Philip and the Girl Who Couldn't Lose (9781619501072) (2 page)

“I’m sorry. You told me to stop throwing easy
ones.” A small smile crept onto Jeanne’s face.

“You surprised me is all. Don’t throw easier.
Keep throwing like that,” Philip answered angrily. He retrieved the
ball, pulled
his
arm back, and threw the ball as hard as he
could. The ball sailed way over Jeanne’s head, hit the wall of the
house, and bounced back toward Jeanne. She leaped and pulled the
ball down.

“A little lower, please,” she said with a
frown. “You can’t throw straight enough to have a catch. Let’s play
a game. Do you know about wall ball? We played wall ball a lot in
my old neighborhood.”

Ha!
thought Philip. A real game he
could beat her at. No more of this stupid throwing the ball back
and forth.

“I hit the ball against the wall,” Jeanne
explained. “You have to catch it. If you miss, it’s one run for
me.”

“Okay. I know the game. You don’t have to
explain it,” Philip growled. “We play it in this neighborhood, too,
you know.”

“Oh, good. I’ll bat first,” she explained,
and without waiting for an argument, Jeanne turned to the wall.

Slam! Philip stood amazed as he watched the
pink ball sail over his head.

“1-0,” Jeanne cried gleefully. “Give me the
ball back.”

Philip tossed the ball to Jeanne and backed
up a few steps. Slam! He watched in disgust as the second ball
sailed over his head, too.

“2-0. Hurry up. Go get the ball.”

Philip fetched the ball. He wanted to fire
the ball at her as hard as he could, but didn’t want it to go wild
again and have to listen to Jeanne complain about his throwing. He
gently and politely returned the ball to her. Philip backed way up
as he watched Jeanne eye him thoughtfully as she tossed the ball up
and down in one hand.

“Here comes,” she cried. She spun to the wall
and banged the ball very softly. Philip stood confused and watched
the ball stop rolling before it got to him.

“That’s another run,” she announced.
“3-0.”

“We play it’s only a single,” Philip
argued.

“Don’t change rules in the middle of the
game. You heard me say if you didn’t catch one, it was a run. I
heard you say okay. End of story. 3-0. Give me the ball.”

This rotten girl wouldn’t even let him argue!
He moved in a few steps and waited.
Slam!
Again, over his
head. 4-0.
Slam!
Over his head.
Slam!
Over his head.
Plink.
The ball rolled to a stop in front of him. After what
seemed to Philip like a million throws, he finally managed to catch
the third out. His turn at last. Now, he’d show her.

“Okay,” she called after she’d changed places
with Philip. “I’m ready. The score is 18-0.”

“No, it’s not,” Philip said.

“What is it then?”

Jeanne had called out each run as she earned
it, and Philip knew it really
was
18-0. “17-0,” he
mumbled.

“Oh,” Jeanne snorted. “Yeah. 17-0. It won’t
matter.”

Philip felt his face burn. He slammed the
ball against the wall as hard as he could. Jeanne took a step in
and caught it. She underhanded the ball back to Philip.

“Don’t throw like that,” Philip muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. You ready?”

“You see me standing here, don’t you?”

He could be tricky, too, Philip thought. He
pulled his arm way back but tossed the ball softly at the wall.
Jeanne dashed in and scooped the ball from the grass before it
stopped rolling.

She underhanded the ball the short distance
to Philip. “Two out.”

“I can count,” Philip growled. He grabbed the
ball and threw it so hard against the wall he thought his arm would
fly away with the ball. Jeanne turned, took two steps, and caught
the ball with her back to Philip.

“Good catch, eh?” Jeanne crowed. “I don’t
think you play this game too good. If I bat again it’s going to end
up like 35-0. That’s no fun. Why don’t
you
pick a game? One
you can play better than wall ball.”

Philip didn’t like the way the words
wall
ball
slid sarcastically from Jeanne’s mouth. He would make her
pay for that, he told himself. “Football. Let’s play football.”

“You mean tackling and all?”

“Yeah, I mean tackling and all.” He’d
really
get her now. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“My pads and helmet are home. Should I ask my
mom to let me get them?”

Philip’s eyes widened. Pads? Helmet?
He
didn’t have pads and a helmet. “No, it’ll take too long.
I’ll go get my ball,” he said. “Wait here.” Philip dashed off
toward his house, wondering why this girl had football pads and a
football helmet.

When Philip returned with his football,
Jeanne sat cross-legged on the front lawn waiting for him. “What
are you holding?” she asked.

“
This?”

“
Yes, the thing in your hand. That’s
where people hold things, isn’t it?”

“
It’s a football. What’s it look
like?”

“
Why’s it so small?”

“
It’s not small. It’s what we
use.”

“
And it’s two colors.”

“
So?”

“
Footballs aren’t supposed to be black
and blue.”

“
Pretty soon you’re gonna be black and
blue,” Philip muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, “It’s a
football, okay? Who’s kicking off?”

“
You can,” Jeanne said. “Where are the
goals?”

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.

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.”