Philip and the Girl Who Couldn't Lose (9781619501072)

by Paulits, John

Philip surveyed Mrs. Moriarty’s front lawn. “From this tree to the edge of the grass,” he said, impatient to get the game underway, positive he would win and positive he’d teach this girl a good lesson. He only hoped Jeanne’s parents wouldn’t be angry if he made her cry with a hard tackle because he planned to beat her, and beat her bad.

  Jeanne ran to the edge of the grass. “Okay, kick to me.” Philip dug his heel into the ground as he had seen the older boys do. He stood the football in the hole his heel had made and backed up to kick off. He ran at the ball, swung his leg, and sent it wobbling along the ground. Jeanne waited patiently for it to come to her. She picked it up and ran along the grass near the front of the house. Philip charged after her. He put his head down, ready to knock her over, but as he got close, Jeanne moved quickly to the side, stuck out her arm, and pushed Philip roughly to the ground. She kept on running until she crossed the goal. She put the football down, rested her foot on it, and planted her fists on her hips.

  “Seven to nothing,” she chirped.

  Philip lay on his stomach staring across the grass at her, unsure of what happened. He picked himself up. “I slipped,” he called, not facing her.

  “Ha! Right! Your face slipped on my hand.”

  “Shut up and kick the ball.”

  Philip stomped to the edge of the grass and put his hands on his knees. Jeanne used the same hole Philip had dug and sent the ball on one bounce toward Philip. Philip grabbed it, dropped it, and picked it up again. He ran to the left away from the house. Jeanne came after him. He decided he wouldn’t try any tricky stuff like Jeanne had done. He’d simply put his head down and bash into her. Then he’d step over her and head for the goal line. Down went Philip’s head, and they collided.

  “Oooffff!” Philip grunted as he flew backward.

  As he landed on the cold ground, the football flew out of his arms, and Jeanne pounced on it screaming, “Fumble! Fumble! My ball. You fumbled it.”

  “No, I didn’t,” argued Philip. “You knocked me down.”

  “I’m supposed to knock you down. You had the ball. We’re playing football, remember?”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “Yeah, well, yourself. It’s my ball. You know it is, so get ready. You hike it to me.”

  Philip thought his angry blood would come shooting out his ears. I’ll hike it to you, he thought. I’ll hike it to you, and then I’ll smoosh you flat. It’s pancake time, lady, Philip shouted inside his head. He tossed the ball to Jeanne and roared after her. When he reached for the speedy girl, he felt Jeanne’s hand crash into his nose. Philip crumpled to the ground, and Jeanne raced toward the goal. His nose stung and tears rose into his eyes from the shock. No tears, he told himself. Don’t you let this girl see any tears.

  “Fourteen-nothing,” Jeanne shouted in triumph from the edge of the grass. She tucked the ball under her arm and approached Philip. “You okay?”

  Philip stood up, stretching his eyes wide because he knew if he squooshed them closed, a tear might roll down his cheek.

  “You’re not looking too good at this game, either. Your mom said you had a friend. Emily or something.”

  “Emery!”

  “Whatever. Does he live close? Go get him to be on your team.”

  “Who else is going to be on your team then?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll play the two of you. Maybe then the sides will be even.”

  Philip couldn’t believe his ears. “You wait here.” He turned and ran down the street toward Emery’s house, finally able to close his eyes and wipe away a few stray tears.

  Chapter Five

  Emery’s mother opened the door with a grimace on her face. “Don’t bang on the door so loud, Philip.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. Babies, Philip said to himself. To speed things along Philip whispered, “Is Emery around?”

  “In the kitchen. And please, no noise.”

  Philip found Emery sitting at the kitchen table resting his head on his arms. Emery looked up.

  “Philip. What do you want?”

  “What are you doing? You sick?”

  “No, I’m not sick. I’m banned from the house. Stuck in the kitchen. My mother’s orders.”

  “Why?”

  “Sleeping babies.”

  “You allowed out?”

