Philip and the Girl Who Couldn't Lose (9781619501072) (4 page)

“
Philip, don’t gobble your food so,”
said his mother the next night as the family sat at the dinner
table.

Philip slowed down when he saw he’d be the
first one finished. He would be the dinner-eating champion.

“
Mom,” he asked, as he put the last
forkful of mashed potatoes and peas—Philip liked to smoosh them all
together—into his mouth. “What the fastest I ever took a
bath?”

“
What kind of a question is that?” his
mother asked.

“
I
know,” his
father interrupted. “Remember, honey, when you turned on the cold
water instead of mixing it with the hot. Then you got impatient
with Philip because he didn’t want to take his bath so you picked
him up and plunked him down in the cold water?”

Philip’s mother smiled. “Yes, he did climb
out in a hurry.”

“
I don’t remember that,” said Philip,
puzzled.

“
I think you were only two then,” his
mother said.

It sounded to Philip like he
could
never
get into and out
of the bathtub that fast again. He decided not to count his cold
water bath. He wanted to set a new take-a-bath record tonight, but
he couldn’t do it unless he knew the old record first.

“
What was the fastest regular bath I
ever took?”

“
Philip,” his father said with an odd
look on his face. “Who can remember one bath from another? Except
for the cold one.”

“
Never mind. Never mind,” said Philip.
Tonight would be the record. He wouldn’t play with a single toy in
the bathtub. He’d wash, get out, and dry without a moment lost to
splashing or to silliness.

A knock sounded on the door, and Philip’s
mother got up to answer it. Philip heard her say, “Come in, Emery.
Would you like something to eat?” Emery and Philip’s mother walked
into the kitchen.

“
No, I had dinner at home,” said Emery.
“The babies were crying, and my mother was trying to get them quiet
so my father told me to come over here. Out of harm’s way, he
said.”

“
Well, we’re going to clean up in here,
so why don’t you boys go outside for half an hour while there’s
still some daylight?” Mrs. Felton suggested.

A few moments later, the two boys sat on the
step outside Philip’s front door.

“
Everybody’s trying to get rid of us,”
said Emery. “It’s not so light out. I wonder why they didn’t just
leave us at the hospital when we were born if they didn’t want any
trouble. I wish they’d left my sisters there. I wouldn’t mind
visiting them once in a while as long as they weren’t around all
the time.”

“
Uh, oh. Look who’s coming,
Emery.”

The boys watched Jeanne walk down the
sidewalk and pause in front of Philip’s house.

“
Hi,” she said brightly. She carried
something in a brown paper shopping bag.

“
What do you got?” asked
Emery.

Philip said nothing, hoping she would go away
without answering.

“
Poster paper,” said Jeanne with a
smile Philip did not appreciate. “Poster paint. Everything I
need.”

“
For school?” Emery asked.

“
Didn’t Philip tell you?” asked Jeanne.
Emery looked at Philip. Jeanne talked on. “He’s going to win the
twenty-five dollars in the Walk-Mor poster contest.”

“
What’s the Walk-Mor poster contest?”
Emery asked. He directed his question to Philip, but Jeanne
answered first.

“
You know the store at the
mall?”

“
Yeah.”

“
They have a contest to make a poster
for an advertisement for them. Philip said he’s going to win
it.”

“
No, I didn’t,” said Philip
glumly.

“
Yes, you did,” said Jeanne. “You said
you already had an idea. He bet me he would win.”

“
I didn’t,” said Philip with some
anger. “I
said
my poster would
be better than your poster.”

“
Same difference because my poster is
going to win the contest. So to beat me, your poster has to win the
contest.”

Philip wondered why it sounded so convincing
when Jeanne said she would win the contest, and he sounded silly to
himself when he said he’d win.

“
Why don’t you enter too, Emily?” said
Jeanne.

Emery’s temper flared. “Stop calling me
Emily. It’s Emery, Emery. What’s wrong with you? I don’t like to
draw, if you must know.” He turned to Philip. “What’s your idea,
Philip?”

