The Stupendous Dodgeball Fiasco (19 page)

“He did it,” said Phillip proudly. “After all these years. My dad stuffed more than six clowns into a telephone booth.”

V
ictor the Voracious Fire-eater tried three times to teach Phillip’s dad how to swallow fire. The first time, Leo burned his tongue. The second time, Leo got frostbite on his tongue from the ice he used to prevent a burn. The third time, Leo got a severe stomachache from accidentally swallowing the bandage he had secured around his tongue to prevent burning and freezing. Nonetheless, as Phillip looked around at the injured lawyers in Judge Monn’s office the next morning, he wondered if fire-eating might be safer than lawyering.

Judge Monn’s chambers looked like a hospital ward. Her eyes were swollen, and she had a patch on her head covering six stitches. Mr. Dinkle had his left leg in a cast and right arm in a sling. Coach had a bandage on his nose, which had been smashed against the phone booth. Ms. Jones, Mr. Nerp, Mr. Terry, and B.B. appeared to have sustained no physical injury, although Ms. Jones’s skin seemed two shades lighter than it had been the day before.

Mr. Race, who was still being treated for shock at Hardingtown Memorial Hospital, was not in attendance.

“Ouch! That must have really hurt,” Phillip said when he saw Judge Monn.

“Darn right, young man,” she said, her voice shaking, “and I assure you, it still does.”

“But not as much as the class-action lawsuit that I’m bringing against the Hardingtown Airport for dropping that load is going to hurt the people responsible for this disaster,” said Mr. Dinkle. “I’m assuming Your Honor will want to sue the airport, too?”

“You don’t get it, do you, Mr. Dinkle?” Judge Monn asked. His expression confirmed her suspicion.

“I believe things happen for a reason,” Judge Monn said. “Some higher power made that shipment of dodgeballs from the factory fall out of the airplane cargo hold at that exact moment in time. He, or She, was trying to tell us something. I intend to listen.”

Mr. Dinkle stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

“Those dodgeballs didn’t just knock my socks off,” she continued. “They knocked some sense into me. Mr. Stanislaw, you and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot. But, given recent events, I can understand why you would think a dodgeball is an unreasonably unsafe product. I am inclined to agree.”

“But, Your Honor,” Mr. Dinkle began.

“There are no buts,” said Judge Monn. “The only question is what to do about it.”

Phillip put his hand up. “I have a suggestion,” he said. “Maybe if the balls were softer, they wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“How about it, Mr. Nerp?” asked Judge Monn. “Have you considered making softer balls?”

Mr. Nerp straightened himself to a standing position. His bloodshot eyes shifted around the room. “A vinyl-coated, foam-rubber ball would be softer, but it would cost more,” he
said. “Switching to foam-ball production couldn’t happen overnight. There would be lag time while we retool.” His eyes darted to a crack in the ceiling, as if he expected it to burst open so dodgeballs could continue the prior day’s assault. “But all things considered, we might be willing to do it.”

“Excellent,” said Judge Monn. She turned to Coach. “Until the new balls are in production, perhaps you could play something else in gym class.”

“The kids have to practice,” said Coach.

“What if,” asked Phillip, “you let the dodgeballers practice, but let the other kids play a different sport?”

“I can’t supervise two sports at once,” said Coach.

“Any other suggestions?” asked Judge Monn. She learned back in her chair and beat her fingers against her desk. B.B. raised her hand.

“Maybe if Dad had an assistant,” said B.B., “we could have regular dodgeball and an alternative sport.”

“Do you have someone in mind?” asked Judge Monn.

“Yes,” she said, “Phillip.” He looked at her in astonishment.

“I don’t know how to play any sports,” Phillip said.

“Yes, you do,” said B.B. “You can juggle.” The group turned to Coach for his response. He adjusted the bandage on his nose.

“Technically,” Coach admitted, “I suppose juggling is a sport.”

“It’s settled, then,” said Judge Monn. “Phillip can teach an alternative class of juggling for kids who don’t wish to participate in dodgeball. Is everyone satisfied by the terms of the settlement?”

Phillip removed a piece of paper from his pocket. It listed
his settlement terms. “There are a couple things that are missing, Your Honor,” he said.

Judge Monn leaned back in her chair again.

“First,” said Phillip, “I would like the school to adopt the rules used by the National Amateur Dodgeball Association, which prohibits head shots.”

“I can live with that,” said Coach.

“Second,” said Phillip, “I still need to pay Aunt Veola the two hundred and forty-nine dollars for my new glasses.”

“Who’s willing to foot the bill?” asked Judge Monn.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Mr. Nerp.

“No, I’ll pay for it,” said Coach. “I’m the one who forced him to play.”

“But I’m the one who creamed him,” said B.B. “I should pay. If it’s okay for me to pay a little at a time.”

“How about ten dollars a week?” Phillip asked.

“I can live with that,” B.B. said.

Phillip told the judge there was one last issue, and when they were done working out the details of it, Judge Monn picked up a tape recorder and immortalized the terms of the settlement. When she said they were adjourned, they started shaking hands and saying good-bye.

