Philip and the Girl Who Couldn't Lose (9781619501072) (6 page)

“
What say we go to the diner then and
celebrate Mrs. Moriarty’s safe escape?”

“
Why not?” said Philip’s mother. “She
said she didn’t know what she would have done if Philip hadn’t come
along to rescue her.”

“
Way to go, hero,” said his
father.

“
I only made a phone call,” said
Philip. “Can we go to the Chinese restaurant instead of the
diner?”

His parents looked at each other, and then
his father shrugged. “Since you’re the hero of the day . . .” So
off they went to Hong Fat’s Golden Wok.

When they got home from dinner, Philip’s
father toted a shopping bag full of art supplies to Philip’s
room.

“
I didn’t forget,” he said. “Did you do
what I told you? Did you get an idea?”

“
I did, Dad. I did. I got it standing
outside Mrs. M.’s house before I found her.” Philip went on to tell
his father his idea for the poster, and how he’d stopped in to see
Mrs. Moriarty.

“
Sounds like a terrific idea to me,”
said his father. “Here’s plenty of paper. Take your time. Let me
know how it comes out.”

Philip flashed his father a thumbs-up and
went to work.

~~~~~

Two nights later, Philip lay on his bed when
he heard his father’s car pull into the driveway. His father hadn’t
bothered him about the poster since he’d given him all the
supplies. Philip waited to hear his father’s footsteps come up the
stairs, and soon his door opened.

“
Hi, Flipper. Get your poster done? I’d
like to see it.”

Philip looked at his father. “I didn’t do
it.”

His father looked over the room and saw the
art materials spread out on the floor. Large pieces of crumpled
poster paper lay tossed about.

“
What happened? You
had
a good idea.”

“
I can’t do it. It doesn’t come out
right. Everything is too small; then it’s too big; then it’s
crooked. I can’t draw. I can’t color. The idea is stupid
anyway.”

“
But other than that, everything’s
fine, I’ll bet. Now, let’s not panic, Flipper. After dinner you and
I are coming back into this room, and we’re not leaving until you
get your poster done.”

“
I don’t want to do it.”

Philip’s father thought a moment. “What else
is wrong?”

Philip felt tears rise up into his eyes. He
tried not to blink, but he had to, and when he did, two tears
rolled down his cheeks.

“
Tell me,” his father said.

Philip shook his head.

“
Tell me, Philip. I’ll help you. The
two of us can handle the problem, whatever it is. Tell me.
Please.”

Philip felt more tears rising into his eyes.
He tried to freeze his eyes open, but it didn’t work. He blinked
and more tears rolled down.

“
Jeanne’s class in school had their own
poster contest. Same as the shoe store. They each made one poster
for the store and one for the class. Hers won. And hers looked so
stupid! I never saw such a stupid poster. Two big feet with eyes
and hands, and the hands are over the eyes looking around like
Indians do; and the feet are saying, ‘If I have to Walk More to
find Walk-Mor shoes, I’ll Walk More.’ And then lots of little shoes
with Indian feathers and letters on them are dancing around
spelling out
Walk-Mor, Walk-Mor.
So stupid.”

“
Go on.”

“
Her teacher sent her over to our class
to show off her winning poster, and in front of everybody she says
. . .” Philip curled his upper lip so he could mimic Jeanne
exactly. “‘This is the poster you’ll have to beat tomorrow,
Philip.’ The teacher asked her what she meant, and she told the
whole class about our bet. I hate her.”

“
We’re going to make a
poster.”

“
And I always lose at everything. I
can’t beat Emery at chess or checkers. They pick me last in the
football games. I can’t catch a football. In punch ball, my hits
dribble along the ground. I can’t . . .”

“
Whoa, whoa. Philip Felton. You really
are feeling sorry for yourself.”

“
I don’t care. I lose at everything.
I’m going to lose the poster contest. Everybody’ll know I’m a
loser.”

Philip closed his eyes. He heard his father
take a deep breath.

“
Philip, let’s think about this. Emery
learned chess long before you. You play football with the bigger
