“I am punished, but I have to go to the library and get some books on India. My art teacher says I draw good, and she’s gonna let me make a big poster of something about India.”
Philip recalled that Leon had Ms. Wong for art twice a week instead of boring Mr. Sagsman, and he got even angrier. “Well, then go,” he shouted. “We’re busy here.”
“Yeah, go,” echoed Emery.
“Okay, okay,” said Leon, his head drooping. He gave a tiny shrug and walked slowly around the house, stopping for a moment to give one last look back.
When Philip waved his two hands and shouted, “Shoo,” Leon turned and disappeared.
“Now the tube of glue is stuck to my other hand, and I can’t get the cap off this hand,” said Emery.
“Is the paper off my face?”
“I don’t see any there.”
“Good. Let’s do this slow,” said Philip. He slammed himself down on the picnic bench. “Sit here. Forget about the cap. We’ll get it off later. Put some glue on the bottom of this stick. We’ll start over. Put the glue on before it runs out all over.”
“I can’t get them off my hands,” Emery moaned, giving both hands a shake.
“Don’t worry about it now,” Philip growled. “I said we’d unstick you after we do all the gluing.”
And so slowly, one stick at a time, Emery glued, and Philip stuck. Philip found out he had to press the stick down a pretty long time for the glue to get dry enough to hold up the peg so he could attach another stick to the board. When they were nearly through, Emery said, “I’m hungry. How am I going to eat?”
“Don’t eat until we’re done. Then I’ll unstick you.”
“But I’m hungry now.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Wait a minute then.” Philip ran into the house and returned with a box of fig bars. He opened the box and handed one cookie to his friend. “Here, have a fig bar.”
Emery held up his gluey hands. “How am I supposed to eat a fig bar like this? I might get glue on it, and if I eat glue, all my inside tubes will stick together, and I’ll probably die. You feed me.”
“Feed you!”
“Stick a cookie in my mouth.”
Philip could see no way around it, so he took the fig bar and shoved it into Emery’s mouth.
“Hey, na so har’,” Emery mumbled.
“Here, take another one.” Philip shoved another fig bar into Emery’s mouth.
Emery held up his hands. “Swowa,” he ordered.
“What?”
“Swowa.”
“Slower?”
Emery nodded. “Yeah, swowa.”
Finally, after he’d swallowed his fifth cookie, Emery said, “Enough.”
“Can I have one?” came Leon’s voice. “I’m back from the library.”
Philip ignored Leon and turned over a peg for Emery to glue. “Let’s finish. We only need to do a couple more. Put some glue here.”
Emery dabbed with the tube of glue at the bottom of the peg.
Leon tried again. “I said I’m back from the library. Can I have a cookie?” When he received no response again, he asked, “What are you guys doing?”
“We’re making something for a fair,” said Emery. “Okay?”
“I got two books on India,” Leon reported. While the other boys kept working, Leon took the box of fig bars from the picnic table and sat down on the grass to leaf through his library books and occasionally to watch the boys work. For a long time he sat quietly, nibbling fig bars.
“There,” said Philip in triumph. “Finished.” He and Emery proudly inspected the board, now covered with pegs.
“What is it?” Leon asked.
“It’s a game, a game, Leon,” said Philip.
“You know,” said Emery. “You play it, and you win a prize.”
“Not that you could win one,” said Philip. He and Emery laughed. They both felt good now that they’d finished their task. They knew their hard work had paid off.
“I gotta get these off,” said Emery, holding up his tube-and-cap-glued hands.
“Come on in the garage,” Philip suggested. “There’s some rags and tools.”
“Tools?” Emery cried in alarm. “Why do we need tools?”
“Maybe we need them. I’ll attach the tool to the tube and pull it off.”
“My finger better not come off with it,” Emery grumbled, and he followed Philip into the garage.
As Philip pulled the stuck cap from Emery’s right hand, they heard a noise behind them from the back yard.
