Philip and the Girl Who Couldn't Lose (9781619501072) (5 page)

Philip watched Jeanne go, hoping a hurricane
would come along and blow her stupid poster straight into New
Jersey. The day was sunny and cool, though, with no hurricanes in
sight, but Philip did see Emery coming down the street.

Philip watched as he stopped a moment to talk
to Jeanne. He saw Jeanne look back at him and laugh. Emery looked
his way, but at least he didn’t laugh. He and Emery had lots of
disagreements, but at least he didn’t laugh. Emery and Jeanne
separated, and Emery came up his walkway.

“
Hi, Philip. Jeanne’s taking her poster
to the shoe store. You finish yours yet?”

Philip shook his head.

“
I tried to make one,” said Emery.
Philip closed the door behind Emery, and the two boys went into the
living room. “But I couldn’t draw a shoe. Every shoe I drew looked
like a submarine. Maybe I should enter a contest to sell
submarines. What’s your poster like?”

Philip looked his friend in the eye. “I
didn’t start it yet.”

Emery’s eyebrows popped up. “Still? You
better hurry up! The contest’s next Saturday, you know.”

“
I
know
it’s next Saturday, but I can’t start it because I don’t know
what to do.”

“
Uh-oh. You know I heard Jeanne telling
people in school this week you said you had the best idea for a
poster ever. You better do one.”

“
I
know
I better do one. I know. I know. But I don’t know what to
do.”

“
Think of things with shoes. Ballet
shoes?”

Philip looked at Emery. “What can I do with
ballet shoes?”

“
I don’t know.” Emery smiled. “Stand on
your toes?”

Philip narrowed his eyes and glared.

“
I made a joke. You know how they stand
on their . . .”

Philip didn’t want to listen to any nonsense.
“I know how they stand. What’s standing on your toes got to do with
making a poster? I’m in trouble here. I don’t need people dancing
on their stupid toes flying around in my head. I need an idea.”

“
Think shoes,” said Emery. “Think
nothing but shoes. How about the shoemaker and the
giant?”

“
The shoemaker and the giant?” said
Philip. “Is that supposed to be an idea?”

Emery laughed. “Maybe the giant can eat the
shoemaker if he doesn’t make Walk-Mor shoes. I like that one. It’s
funny.” He stopped laughing when he saw the look on Philip’s face.
“You don’t think it’s funny?”

“
The giant should eat the shoemaker?
You mean make a poster of a giant holding shoemaker in his hand and
biting his head off with lots of blood splurting around? Lots of
people will buy shoes from a crazy shoe store like that, won’t
they? It’s not funny. It’s stupid!” Philip exclaimed impatiently.
“Are you finished with shoe stories? How about The Old Woman Who
Lived in a Shoe? Or Puss in Boots? You know any more?”

“
Sheesh. Don’t yell. I’m only trying to
give you an idea.”

“
Thanks, but it’s not a contest to draw
a shoe or anything that has a shoe in it. It’s a contest to make a
poster that makes people want to buy Walk-Mor shoes.”

“
All right. All right. I won’t help
anymore. I came over, though, so you could help me.”

“
Hi, fellows,” said Philip’s father as
he came into the living room.

“
Philip’s trying to think of an idea to
win the poster contest. He told everybody in school he was going to
win.”

Philip shot Emery a dark look.

“
You did, Philip?”

“
No. I didn’t tell anybody anything.
Somebody else did.”

“
Somebody else?”

Philip stayed quiet, so Emery helped out. “He
bet Jeanne; she’s the new girl in school. She lives near Mrs.
Moriarty. He bet her he would win the poster contest. She told
everybody in school Philip said he would win because she’s sure
she’ll win, and Philip bet her he would beat her, so he has to win
the contest.”

“
What poster contest is this?” asked
Philip’s father.

“
The Walk-Mor shoe store at the mall,”
said Emery. “I’m trying to give Philip an idea.”

“
And did you? Did he,
Philip?”