  “Allowed? My mother keeps telling me to go out, but there’s nothing to do.”

  “Oh, there’s something to do.” Philip filled Emery in on Jeanne.

  “She punched you in the nose?”

  “No, she didn’t punch me in the nose. Who said she punched me in the nose?”

  “You did. She punched you in the nose and knocked you down.”

  “We were playing football. Don’t you listen to anything I tell you?”

  “What?”

  Philip stared at Emery. Emery broke into a smile.

  “I made a joke. You asked me if I listened to you, and I said what?”

  Philip shook his head. “You’re hilarious. Don’t you see how serious this is? This girl thinks she’s like the champion of the world. Now, she wants to play both of us. At the same time. Against only her! You gotta come. We gotta beat this girl.”

  Emery got up from the table.

  “Okay. Let me tell me mom I’m going out.”

  Philip followed his friend into the living room.

  “Mom, I’m going . . .”

  “Go, go,” Emery’s mom interrupted, waving him toward the front door.

  “See,” Emery whispered as they left the house. “I think she hates me.”

  “Never mind your mother. Look, there she is.”

  Jeanne stood on the sidewalk, leaning against a tree. She studied the two boys as they approached. She smiled and said, “This is Emily?”

  “Who’s Emily?” Emery asked, confused.

  “She thinks you’re Emily.”

  “I’m no Emily. Emery. Emery,” he repeated. “Jeremy.”

  “Jeanne,” Jeanne said.

  “Emery.”

  “Whatever.”

  Emery took a quick dislike to the girl. “I hear we’re gonna play football,” he said.

  “You want to? Your friend needs some help.”

  Emery looked at Philip then back at Jeanne. “Let’s play,” he announced.

  The three children returned to Mrs. Moriarty’s front lawn.

  “I’ll kick to you again,” said Jeanne.

  Philip and Emery moved to one side of Mrs. M.’s property.

  “Listen, Emery. When I get the ball, you block her. Knock her over, and I’ll score the touchdown.”

  “Why don’t you let me carry the ball, and you knock her down? She punched you in the nose, not me, so you should . . . POW!” Emery slapped his hands together in front of his face.

  Philip considered. “Sure.” The image of Jeanne flying through the air proved too much for Philip to resist. “This is gonna be great.”

  “Ready, you guys?” Jeanne called.

  “Kick,” Philip yelled back.

  Jeanne sent the ball their way. Philip ignored the ball and waited for Emery to grab it.

  “Go, Philip,” Emery ordered as he tucked the ball under his arm and followed Philip down the field. When they neared Jeanne, she made a quick move and slammed into Philip, who flew off his feet straight into an astonished Emery, and both boys went down in a tangle.

  Emery hurriedly got to his knees. “What are you tackling me for?” he cried in exasperation. “You’re not supposed to tackle me.”

  “I didn’t tackle you. She smashed me into you.”

  “You were supposed to smash into her.”

  “I tried. She didn’t let me.”

  “What do you mean she wouldn’t let you?”

  Emery looked around. “Where’s the ball?”

  “Hey, you two,” came Jeanne’s voice.

  The boys turned and saw Jeanne standing at her goal line, fists on her hips, one foot on the football.

  “Touchdown.”

  Philip scramble
d angrily to his feet.

  “What do you mean touchdown? It’s our ball. How’d you get it?”

  “Emily fumbled, and I grabbed it before it hit the ground. That means I can run with it and so…touchdown,” she crowed. “You and Emily don’t have another friend you can get, do you?”

  Philip and Emery looked at each other, flabbergasted.

  “Don’t call me Emily,” Emery shouted. “I’m—”

  Mrs. Moriarty interrupted, “Come on in for lunch, kids. Oh, Emery. Hello. You come, too.”

  Jeanne skipped toward the back door, and after she flipped Philip his ball, she said, “You lose again.”

  Silently, Philip and Emery followed her into Mrs. Moriarty’s kitchen.

  Chapter Six

  After school Monday, Philip sat with Emery in Emery’s backyard.