boys, and there may possibly be some things in this world you
aren’t good at. Same is true for everybody.”

“
Yeah, everything. I’m no good at
everything.”

“
No, not everything. Your mom and I
were talking last night, and we both said how proud we were of you
for some of the things you did the past few days.”

Philip’s head snapped up.

“
Like what? I didn’t do anything good.
I dropped an easy touchdown pass after school yesterday. I can’t do
this stupid poster.”

“
Philip, don’t talk. I’m thinking about
other things even more important, believe it or not, than football
or the poster contest. Things that show what kind of person you
are. The way you took care of Becky when I couldn’t get her to stop
crying. It was wonderful to watch, Flipper. Not wonderful for you,
I know,” his father said before Philip could argue. “But for me,
your father, to watch how you loved the baby. You didn’t always,
remember? You made me happy and proud, Flipper. And think of how
you helped Emery with his homework. Do you think Emery cared about
your catching footballs when he asked you for help? He came to you
as a friend, and you treated him as a friend. Very impressive to
see from you, Philip. And Mrs. Moriarty hasn’t stopped talking
about you since she got home. She’s called everybody in the
neighborhood to tell them how wonderful and brave and helpful you
were when she got hurt. I’ve had three people come up to me and
compliment me, Philip, on what you did. I can’t tell you how proud
that makes me feel.”

Philip looked into his father’s eyes.

“
And we are going to make a poster
tonight certain to break poor little Jeanne’s heart.”

Philip couldn’t help but smile at his
father.

“
Are you ready?” his father
asked.

Philip nodded.

“
Okay. Let’s have dinner and then get
to work.”

Philip knelt on a chair and looked out the
window on Sunday afternoon. He saw Jeanne in her father’s car as it
drove by. He knew she was on her way to the mall. The Walk-Mor shoe
store planned to announce the winners of its contest at two
o’clock.

“
Dad,” Philip called. “Aren’t you ready
yet?”

His father came down the steps buttoning his
shirt. “Philip, it’s only one o’clock. We’ll have lunch then go to
the contest. Relax.”

“
Jeanne just drove by.”

“
By herself?”

“
No, with her father . . . by herself.
Right, Dad.”

Philip’s father laughed.

“
Relax. I’ll bet they’re going to lunch
before
they
go to the contest.
So relax. Relax. Reeee-lax.”

Philip’s mother called them into the
kitchen.

Halfway through his sandwich, Philip said,
“This is the slowest lunch I ever ate.”

Philip’s father held up his hand. “Relax,
Philip. There’s nothing you can do until two o’clock.”

Philip finished his sandwich as his father
drank his coffee like he had all the time in the world. Finally,
the bottomless cup of coffee ended, and his father looked at his
watch.

“
Time to saddle up,
pardner.”

Philip jumped and ran outside to the car. His
father opened the car door, and by two o’clock they managed to
crowd into the Walk-Mor shoe store along with an assortment of
parents and poster-makers to hear the results. Philip looked around
and saw Jeanne standing near the front of the crowd with her
father. Suddenly, he felt very insignificant. When his father
inspected his poster and pronounced it excellent, Philip believed
him. He’d felt quite sure of himself. Then. But as Philip looked
around the store at all the children who had submitted posters, all
certainty deserted him. He could never make a better poster than
every single poster entered in the contest. And Jeanne had already
won one contest with her poster. Philip decided he’d be glad when
this whole afternoon came to an end. Philip paid close attention
when a man stepped onto a small platform near the cash register of
the store. Before the man spoke, Philip felt a tug on his sleeve.
He turned and saw Emery.

“
What are you doing here?” Philip
whispered.

“
Shhh,” said Emery. “Here he
goes.”

A thin man in a suit smiled out over the
