smeared with doggie paw-prints, melted
popsicles, or last night’s spaghetti sauce.
