Philip Gets Even (9781597050807) (7 page)

Emery was digging under his desk, a confused
look on his face.

“Yes?” the boys heard their teacher say.

“Ms. Louis, I can’t find my stuff,” said
Peter, a boy who sat in the back of the room.

“What do you mean?” said Ms. Louis. “What
stuff?”

“My pencils and my notebook. And I left a
quarter in my desk and it’s not there.”

Philip’s stomach plunged. He understood right
away and shot his arm up into the air. “Ms. Louis. Ms. Louis.”

“Yes, Philip?”

“I think maybe when they cleaned the room
after school Friday a lot of stuff got maybe knocked on the floor,
and they didn’t know where to put it back. I have a lot of stuff in
my desk that isn’t mine.” He gave Emery a quick look.

“Uh, yeah. Me, too,” said Emery. “I’ve got
pencils and books and sharpeners and stuff. Not mine.”

“That’s peculiar,” said Ms. Louis. “Everyone
check your desks and see whether you have anything missing or
whether you have things that aren’t yours.”

When it was all straightened out, only Philip
and Emery had desks full of strange stuff.

“I’ll have to tell the cleaners to be more
careful,” said Ms. Louis and the morning went on.

~ * ~

“They would have said we stole all that
stuff,” said Emery as he and Philip settled down to eat their
lunch. “Johnny Visco got into the room and did that.”

“I know. I know. How can he sneak around so
much and nobody see him? Look, here he comes.”

Johnny Visco walked by. “Have a nice
morning?”

Philip and Emery watched as he took a place
at his own lunch table.

“Good thing you got that idea,” said Emery.
“Boy, we’d have been suspended for a month for stealing all of that
stuff.”

“Well, we weren’t,” said Philip, feeling
angrier and angrier as he thought about Johnny Visco. “Let’s go
back to Mr. Conway’s house after school today. Maybe he’ll have a
better idea than calling the principal.”

Emery moaned. “Oh, no.”

“Maybe he will,” said Philip. “If he doesn’t
then
we
better come up with an idea, because Johnny Visco
isn’t going to stop bothering us.”

“Oh, boy,” Emery moaned again, “if we have to
depend on Mr. Conway to save us, we might as well get suspended now
and get it over with.”

“Maybe not,” said Philip. “Maybe not.” And he
started to think very hard.

~ * ~

“So how did it work? Is the heat off? Did my
call work? Did little Johnny boy get into trouble with the
principal? Heh, heh. I got him good, I’ll bet, didn’t I?”

Mr. Conway had started talking the moment he
opened his front door.

“That ought to teach him to mess with us.
I’ll old buzzard him. You just let me know the next time...”

“Mr. Conway, Mr. Conway.” Philip held up his
hand. “Your phone call only got us lectured to by the principal and
the art teacher. And after that Johnny Visco threatened to get us
suspended again and said he’d make sure this time it was our art
that didn’t win the contest.”

“Oh, didn’t work, eh?” was all Mr. Conway
said.

“No,” said Emery louder than he needed. “You
got some other plan we can use?”

Mr. Conway scratched his head. Then he
scratched his neck. Then he scratched his head again.

“Nope.”

“Maybe I do,” said Philip.

Emery looked at him. “
You
do?”

Philip nodded. “I think so. But both of you
got to help.”

Emery muttered, “Oh, no,” and Mr. Conway
said, “You bet. You bet. What’s your plan? We’ll teach that fellow
a lesson. Call me an old buzzard, will he? Let’s hear it.”

So Philip told Mr. Conway about the art show
on Friday and explained what he had in mind.

“I don’t think I want to do this,” Emery
moaned next morning on the way to school.

“Emery, come on. We have to,” Philip
argued.

“You gave Mr. Conway so much to do. Suppose
he just falls asleep in his chair for a week and doesn’t do
anything.”

“He’s not going to fall asleep in his chair
for a week.”

“You gave
me
too much to do,” said
Emery dismally.

“You only have to do one thing,” Philip said
in exasperation.

“It’s such a
big
thing, though.”

“Don’t be dumb. Now look around and find
him.”

The boys stood at one end of the schoolyard
and searched.

“Come on, let’s walk a little,” said
Philip.

“We’re going to get mushed. I know it,” Emery
mumbled.