Philip glanced out the door. “Arrrgghhh!” he screamed.
Emery rushed to see what had shocked Philip. “Nooooo!” he cried.
“I saw a picture of this in my library book. This is a good game. The India man lying on a bed of nails,” said Leon as he settled himself on top of the pegs of the ring toss board and spread his arms and legs wide. “There! I did it! I did it! I’m lying on a bed of nails. I’m a winner. I’m a win . . .”
Before either Emery or Philip could move, Leon’s weight on the pegs started pulling the glue loose and bending them over.
“Get off! Get off!” Philip screamed.
Leon tried to sit up, but his movement loosened the pegs even more, and then a series of sccreechhhtt noises sounded. Nearly every peg Philip and Emery had glued to the board—all but two—came unglued and fell over as Leon crashed onto the board on top of them.
“Get off! Get off!” Philip and Emery clamored.
Leon’s struggles to get off the board sent both the board and himself flying off the picnic table. Emery and Philip watched in horror as Leon, the board, and the pegs tumbled to the bench and then the concrete. Pegs rolled everywhere, and a sharp crack cut through the air.
“Oh, Leon!” Emery screamed. “Look what you did. Get up! Get up, you boob!”
When Leon finally stood up, four pegs dangled from his back, glued to his shirt.
“Look what you did! Look what you did!” Philip and Emery screamed together.
“What happened here?” Philip’s father had returned.
“This . . . this . . . bingo-chip-brained knucklehead pretended to be an India man and knocked off all our pegs,” Philip sputtered. “It’s ruined!”
“What is wrong with you, Leon?” Emery screamed.
Mr. Felton shook his head in sympathy. “It looks like old Leon wants to turn himself into a peg board. Come here, Leon.”
Leon walked over, and Mr. Felton spun him around so he could pull the glued pegs from his shirt.
“Even the board’s cracked in two,” said Emery mournfully as he inspected the damage.
“Uh, I don’t know what happened,” said Leon. “I just . . . the game . . . the India man lying on the nails. It’s in my book here. I can show you.”
“We don’t want to see anything, Leon,” Emery fumed.
“Another game ruined,” moaned Philip.
“Well, I have to unpack the groceries,” said Mr. Felton. “Clean up this stuff. Don’t worry, Flipster, you’ll think up something.” Mr. Felton walked out of the backyard shaking his head.
“Look. Look at what you did, Leon. Are you happy now?” asked Emery.
Leon spoke quietly for once. “No. No. Not so much. No, I’m not happy.” Philip and Emery continued to study the mess Leon had made.
“I gotta go. I have my library books here. I gotta study . . .” Leon’s voice faded. “. . . India.”
“You go study India,” said Emery.
“Yeah, why don’t you just go to India?” Philip suggested.
Philip and Emery began to clean up the mess.
“Well, I’m going now. Uh, bye. I said I’m going.”
Philip and Emery tossed the pieces of their second unlucky game into the black plastic trash can as Leon walked slowly around the corner of the house.
Chapter Eight
Philip and Emery met again in Philip’s backyard Sunday afternoon at one o’clock.
“Now what?” Emery asked glumly.
“We’ll try something else, that’s what,” Philip replied sharply.
“I know we’ll try something else. But what something else?”
Philip thought a moment. “You mentioned three games before, when I asked you. The cats, the ring toss. I forgot the third one.”
“Balloons,” he said. “Throwing darts at balloons.”
“Oh yeah,” said Philip, perking up. “Busting balloons. That’s gotta be an easy game to make. Find some darts and blow up some balloons. We should have thought of balloons first. You know what you have to get, right?”
Emery gave Philip a puzzled look. “Darts and balloons?”
“Right.”
“Oh, one more thing,” said Emery with a knowing smile.
“What?”
“Darts, balloon, board.” Emery emphasized the word board because he thought of it first, not Philip.
“Bored? What do mean bored? This is no time to get bored. You better stay interested until we’re done.”
