Philip and the Girl Who Couldn't Lose (9781619501072) Read Online Free PDF Page A

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