“Shhh. There he is. Over there. Come on.”

The two boys walked toward Joey, the sixth
grader who lived near Philip.

“Hi, Joey. Guess what?” said Philip.

“What?”

Emery gave a groan.

“We’re going to be in the newspaper. The one
for the neighborhood that comes every week. Me and Emery.”

“
The News Gleaner
? Why?”

“Our art. The thing Ms. Trinetti’s doing in
the auditorium Friday. We’re going to win first prize, and they’re
going to put the painting and our pictures in the paper.”

“How do you know? The contest didn’t happen
yet.”

“The people at the newspaper called my house
and said so. Emery’s, too. Right, Emery? Emery!”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Right. In the newspaper.” And
he gave a little moan.

“You sick or something?” Joey asked him.

“Stomach ache.”

Philip glared at his friend.

“You should’ve stayed home. I always do if
something hurts,” Joey said wisely.

Emery nodded. “I should’ve.”

“Well, that’s the news,” said Philip. “First
place and in the newspaper. See you later. Come on, Emery.”

The boys moved off a short distance.

“Let’s watch him. And stop moaning. You’re
giving me the creeps.”

“My stomach really does hurt.”

“Oh, it does not. Just watch him.”

The boys kept an eye on Joey amid the running
and playing children. A few minutes before the bell rang, Johnny
Visco sauntered into the schoolyard and Joey walked over to
him.

“There he goes,” said Emery in a panic.
“Let’s go line up. Let’s go stand near a teacher. Let’s go home.
Come on.”

Philip’s stomach got jumpy, too, when he saw
Joey talking to Johnny Visco.

“There’s the bell. Come on,” said Emery. He
grabbed Philip’s arm and pulled him toward their lineup spot.
Philip did not object.

The boys did not venture out of their
classroom all morning, and a few moments after they seated
themselves in the lunchroom, Johnny Visco walked slowly up to
them.

“Did I hear right?” he asked with a sneer.
“You won first prize in the art contest?”

Philip swallowed and said, “That’s right. The
paper called and... and then said that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why don’t you call them? You’ll see. Right,
Emery? Emery!”

“Huh? Yeah. Right. Call.” And then he
moaned.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Toothache,” he murmured.

“Nothing, he’s okay. But the newspaper said
we won. Call them. You’ll see.”

“I
will
,” said Johnny Visco and he
walked away.

“There,” Philip whispered, staring at his
sandwich. “He’s going to do it. I told you he got all excited
yesterday when he heard about the paper.
He
wants to be in
the newspaper. He’ll call.”

“But when he finds out we just made it up,
he’s going to be mad.”

“I know. I know. We want him to be mad. Real
mad. Remember the plan!”

“Ooooh, the plan,” Emery moaned. “We’re going
to get mushed. I know it.”

“Don’t worry. So far so good.”

~ * ~

That afternoon, Philip and Emery stopped off
at Mr. Conway’s house on the way home from school.

“How’d it go?” Mr. Conway asked excitedly as
he led the boys into the living room.

Everyone sat in his usual spot and Philip
said, “We told him we won the contest and were going to be in the
newspaper. And he said he didn’t believe us, so he’s going to call
the newspaper and find out. I hope.”

Mr. Conway laughed and rubbed his hands
together.

“Did you do your stuff?” Emery asked
doubtfully.

“Started. I was upstairs all morning and then
after lunch I tackled the instruction book. I’ll try it out before
we need it, don’t worry. Let me know whether I should make my call
tomorrow. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

Philip nodded and after discussing their plan
a little further, the boys said goodbye to Mr. Conway and went
home.

~ * ~

Philip and Emery were ready the next day,
Wednesday, when Johnny Visco walked over to their lunch table
wearing a satisfied smile.

“You guys think you’re funny. The newspaper
never even heard of you. I told you
I’m
going to win the art
show contest, and your junk won’t even have a chance.” Then he gave
a mean laugh and walked away.

“My stomach hurts,” Emery moaned.

“It’s okay. He’s gone. I have a quarter.
Finish eating and we’ll go call Mr. Conway.”

~ * ~

Philip and Emery hurried to Mr. Conway’s
house at three o’clock. They listened to the loud chiming of the
doorbell and hurried inside when Mr. Conway opened the door.