“I’m interested,” said Emery, offended by Philip’s accusation.
“So, why’d you say you were bored?”
“I didn’t say I was bored.”
“You did,” Philip said, his voice rising. “You said darts and balloons and then you shouted out you were bored.
“I never said I was bored. I said darts, balloon and board,” Emery insisted in the same voice as before.
“There! You said it again! You said bored!”
“I said board, but I’m not bored.”
Philip glared at Emery and in a slow, patient voice said, “If you’re not bored, then why did you say you were bored?”
In an equally slow and patient voice, Emery said. “I didn’t say I was bored. I said we needed a board. We have to have something to put the balloons on, don’t we?”
Philip continued to stare quietly at his friend. “Why do you always do that?” he finally asked.
“Always do what?”
“Say one thing when you mean something else.”
“I didn’t say one thing and mean something else.”
“You did. You said bored but you meant board.”
Emery narrowed his eyes and stared back. He thought carefully for a moment and then replied. “Right, when I said board, I meant board. You thought I meant bored, but I didn’t mean bored. I meant board. See? You get confused because you’re always yelling and not understanding me.”
“Me? Not understanding you? You’re the one who . . .” Philip sucked in a deep breath. He knew he and Emery had important work to do, so he decided he’d better end the discussion of whether Emery made sense or not. “Let’s go get some money and walk to the mall and buy some balloons. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“Then we’ll get some darts.”
“Great. And maybe there’s another board we can use in your garage.”
“Right, a board. See, Emery, if you talk slow, I can understand you.”
“Maybe you should listen faster.”
“Just go get some money. I’ll be at your house in two minutes.”
~ * ~
An hour later, Philip sat at the picnic bench waiting for Emery to show up. He busily blew up small round balloons and fought to tie a knot in the flabby end before tossing the finished balloon into a big brown shopping bag. Once in a while the knot didn’t work, and the balloon flew across the backyard. But Philip was determined, and he chased down the balloon and started over on it.
Emery finally arrived carrying a bulging, white, plastic supermarket bag.
“What have you got?” asked Philip.
“Balloons, of course,” said Emery, extending the bag toward Philip. “Lots of colors.”
“Balloons! I have balloons. You were supposed to get darts. I told you to get your father’s darts. The ones in the basement.”
“They’re my father’s good darts. He’ll kill me if I take them.”
“Well, we have to have darts, and I don’t have any. You’re the only one with darts.”
“I can’t use them. I’ll get in big trouble.”
Philip slumped back against the side of the picnic table. “Now what? We only have balloons. Oh, and I found something in the garage we can put the balloons on, but you can’t have a dart game if you only have balloons and no darts.”
“I know. I know. Let’s think.” After a quiet moment, Emery asked, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking darts. You know what I’m thinking. Darts, darts, darts.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Me, too.”
It grew quiet again.
“What about we make some,” Emery suggested.
“Make some? Darts? How?” Philip asked doubtfully.
“Straws. Straws and pins. Tape the pin to the end of the straw.”
Philip imagined this put-together kind of dart for a moment. “Emery, sometimes you’re a genius. Come on.”
The boys went inside Philip’s house.
“Let’s not disturb my mother. She might be taking care of Becky.” Becky was Philip’s baby sister.
“Good idea,” Emery whispered back, realizing as Philip did, there were some things parents didn’t need to know about.
Philip led the way into the kitchen and found a box of drinking straws. Then they went to the hall closet, where Philip got out his mother’s sewing kit.
“I don’t see any pins. How about needles?”
“Needles are good,” said Emery. “Same thing.”
Philip took a package of needles, replaced the sewing kit, and led Emery back outside.
“You forgot Scotch tape,” said Emery. “We gotta stick the needle onto the straw.”
Philip moaned but got up, went back inside the house, and returned holding a roll of Scotch tape.
“Okay,” said Philip. “Let’s make six.”
