Camilla Cream loved lima beans.

But she never ate them. All of her friends hated lima beans, and she wanted to fit in. Camilla was

always worried about what other people thought

of her.

Today she was fretting even more than usual.

It was the first day of school, and she couldn’t decide what to wear. There were so many people to impress! She tried on forty-two outfits, but none seemed quite right. She put on a pretty red dress and looked in the mirror.

Then she screamed. Her mother ran into the room,

and she screamed, too. “Oh my heavens! She cried,

“You’re completely covered with stripes!” This

was certainly true. Camilla was stripped from

head to toe. She looked like a rainbow. Mrs.

Cream felt Camilla’s forehead “Do you feel

alright?” she asked. “I feel fine,” Camilla

answered, “but just look at me!” “You get back in

bed this instant,” her mother ordered. “You’re not

going to school today.” Camilla was relieved. She

didn’t want to miss the first day of school, but

she was afraid of what the other kids would say.

And she had no idea what to wear with those

crazy striped. That afternoon, Dr. Bumble came

to examine Camilla. “Most extraordinary!” he

exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Are

you having any coughing, sneezing, runny nose,

aches, pains, or uncontrollable twitching?” “No,”

Camilla told him. “I feel fine.” “Well then,” Dr.

Bumble said, turning to Mrs. Cream, “I don’t see

any reason why she shouldn’t go to school

tomorrow. Here’s some ointment that should help

clear those stripes in a few days. If it doesn’t,

you know where to reach me.” And off he went.

The next day was a disaster. Everyone at

school laughed at Camilla. They called her

“Camilla Crayon” and “Night of the Living

Lollipop.” She tried her best to act as if

everything were normal, but when the class said

the Pledge of Allegiance, her stripes turned red,

white, and blue, and broke out in stars. The other

kids thought this was great. One yelled out,

“Let’s see some purple polka dots!” Sure enough,

Camilla turned all purple polka-dotty. Someone

else shouted, “Checkerboard!” and a pattern of

squares covered her skin. Soon everyone was

calling out different shapes and colors, and poor

Camilla was changing faster than you can change

channels on T.V. That night, Mrs. Harms, the

school principal, called. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cream,”

he said. “I’m going to have to ask you to keep

Camilla home from school. She’s just too much of

a distraction, and I’ve been getting calls from the

other parents. They’re afraid those stripes might

be contagious. Camilla was so embarrassed. She

couldn’t believe that two days ago everyone liked

her. Now, nobody wanted to be in the same room

with her. Her father tried to make her feel

better. “Is there anything I can get you,

sweetheart?” he asked. “No, thank you,” sighed

Camilla. What she really wanted was a nice plate

of lima beans, but she had been laughed at enough

for one day.

“Hmm, well, yes, I see,” Dr. Bumble mumbled

when Mr. Cream phoned the next day. “I think

I’d better bring in the Specialists. “We’ll be right

over.” About an hour later, Dr. Bumble arrived

with four people in long white coats. He

introduced them to the Creams. “This is Dr. Grop,

Dr. Sponge, Dr. Cricket, and Dr. Young.” Then the

Specialist went to work on Camilla. They

squeezed and jabbed, tapped and tested. It was

very uncomfortable. “Well. It’s not the mumps,”

concluded Dr. Grop. “Or the measles,” said Dr.

Sponge. “Definitely not chicken pox,” put in Dr.

Cricket. “Or sunburn,” said Dr. Young. “Try

these,” said the Specialists. They each handed

her a bottle filled with different colored pills.

“Take one of each before bed,” said Dr. Grop.

They filed out the front door, followed by Dr.

Bumble. That night, Camilla took her medicine. It

was awful. When she woke up the next morning,

she did fell different, but when she got dressed,

her clothes didn’t fit her right. She looked in the

mirror, and there, staring back at her , was a

giant, multi-colored pill with her face on it. Dr.

Bumble rushed over as soon as Mrs. Cream called.

But this time, instead of the Specialists, he

brought the Experts. Dr. Gourd and Mr. Mellon

were the finest scientific minds in the land. Once

again, Camilla was poked and prodded, looked at

and listened to. The Experts wrote down lots of

numbers. Then they huddled together and

whispered. Dr. Gourd finally spoke. “It

might be a virus,” he announced with authority.

Suddenly, fuzzy little virus balls appeared all over

Camilla. “Or possibly some form. of bacteria,” said

Mr. Mellon. Out popped squiggly little bacteria

tails. “Or it could be a fungus,” added Dr. Gourd.

Instantly, Camilla was covered with different

colored fungus blotches. The Experts looked at

Camilla, then at each other. “We need to go over

these numbers again back at the lab,” Dr. Gourd

explained. “We’ll call you when we know

something.” But the Experts didn’t have a clue,

much less a cure.

By now, the T.V. news had found out about

Camilla. Reporters from every channel were

outside her house, telling the story of “The

Bizarre Case of the Incredible Changing Kid.”

Soon a huge crowd was camped out on the front

lawn. The Creams were swamped with all kinds of

remedies from psychologists, allergists, herbalists,

nutritionists, psychics, an old medicine man, a guru,

and even a veterinarian. Each

so-called cure only added to poor Camilla’s

strange appearance until it was hard to even

recognize her. She sprouted roots and berries and

crystals and feathers and a long furry tail. But

nothing worked. One day, a woman who called

herself an Environmental Therapist claimed she

could cure Camilla. “Close your eyes,” she said.

“Breathe deeply, and become one with your room.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” Camilla groaned.

Slowly, she started to melt into the walls of her

room. Her bed became her mouth, her nose was a

dresser, and two paintings were her eyes. The

therapist screamed and ran from the house.

“What are we going to do?” cried Mrs. Cream. “It

just keeps getting worse and worse!” She began to

cry. At that moment, Mr. Cream heard a quiet

little knock at the front door. He opened it, and

there stool an old woman who was just as plump

and sweet as a strawberry. “Excuse me,” she said

brightly. “But I think I can help.” She went into

Camilla’s room and looked around. “My goodness,”

she said with a shake of her head. “What we

have here is a bad case of stripes. One of the

worst I’ve ever seen!” She pulled a container of

small green beans from her bag. “Here,” she said.

“These might do the trick.” “Are those magic

beans?” asked Mrs. Cream. “Oh my, no,” replied

the kind old woman. “There’s no such thing.

These are just plain old lima beans. I’ll bet you’d

like some, wouldn’t you?” she asked Camilla.

Camilla wanted a big, heaping plateful of lima

beans more than just abut anything, but she was

still afraid to admit it. “Yuck!” she said. “No one

likes lima beans, especially me!” “Oh, dear,” the

old woman said sadly. “I guess I was wrong about

you.” She put the beans back in her bag and

started toward the door. Camilla watched the old

woman walk away. Those beans would taste so

good. And being laughed at for eating them was

nothing, compared to what she’d been going

through. She finally couldn’t stand it. “Wait!”

she cried. “The truth is…I really love lima beans.”

“I thought so,” the old woman said with a smile.

She took a handful of beans and popped them into

Camilla’s mouth. “Mmmm,” said Camilla. Suddenly

the branches, feathers, and squiggly tails began to

disappear, there stood Camilla, and everything was

back to normal. “I’m cured!” she shouted. “Yes,”

said the old woman. “I knew the real you was in

there somewhere.” She patted Camilla on the

head. Then she went outside and vanished into

the crowd. Afterward, Camilla wasn’t quite the

same. Some of the kids at school said she was

weird, but she didn’t care a bit. She ate all the

lima beans she wanted, and she never had even a

touch of stripes again.