“Did you do it?” Philip asked.

“I did. I did.” Mr. Conway lowered himself
into his seat as the boys threw themselves onto the sofa. “Right
after you called, I phoned Johnny boy’s mommy and told her I was
from the
News Gleaner
. I thanked her for the call the day
before and apologized about the mix-up. I said we’d heard wonderful
things about her boy’s art and wanted to get a photo of it today so
we’d have it in time for next Friday’s edition and could they bring
it over to our office. Then she started babbling about
cupcakes.”

“What’d you tell her?” Philip asked
excitedly.

“I told her the cupcakes were an important
part of the artist’s statement.” He started laughing again but then
stopped. “Cupcakes and M & Ms. Hogwash! Nonsense! Is that art?
Does it make sense?” Now he reached for his cane and banged it on
the floor three times. It didn’t make much noise against the rug.
“Nonsense. Nonsense.”

“Mr. Conway, Mr. Conway,” Philip interrupted
him. “You were telling us about your phone call.”

Mr. Conway gave himself a shake, muttered
“Nonsense,” banged his cane once more, and continued. “She said
she’d start baking and have the cupcakes ready by the time Johnny
boy got home from school.”

“He’s going to kill us,” Emery moaned. “Just
mush us flat.”

Mr. Conway ignored Emery and got to his feet.
“Let’s go watch.”

“Watch what?” said Emery in alarm.

“Let’s watch Johnny boy deliver his cupcakes
and M & Ms to a newspaper office that’s going to think he’s a
nut.”

~ * ~

The newspaper office was in a corner building
in a small, outdoor mall. Mr. Conway and the boys were peeking out
from behind a truck in the parking lot.

“Maybe he was there and left already,” said
Emery. “We probably should just go home.”

“Nope,” said Philip. “He hasn’t been there
yet because here he comes now. See him?” Philip pointed.

There, carrying his big blue bowl full of
colorful M & Ms, was Johnny Visco. His mother was walking
alongside him, a shopping bag dangling from one hand.

Mr. Conway giggled. “This should be
good.”

“My stomach is killing me,” said Emery.

“Shhh,” said Mr. Conway.

They watched as Johnny Visco and his mother
entered the first floor office. Philip tried to imagine the scene
inside, Johnny Visco’s mother trying to explain about the phone
call she got and no one knowing what she was talking about. He
imagined Johnny Visco standing there, stupidly holding a giant bowl
of candy and getting madder and madder. Now
his
stomach was
beginning to hurt, too.

“Here they come outside,” said Mr. Conway.
Out of the office came Johnny Visco and his mother, hands still
full, their faces angry, both talking at once. They were still
talking angrily when they disappeared from sight.

“Well,” said Philip in a quiet, unsure voice,
“We wanted to make him angry.”

“Yeah,” said Emery dismally. “This part of
the plan is working real good.”

“And so will the rest of the plan,” bubbled
Mr. Conway. “I was upstairs all this morning and it’s almost
finished and after my nap, I studied the instruction booklet
again.”

Emery moaned. “Please don’t take any naps for
the next two days.”

“Don’t you worry,” said Mr. Conway
reassuringly. “Little Johnny boy is going to get his,” and he
walked slowly away.

Philip and Emery walked him to his street and
then they turned toward home.

“Well,” said Philip. “Mr. Conway thinks
little Johnny boy is going to get his.”

“Well, I hope little Philip boy and little
Emery boy aren’t going to get theirs, too.”

“Does your stomach hurt?” Philip asked
quietly.

Emery nodded.

“Mine, too,” Philip admitted.

Emery moaned and the two boys parted.

The next morning Philip’s father drove Emery
and his son to Mr. Conway’s house to pick up
Everyday Things
and get it safely to school. Philip’s dad waited in the car while
Philip and Emery went to Mr. Conway’s door. The doorbell rang
loudly and a moment later Mr. Conway came to the door carrying the
painting. He handed it to Philip.

“The big day. This is it,” he smiled, rubbing
his hands together.

“You know you have to be at school as soon as
class lets out today. And at two o’clock tomorrow. That’s when they
have the assembly to announce the winners of the art show,” said
Philip.

“And don’t fall asleep,” said Emery. “No
naps.”