Soon, they had six straw-darts.
“Okay, let’s try them,” said Philip. “Go hold a balloon over there.”
Emery took a balloon from his plastic bag and walked onto the grass.
“Hold your arm out,” said Philip.
Emery held his arm out a moment before putting it down.
“Wait a minute. Are you going to throw a dart at me?”
“No, I’m throwing a dart at the balloon.”
“Yeah, but I’m holding the balloon. What if you miss?”
“I won’t miss. Put your arm out.”
Emery walked back to the picnic table. “Let’s think this over. Go get the board you said you found.”
“Chicken,” Philip mumbled as he got to his feet.
“You hold the balloon then, and I’ll throw the dart at you,” Emery called after him.
“No, no. I’ve seen you throw before.” Philip disappeared into the garage and reemerged carrying a large square of cardboard.
“That’s not a board,” said Emery.
“Don’t you think I know that? And I didn’t say I found a board. I said I found something to put the balloons on. This is it.”
“I guess it’ll work, but what can we stick the balloons to it with?” Emery wondered.
Philip reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small rectangle covered with tiny round colored dots.
“Thumbtacks!” said Emery, impressed. “Pretty smart.”
Philip carefully pushed a thumbtack through the tiny, flabby tied-up piece of rubber sticking out from the end of the balloon.
“There,” he said, satisfied. “This should work great. Where’re our darts?”
Emery picked up the six homemade darts from the picnic table and handed one to Philip.
“Okay, here I go. Watch me bust the balloon,” said Philip. He aimed and threw. The dart floated lazily through the air a short distance, turned over twice and fell to the ground well short of the balloon and the cardboard.
Philip turned slowly to Emery. Emery scratched his head and said, “I guess you’re too far away. Move closer.”
Philip took a step closer. Emery handed
him a second dart. Philip lined up his shot and threw hard. The dart spun around and fell to the ground before reaching the cardboard.
“Get closer,” said Emery.
Philip took another step closer. Emery handed him a third dart. Philip threw it. This time the dart turned sideways and hit the cardboard under the balloon before it fell to the ground. The balloon still bobbed tantalizingly in the breeze.
“Closer,” said Emery.
“Closer! One more step and I can reach out and pop the balloon without even throwing the stupid dart,” Philip said. He stepped closer, took a dart from Emery, reached his arm forward and POP! The balloon disappeared.
“What fun is that?” asked Philip. “Who wants to play a game where you just reach out and pop a balloon? Even Leon could win that game.”
“Maybe we can put some rocks in the straw and make it heavier,” said Emery.
“Rocks?”
“Small ones. Pebbles.”
“Maybe. Get some. They gotta be real small, though.”
The two boys scoured the lawn, looking for pebbles tiny enough to fit inside the open end of the straw.
“We have enough,” said Philip. “Let’s try it.” He carefully stuffed the pebbles into the open end of one straw dart. “Stick up another balloon.”
Emery tacked a blue balloon in place.
“Okay,” said Philip. “Here we go. One broken balloon, coming up.” He threw. This time the dart reversed itself, and the back end of the straw bounced off the balloon. The balloon survived.
“Maybe we can put needles on both ends,” said Emery.
“We can’t do that. People will be sticking themselves. We’ll get sued.”
“Oh. I don’t think my mother wants me to get sued.”
Leon walked around the corner of the house into the backyard.
“Hi, guys,” Leon said. He gave a quick yuk yuk. “What’s goin’ on? Still makin’ up games?”
“Go away, Leon,” said Philip. “We’re having enough trouble here.”
“Yeah, just be quiet, Leon,” Emery agreed. “Go back to India. Try again, Philip.”
“Got any more fig bars?” Leon asked.
Philip retrieved the straw with the pebbles. “Most of them fell out,” he reported.
“Put them back in,” said Emery. “Put some tape over the bottom so they don’t fall out again.”
Philip and the Loser (9781619501522) Page 4