“
I’m not telling you with Miss Big Ears
around. She’ll steal my idea.”

Jeanne gave a loud, “Ha!” She smiled and
said, “Don’t need it. Got my own. My poster’ll be finished this
week. Make sure yours is done by next Saturday, Philip. Less than
two weeks. Don’t make any excuses about forgetting.” She started
away, swinging her shopping bag carelessly at her side. As she
went, she called over her shoulder, “Boy, those candy bars are sure
going to taste good.”

“
What candy bars is she talking
about?”

“
We bet five candy bars my poster would
beat her poster.”

“
You really bet her? That was
dumb.”

Philip didn’t respond.

“
You know you bet somebody who never
loses anything, right? What’s your idea? Tell me. It better be a
good one.”

“
I don’t have one, okay?”

“
You don’t have one! You better get
one.”

“
I know I better get one. Why don’t you
give me one?”

“
I don’t have any ideas, but I’m not
the one who made such a stupid bet. Maybe you could draw some
pictures of talking feet or dancing socks or smiling
toes.”

“
Feet don’t talk; socks don’t dance;
and toes don’t smile,” Philip snapped.

“
And you won’t win, either. What are
you gonna do?”

“
I’m gonna think up the greatest poster
idea ever.”

“
Go on, let me hear.”

“
Hear what?”

“
Your poster idea.”

“
I said I don’t have one.”

“
Yeah, but you said you were gonna
think one up.”

“
I can’t think it up in half a second
sitting here with you.”

“
Oh, there’s my dad waving at me. I
gotta go. Good luck.”

Philip watched Emery run down the sidewalk.
Good luck? Philip couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any of
that.

Chapter Nine

“
Don’t need it. Got my own.” Philip
heard Jeanne say those words again and again as he lay in bed that
night. He didn’t have his pajamas on yet, and his light was still
on, even though nine o’clock, his usual bedtime, had passed. His
mother was out with her girlfriends, leaving his father in charge,
and his father didn’t care what time he went to bed as much as his
mother did. Philip wished he was in a better mood so he could do
something more exciting with this extra time than lie in bed and
stare at the ceiling thinking about Jeanne beating him in the
poster contest.

He’d almost told Emery how he felt about
losing all the time, but then Emery started babbling about talking
feet, dancing socks and smiling toes. Three ideas in a minute.
Stupid ideas, but ideas. Philip still yearned for one idea. One
good idea; just one; to prove once and for all he could win at
something.

He’d given up trying to make a contest out of
everything that happened during the day. Whoever heard of a
take-a-bath champion? In school he’d won the sharpen-a-pencil
championship and the go-to-the-bathroom championship, but since
nobody else tried to beat him, of course he won. No one else even
knew they were in a contest.

Philip heard the baby crying. He went
downstairs and saw his father trying to get Becky quiet. He sat on
the sofa and held her, trying to convince her to take her
before-bedtime bottle, but she unhappily slapped it away.

“
You check her diaper?” asked
Philip.

“
Yes, yes,” said his father. Gruffness
edged his voice. “I just changed her. She’s supposed to drink this
and fall asleep. For two months she drinks a bottle at nine o’clock
and falls asleep. But tonight? No, not tonight. Not when I’m here.
Not when she’s under my care. Come on, Beck. Drink your bottle.
Please.”

Philip moved closer. He sat next to his
father, who leaned over and put the bottle of milk on the table. He
bounced the baby, but it didn’t help. She continued to wail.

“
Here,” said Philip’s father. “Hold her
a minute. Let me call your mother and ask if there’s something I
should be doing.” Philip felt the baby slide onto his lap. His
father got up and went into the kitchen to use the phone. Becky
paused in her unhappiness a moment then started up
again.