B.B. asked Phillip if he would come over to her house sometime to teach her juggling, since she was still probably going to take dodgeball in gym class, and Coach said it would be okay. Judge Monn gave Phillip a big hug and thanked him for having such a comfortable lap.

Mr. Nerp told Phillip he ought to consider a career in the law. Mr. Terry and Ms. Jones, and even Mr. Dinkle, agreed and said if he ever needed a recommendation to get into law school he should call their firm.

Hardest of all was shaking hands with Sam, because trying to tell him how much he had helped made Phillip stumble over the words.

“Don’t thank me,” said Sam. “You’re the one who did it.”

“But you believed in me,” said Phillip. “Even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

“That’s what friends are for,” said Sam. “Remember our deal?”

“Anytime you need someone to share your problems with, you come see me,” Phillip said.

“That’s right. And anytime you need me, I’ll be there for you. It all evens out in the end.”

He extended his hand and Phillip shook it for a long time. The whole thing was terribly serious until the group wandered out into the hallway, and Phillip’s dad heard the good news.

“Put it there, son,” Leo said. Phillip shook without thinking.

Bzzzzz
. His dad’s buzzer made Phillip’s whole hand tingle.

They all laughed—even Phillip. Not because he thought the gag was funny. Phillip laughed because it felt good having his circus dad and his legal friends share a joke.

The real world is like a dodgeball game, Phillip realized. A place where, as his dad said, it’s better to have your eye on the ball than a ball in your eye. Some people scramble to survive, others fight to win. If Phillip became a lawyer when he grew up, he could help people learn to get along and play by the rules.

At the same time, Phillip didn’t want to give up his circus life entirely. He actually missed the circus. Not the banana-cream pies. But lots of other things, like hearing the relief of
a crowd when an acrobat makes it safely to a platform and watching the quiet dignity of Bartholemew the Giant when he rides on Einstein the elephant. The circus was still a part of him, and it always would be.

He wouldn’t just become a lawyer, he would become a circus-law lawyer.

But how would he tell his dad? After all, becoming a circus-law lawyer wasn’t exactly a regular thing to do, and he had made such a fuss about wanting to be a regular kid. Wasn’t that why his mom had sent him to live in Hardingtown to begin with?

“Regular?” asked Leo as he and Phillip waited for Aunt Veola to bring her car around. “Is there such a thing?” Phillip expected his dad to toot his horn or spin his bow tie, but he didn’t. He was serious.

“I know about the Dodgeball Cheerleader Fiasco,” Phillip said. “Sam told me.”

“Did he tell you what happened after the fiasco?”

Phillip shook his head.

“Your mother ran away from Hardingtown that day,” said Leo. “Ran away because she felt she didn’t fit in. Really, she was trying to run away from herself, because she didn’t think she would ever fit in anywhere. I’m not sure how she got the circus ticket and ended up at the afternoon matinee in Kansas City the next week. She was still upset about what Stinky did. When one of the clowns threw a bucket of confetti on her, she got so mad she chased him around the ring.”

“Did she catch him?” Phillip asked.

“Almost,” said Leo. “He jumped into the tiger cage for protection. The audience thought it was part of the show. They loved it. When Matilda realized they were clapping for her,
she took a bow. The Windy Van Hooten Circus signed her to a contract before the third act, and she was learning how to juggle flaming arrows the next day. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”

Phillip felt his eyes tearing up. He was proud of his mom for having the courage to find her place in the world. Leo used his sleeve to wipe his own eyes. The greasepaint left a white streak on his costume. They stood in silence, faces to the wind.

“Maybe that’s what I was doing,” Phillip said finally. “When I wanted to get away from the circus. Trying to run away from myself.”

Leo smiled. “I thought maybe you were trying to run away from me.” He slapped his hand against his rump protector and gave off a loud
toot
. Then he got serious again. “All those years I wasted trying to find a circus act you could do to make you great,” Leo said. “I was a fool. You’ve been stupendous since the day you were born.”

Phillip grabbed Leo and hugged him with all his might. Leo squeezed him back, ferociously, more like a lion tamer than a clown. They didn’t stop hugging until they heard Aunt Veola’s horn.

“One more thing,” said Leo right before they got in the car. He motioned for Phillip to lean in close. Then he squirted him in the nose with his water-flower pin.

“Gotcha!” his dad said. He hit the button on his neck strap, and his bow tie spun.

M
ost people have heard the expression “Elephants never forget,” but exactly what is it that an elephant needs to remember?

The next morning, when Phillip rolled over in his bed at Aunt Veola’s house, he was awakened to the sound of his cheek hitting a whoopee cushion. A note on it said, “Come down for a breakfast surprise.” Phillip crept down the stairs slowly, listening carefully for the low growl of bears or tigers. The smell of fried bacon drifted from the kitchen.

“He’s going to be late for school if he doesn’t get up soon,” he heard Aunt Veola say.

“Give him five more minutes,” said a softer voice.

Phillip tripped down the last three steps and landed in a heap at the bottom. That voice! Could it be?