Philip shook his head. He couldn’t look at
his father.

“
This Jeanne sounds like she’s really
something. You know, lots of people will probably enter posters.
There’s no way she can be so sure she’s going to win—unless her
uncle is the judge.”

“
Her uncle’s not the judge, Dad,”
Philip muttered.

“
Is this what’s been on your mind?
You’ve been awfully mopey lately.”

Philip shrugged.

“
Well, I repeat. There will probably be
so many people entering the contest, Philip, it’s more than likely
neither of you will win. So many posters will be good,
very
good, I’m afraid the judges will
be forced to pick the winner out of a hat.”

Philip looked up. He hadn’t thought of
that.

Mr. Felton went on. “It’s going to take luck
as much as anything else to win the contest. You said the kids in
school know about the contest. Lots of them will enter, I’m sure.
Everyone who goes through the mall sees the contest sign.
Especially there right next to the arcade where all the kids go. I
wouldn’t worry about Jeanne coming up with an idea that puts all
the other posters to shame, but you do need to enter. When’s the
deadline?”

“
Next Saturday,” said
Philip.

“
Less than a week, eh? Put your mind to
it, Flipper. An idea will come to you. Where are you two off to
now?”

“
I need Philip to help me,” Emery
explained. “I have to find out some stuff for school.”

“
What stuff?” Philip asked.

“
Pilgrims and Miles Standish. The first
Thanksgiving.”

“
Why do you need Philip’s
help?”

“
Philip’s better at finding stuff on
the computer than I am. It’d take me too long. My father said I
could use his computer. It’s really fast. Can Philip stay for
dinner at my house tonight? My mother said to ask him.
The Wizard of Oz
is on TV tonight at
seven.”

“
What’s your mother making?” asked
Philip.

“
Hamburgers, French fries. Good
stuff.”

“
Can I?” Philip asked his
father.

“
I suppose. I’ll come by to get you at
nine when the movie’s over.”

“
Let’s go,” said Emery. “I want to get
this stupid homework done.”

Philip and Emery said good-bye to Mr. Felton
and headed off to Emery’s house.

Monday and Tuesday went by, and still Philip
could not find an idea for his poster. Wednesday afternoon after
school Philip sat in the living room watching his mother feed the
baby. The phone rang.

His mother nodded toward the phone. “Philip,
please.”

Philip picked up and heard his father’s
voice. “Hi, Dad. What do you want?”

“
Not out playing?”

“
No, I’m still thinking.”

“
The poster?”

“
Yeah.”

“
You only have a couple days
left.”

Philip rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“
Philip, here’s what I want you to do.
Go take a walk through the neighborhood. Look around at everything.
Think over everything you’ve done this past week. Somewhere in
there has to be an idea for a shoe poster. I’m going to stop by the
art supply store tonight and bring home everything you need to make
a poster. All
you
need to do
is find one idea.”

All? Ha!
“Suppose I can’t find one idea?”

“
That’s not how we’re going to think.
Do what I told you. Take a walk. Let your brain work. Let your mind
roam free. The one good idea will be there. I’m counting on you.
Now, put your mother on.”

Philip handed the phone over to his mother
and went outside. Walk? Let his brain work and his mind roam? Think
of things he’d done all week? Philip couldn’t imagine what his
father meant, but he started thinking anyway.

Monday and Tuesday and
Wednesday—school. Nothing happened in school worth a shoe poster.
Emery stepped on his foot in line once, but he didn’t see how he
could make a poster out of smashed toes. Jeanne had hit more home
runs at lunch. No, no poster idea there. He decided to go further
back through the week. He’d helped Emery with his research
homework. Pilgrims; buckle shoes. No, no idea there. They’d
watched
The Wizard of Oz
afterward
.
He could
imagine making a poster to sell yellow bricks but not shoes.
Dorothy and her friends wanted a home, a heart, some courage, and a
brain. None of them wanted shoes. Except the witch. She wanted
Dorothy’s ruby slippers. “If you’re a witch, buy Walk-Mor shoes.”
He didn’t think many witches shopped in the mall, and he didn’t
think Walk-Mor customers would like being called a witch. Wait,
wait! Philip stopped walking. He found himself standing in front of
Mrs. Moriarty’s house. He looked across her front lawn toward her
house as an idea shimmered in his brain. Did it make sense? Philip
considered it carefully. Yes, yes,
yes
! It
did
make sense! Even if it didn’t, it would have to do because it
was a real idea. The only one he’d had all week that made
any
sense at all. And he
could
make a poster from this idea.
He absolutely could!