audience and raised his hands. The man looked young but had very
little hair. When everyone got quiet, he spoke. “I am Mr. Sherwood
Bobson, the store manager, your host for today.” For some reason,
he laughed. No one else did, though, and his smile disappeared.

“
We are about to announce the winners
of our contest. Nearly one hundred fifty posters were submitted,
and although all the posters were wonderful, we had to choose the
three we liked the best.”

One hundred fifty!
thought Philip. His could never be the best out of so
many.

“
The third prize winner of ten dollars
is Taryn Chung. Is she here?”

Philip heard a shriek in front of him, and a
girl with long, black pigtails climbed onto the stage.

“
Here is Taryn’s poster.”

Philip didn’t bother to look. There were only
two prizes left. Would he be one of those two, or one of the other
one hundred forty-seven people who won nothing?

Philip looked back to the stage as Mr.
Sherwood Bobson waited for Taryn to return to her place so he could
continue.

“
And for second place we are happy to
award the fifteen dollar prize to . . . Philip Felton.”

Philip looked up at his father at the same
time his father looked down at him.

Philip Felton!
His name!
He’d won something!

“
Go get your prize, Flipper,” his
father said with a smile as big at his son’s.

Philip made his way through the crowd to the
stage. When he climbed onto the stage, the manager held his poster
high for everyone to see, and everyone applauded.

“
Philip,” said the manager, “used an
idea from
The Wizard of Oz.
Can everyone see it?”

Philip’s poster had a picture of the
Scarecrow of Oz saying, “If you had a brain, you’d be wearing
Walk-Mor shoes.” Behind the Scarecrow was a picture of the Wizard
of Oz handing pairs of Walk-Mor shoes to Dorothy, the Tin Man, and
two pairs to the Lion, all of whom smiled and looked grateful.

“
Great job, Philip,” said the manager,
and he handed Philip three five-dollar bills.

Philip took the money and found his way back
to his father, who said, “Did you hear the applause when he showed
everyone your poster?”

Philip nodded and couldn’t stop smiling. Only
one thing could go wrong. Suppose Jeanne got the one prize left.
First prize.

Philip crossed his fingers and listened.

“
And the grand prize winner is . . .”
The manager looked out over the crowd and smiled teasingly. “. . .
Emery Wyatt! Come on up here, Emery.”

“
Emery!” Philip cried. He turned to see
Emery pushing to get through the crowd to the stage. “Emery,” said
Philip when Emery drew even with him, “you didn’t tell me you
entered the contest.”

“
I thought I’d lose.
You
gave me my poster idea,” Emery
called over his shoulder as he continued toward the
stage.

“
And here is Emery’s poster.” The
manager pulled out a poster showing The Old Woman Who Lived in a
Shoe. A big Walk-Mor shoe. Lots of little kids were climbing on the
shoe and running around it. All of them were wearing Walk-Mor
shoes. A short poem was written on the top.

There was an old woman who lived in a
shoe.

She had so many children, but she knew what
to do.

Dress them all in Walk-Mor shoes.

Shouldn’t you?

Philip watched in amazement as the store
manager gave Emery five five-dollar bills. “Dad,” said Philip. “Did
you hear? Emery said I gave him the idea for his poster.”

“
Don’t let Jeanne know you were
responsible for first
and
second prize.”

“
Ha!”
Philip
cried.

The crowd began to break apart as parents
took their disappointed children out of the store and back into the
mall. Philip and his father walked to the car. As they climbed into
the front seat, Philip said, “Jeanne didn’t say anything when she
passed us.”

“
Her father didn’t look any too happy,
either,” said Mr. Felton. “But we’re happy, aren’t we?”

“
We sure are, Dad.”

“
You did a great job, and I’m proud of
you. You beat the girl who couldn’t be beaten.”

“
Thanks for helping me, Dad. Here, you
can have one of the five-dollar bills.” Philip took a bill from his
pocket and handed it over to his father as his father stopped the
car in front of their house.