“
No, no,” said Philip softly. He bent
close to Becky’s face and puffed a little air at her. Becky blinked
her eyes and looked surprised. She stopped crying. Philip puffed
twice more. Becky’s eyes blinked, and she made a funny face each
time. She stayed quiet.

“
Why are you making so much noise?”
said Philip softly. He puffed again.

Becky blinked and made a noise. “Gaaa.”

“
Gaaa to you,” said Philip. Philip took
Becky’s tiny hands in his own and stretched her arms wide. He
puffed air at her.

“
Gaaa,” said Becky.

Philip closed her arms and touched her nose
with his finger. He puffed air at her again.

“
Gaaa gaaa,” said Becky.

“
You gaaa gaaa gaaa,” said Philip, and
he stretched the baby’s arms wide, gave her a puff of air, and then
wrapped her up. This time when Philip touched her nose, Becky’s
head moved up, and she opened her mouth as if she wanted to bite
his finger. Philip knew what that meant. He’d seen it before. He
reached for the baby bottle and put the nipple into her
mouth.

When Philip’s father returned, he stood in
the middle of the living room, his hands on his hips. “What did you
do, Mr. Magic?” he asked.

Philip shushed him. It felt good to Philip to
be able for once to tell someone else to be quiet around the baby.
Before she even emptied the bottle, Becky fell asleep. Philip’s
father took the baby from Philip and carried her upstairs to her
crib. Philip followed them and went into his own room to put his
pajamas on.

Philip’s father stuck his head in the
doorway. “Thanks, Philip. You’re a handy guy to have around. I
didn’t know what to do for the poor little kid.”

“
She just wanted to play a little,
Dad.”

Philip’s father shrugged. “I guess she
did.”

Getting Becky to drink her bottle put Philip
in a better mood than he’d been in all day. Suddenly, he wanted to
talk to his father and tell him about the contest; about losing;
about Jeanne. Maybe his father would know what to do. Once in a
while his father gave him some good ideas. When he looked up at his
father, though, he found he couldn’t do it. The strange, happy look
on his father’s face puzzled Philip. He didn’t want to spoil it by
bringing up a problem. His father entered the room and sat on the
edge of Philip’s bed.

“
You’re a real pleasure, Flipster. It
was nice to see you taking care of your sister downstairs. Well,
you get to sleep. School tomorrow. A million things to learn. I’ll
see you in the morning.” Philip’s father leaned over and kissed his
forehead.

“
Night, Dad.”

His father switched off the light, and the
room got dark. Philip breathed a deep sigh. He had nine days to
deliver his poster to the shoe store; nine days to prove losing
wasn’t the only thing he was good at.

On Sunday afternoon. Philip lay on the sofa
in the living room, looking up at the ceiling. Only six more days
to deliver his poster to the shoe store.
What poster?
Philip
asked himself.
No poster,
he answered. He wished he knew
where good ideas came from because he’d pack his suitcase and go
there and grab one if he could. The doorbell rang.

“
Can you answer that, Philip?” his
mother called from upstairs. Philip rose and walked to the door.
When he opened it, he didn’t like what he saw. Jeanne stood on his
doorstep, a large piece of cardboard, rolled up and securely tied,
stuck out from under her arm. Jeanne smiled her usual “I’m so
wonderful, don’t you think?” smile.

“
Hi, Philip.”

Philip knew what Jeanne had under her arm.
Her poster. He knew her destination. The Walk-Mor store in the
mall. And he knew why she stopped at his house. To let him know her
poster was on its way to first prize.

“
Hi,” said Philip.

“
My father’s driving me to the mall so
I can deliver my poster. Want to bring yours along?”

“
Mine’s not finished yet.”
Not finished because it’s not even started,
Philip thought.

“
Want to ride over with me anyway?”
asked Jeanne.

“
No,” Philip snapped as his temper
bubbled up inside him.

“
Okay.” Jeanne turned around, but as
she walked off, she called over her shoulder. “Don’t forget. Your
poster has to be in the store by next Saturday.”