Philip decided to celebrate with a visit to
Mrs. M.’s for some candy. He’d been so worried lately about his
poster, he’d scarcely felt like eating candy. That proved how
serious things had been, but no longer.

He knocked at the front door. No one
answered, but Philip thought he heard noise from inside. He tried
the door. It was locked, so he went around back.

Philip opened the back door. “Mrs. M.,” he
called.

“
Oh, is that you, Philip?” came Mrs.
Moriarty’s voice. She sounded strange. Philip walked into the
living room and saw Mrs. Moriarty sitting at the bottom of the
steps leading to the second floor. “Oh, Philip, I’m so glad you’re
here.”

Philip noticed Mrs. Moriarty didn’t try to
get up. She wiped her hand across her forehead. “What are you
sitting there for?” he asked.

“
I tripped on these stairs, Philip, and
hurt my ankle. When I try to stand, it hurts something
awful.”

“
Want me to help you up?”

Mrs. M. smiled. “No, Philip, but you can make
a phone call for me.”

A frightened feeling formed in Philip’s
stomach. “Who should I call?”

“
Can you dial 911 and get an ambulance
for me?”

“
An ambulance! Are you really
hurt?”

“
I don’t know, but I think I may
be.”

Philip stood dumbly for a moment.

“
911,” Mrs. M. repeated.

Philip went back into the kitchen and reached
for the wall telephone. “What should I tell them?” Philip
called.

“
Tell them a fat lady broke her ankle
and needs help.”

“
I can’t tell them that.” Philip
smiled. If Mrs. M. could joke around, she couldn’t be hurt too
badly. He felt better.

“
Just tell them a lady fell on the
stairs and can’t get up. Her leg may be broken and give them my
address. 1159 Tumblejack Drive.”

“
I know your address,” said Philip as
he punched 911. He followed Mrs. Moriarty’s instructions and in
only five minutes Philip answered a knock on the door, and two men
bustled in. He pointed to Mrs. M. and stood out of the way. The men
spoke to Mrs. Moriarty for a moment before one of them went back to
the ambulance and brought a folded up bed with wheels into the
house. The two men managed to get Mrs. Moriarty onto the bed and
rolled her out the door.

“
Lock up for me, Philip,” Mrs. M. said
to him as the men took her out. “Tell your mother I’ll call her
when they put me back together.”

Philip watched the ambulance drive away. He
went back inside Mrs. M.’s house. The house felt spooky with no one
but himself inside. He didn’t want to stay. Before he left, though,
Philip went to one of the many candy dishes Mrs. M. had and looked
inside. Candy corn. Philip popped some into his mouth and took an
added handful. He left through the front door, locking it behind
him. He headed back home, popping candy corn into his mouth as he
walked, hardly believing what an hour he’d just had.

Philip told his mother about Mrs. Moriarty,
and as soon as Philip’s father got home from work, Mrs. Felton had
him drive her to the hospital. Philip, his father, and the baby
waited downstairs while Mrs. Felton went up to see Mrs.
Moriarty.

“
How is she?” asked Mr. Felton when his
wife reappeared from the elevator.

“
No broken bones. Something to do with
stretched ligaments in her ankle. She’s going to stay here
overnight while they get the swelling down, and she’ll probably go
home tomorrow.”

“
Did you start dinner?” asked Philip’s
father.

“
No.”