  “I still can’t figure out why you tackled me yesterday,” Emery complained.

  “Why do you keep saying I tackled you? I told you a million times yesterday and a million times today. I didn’t tackle you. Why would I tackle you? She knocked me into you.”

  “Why’d you let her?”

  “Let her? Who let her? She just did.”

  The boys sat quietly for a moment before Emery said, “Did you see her playing ball at lunch today?”

  “Some.”

  Emery went on. “Ryan didn’t want her to play at all because she’s a girl. Then he let her play and picked her last. At least I wasn’t picked last for once. Did you see what she did?”

  “Some.”

  “She hit two home runs. Ryan only hit one. I’m glad. Ryan always thinks he’s so big. I don’t think she ever loses at anything. If you didn’t tackle me, though, we could have beaten her at football.”

  Philip glared at Emery, but gave up on explaining how he hadn’t tackled him.

  Emery noticed Philip wasn’t doing much talking. He asked, “Where did you go at lunch today? First, you were next to me, then you weren’t. I thought you wanted to play punch ball.”

  Philip didn’t know what to say. He had planned to play punch ball until he saw Jeanne join the crowd. She noticed him and gave him a look that made him feel miserable. Philip was afraid Jeanne would mention yesterday’s football game, and he’d much rather the game be forgotten. So he’d quietly moved off with another group of children he didn’t even know to get away from the children he did know. He stood at the far end of the schoolyard and watched the game. He’d seen Jeanne’s performance, and he’d seen Jeanne’s two home runs, which were two more than he had ever hit during lunchtime games.

  “You’re not any fun today,” said Emery. “And you weren’t yesterday. You want to play a game or something?”

  “I’ll play a game if you can think of one we can beat Jeanne at.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “It’s no fun beating you.”

  “Beating me? Who says you can beat me? Tell me the last time you beat me at something.”

  Philip racked his brain, but couldn’t remember the last time.

  “Philip, if you’re not going to talk to me, why did you come over here?”

  “I’ll talk to you,” said Philip.

  “Well?” said Emery. “What’ll we talk about?”

  “Let’s talk about something we can beat that girl at.”

  Emery frowned. “She’s better at football and punch ball. She runs faster than us. She keeps calling me Emily. I don’t want to talk about her. I’m going in to watch cartoons. You’re no fun.”

  Emery got up and walked away. Philip watched him climb the three steps to his back door, expecting Emery to invite him inside. Emery turned to him, and Philip rose to follow him, but all Emery said was, “I’ll see you for school tomorrow.” Emery went inside his house, and Philip walked slowly home.

  Chapter Seven

  One evening later in the week, Philip’s father came up to his room after dinner. Philip had finished his homework and lay in bed wondering how to fill up the rest of his night. It had rained the past two days so there were no schoolyard games during lunch, and Jeanne had mostly faded from his mind.

  “Hey, Flipper, want to take a ride with me?”

  “Where to, Dad?”

  “Down to the mall. I have to get some paint for the basement walls. I have an exciting weekend planned for myself.”

  “Can I play a few of the video games in the arcade?”

  “I don’t see why not. Four quarters enough?”

  “And buy some candy at the Chocolate Shop?”

  “How many more conditions are you going to set before you accompany your beloved father on an excursion?”

  Philip smiled.

  His father sighed. “I suppose we can stop at the Chocolate Shop.”

  Philip hopped down from his bed. “What are you waiting for?”

  On the short drive to the mall, Philip’s father told him what he’d done at work that day. Philip didn’t understand all of it, but he liked it when his father talked to him as if he were a grown-up.

  “Tell me about your day,” his father said at last.

  Philip didn’t want to talk much about it. Emery had beaten him in the spelling test by one word—ninety-five per cent to ninety percent—and all because he’d lost his lucky green pencil—the one he’d gotten a hundred with on the math test—and had to use an orange pencil.

  “I lost my pencil today. Can I buy another one? A green one.”

  “Green? It has to be green?”

  “It has to be green.”

  “Sure. Sure.” His father found a space in the giant parking lot, and the two of them walked to the mall.

  “Can you find your way to the arcade on your own, Flipper?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his change. “You’re lucky. Five quarters.”

  Philip took the quarters from his father. “Pencils,” he said.

  Philip’s father looked at his watch. “Okay, let’s get them. Then I’ll go get my paint and meet you in the arcade.”

  “And we can stop at the Chocolate Shop on the way out, right? You said.”

  “You don’t forget a thing, do you?”

  Philip led his father to the stationery store and bought five green pencils, already sharp and ready to use.

  “I’ll hold onto the pencils for you and meet you in the arcade in about fifteen minutes,” his father said, and he walked off to the paint store.

  “Okay, Dad. Take your time.” Philip wanted to visit the fountain with the dancing colored water before he went to the arcade. People threw money into the water from the second floor, and sometimes they missed. Philip often found a nickel or dime in a corner near the fountain.

  As Philip walked through the mall toward the fountain, he let his eyes roam through all the store windows. There were two toy stores in the mall and two book shops, one with a Going Out Of Business sign plastered in its big front window. These were the only places, outside of the arcade, the candy store, and the fountain Philip had any interest in. He walked slowly past the toy store, inspecting the window displays, but didn’t linger. He wanted to be sure he had time to play his five quarters.

  Philip paused near the fountain until, suddenly, water shot up lit by a red light. He watched as the water turned blue, then yellow, then green, and back to red. Philip liked it, but he had to hurry. He walked around the fountain, head down, looking for money. He pushed aside the plants that grew in a long box of dirt next to the fountain and found two pennies. He put them into his pocket. A little farther on in the plant box he found nickel. Seven cents. Not bad. He’d take the money home and put it in his shoe box. When he collected enough, he’d buy a candy bar with it.

  Philip rode the escalator to the second floor and the arcade. Next to the arcade stood a shoe store. He liked the name of the store. Walk-Mor. Philip liked being smart enough to get the little joke of the missing e. A colorful poster hung in the window of the store.

  CONTEST.

  Kids,

  Enter the Walk-Mor poster contest.<
br />
  Design a poster for our upcoming winter advertising campaign.

  First prize--$25.00

  Second prize--$15.00

  Third prize--$10.00

  Bring your poster to this store by November 15.

  And good luck, kids.

  Philip thought about it. A poster to sell shoes. It didn’t sound like much fun. As he turned toward the arcade, he heard, “Hi, Philip,” and turned to see Jeanne approaching.

  “Oh, hi.” Philip didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t spoken to Jeanne since the disaster of a football game.

  “I’m shopping with my mother. She’s in the shoe store. Did you see about the contest?”

  “No, what contest?” Philip lied.

  “There, look. It’s right in front of you.”

  Philip had no choice but to look.

  “I’m going to enter it. Are you?”

  Philip made believe he was reading the poster for the first time. He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. It sounds easy.”

  Jeanne smiled. “I already have a good idea.”

  Knowing Jeanne, she probably had an idea worth first prize. This made Philip angry.

  Why did some people always do things that made them win, but he only did things that made him lose?

  “I can’t tell you what it is,” Jeanne added with another smile.

  “I don’t care about your idea. I have my own idea. Who needs yours?”

  “You got an idea so fast? What is it?”

  “Oh, no. You didn’t tell me yours. I’m not going to tell you mine. You might steal it and win first prize.”

  “Your idea is going to win first prize?” said Jeanne in disbelief. “Yeah, like you and Emily were going to score a touchdown. I’ll bet my idea is way better than your idea.”

  “No way,” said Philip, feeling anger creep over him. “And his name is Emery.”

  “Whatever.” Jeanne smirked confidently at Philip. “Hey, I’ll bet you, I’ll really bet you my poster is better than yours.”

  “You’ll lose. My poster will be a genius poster.”

  “Right, like you’re a genius football player.”