Philip Gets Even (9781597050807) Read Free Page A

feet, they’ll love Everyday
Things. Think of the possibilities!”
    “There were no pig’s feet,” said
Emery. “Just people feet.”
    “Dang, boy. Just an expression. An
expression. Go home tonight and make a list of everything you see,
everything you touch, everything you use, eat, or even think of
today. We’ll fill the canvas with everyday things and call it Everyday Things. Ha! How’s that for nonsense? It’s a winner,
boys. It’s a winner. We’ll have room for feet and bananas, pickles
and pumpernickel.”
    “And pig’s feet!” said Emery.
    “Dang, boy. Now you’ve got the spirit. So, do
you know what you have to do?”
    Both boys nodded.
    “Repeat it to me,” Mr. Conway insisted.
    “We go home,” said Emery in a loud voice,
“and list everything there is to list. From pickles and
pumpernickel to popcorn and pig’s feet.”
    “That’s the way to think!” said Mr. Conway,
punching the air, then rising slowly from his chair. He led them to
the front door, talking all the way, and bid them farewell.
    Going down Mr. Conway’s front path, Philip
turned to Emery. “From pickles and pumpernickel to popcorn and
pig’s feet?”
    “Dang, boy. Just an expression,” Emery said
in an old man’s voice. That started the two boys laughing. “Well
give ’em nonsense. We’ll lay ’em low; have ’em begging for mercy,”
he said in the same voice, repeating Mr. Conway’s farewell words to
them.
    When the boys calmed down, Philip said,
“Well, shall we do what he says?”
    “Why not? We don’t know anything about
art.”
    “Don’t let Ms. Trinetti hear you say that,”
Philip laughed.
    “Start the list,” called Emery. “Leaves,
trees, cars...”
    “...sidewalks, houses, and heavy coats,”
Philip cried. Then at the top of his voice he called, “And pickles
and pumpernickel.”
    “And popcorn and pig’s feet,” Emery added in
a shout.
    The boys started laughing and didn’t stop
until they reached home.
     
     

 
     
     
     
Four
    Ms. Trinetti ended art class ten minutes
early that Monday. It was Philip and Emery’s final class of the
day. When Ms. Trinetti dismissed them, they planned to go to Mr.
Conway’s house to show him the list of “everyday things” they’d
come up with. Philip had listed thirty-nine items. Emery had come
up with thirty-seven. During lunch time they’d eliminated any
duplication, and during math class that afternoon, when he was
supposed to be doing page seventy-four in the text book, Philip
recopied the two lists into one.
    Ms. Trinetti, wearing a loose-fitting pink
dress covered with flowers, stood in front of the room holding a
small stack of red papers. When everyone was quiet and ready, she
passed them out.
    “It’s the art gallery contest,” Philip
whispered to Emery, getting a peek at the paper as it came down the
aisle toward him.
    “We’ve spent a great deal of time together
this year,” Ms. Trinetti was saying. “And now you can put what
you’ve learned into practice. Take a moment to read over the paper.
You can all read. I don’t have to read it to you.”
    After an appropriate time, Ms. Trinetti went
on. “By a week from this Friday, everyone who wishes to enter the
contest will give me a piece of art. Your own work. Anything you
like. There are no limits; reach for the sky.”
    Albert, a thin boy with messy hair, raised
his hand.
    “Are you reaching for the sky, Albert?” Ms.
Trinetti knew what was coming and sighed.
    “Can we work with partners?”
    Albert always asked whether he could work
with a partner. By himself he never knew what to do or even how to
get started on anything. And working alone and uncertain made
Albert so nervous that he would either cry or spend an hour in the
bathroom.
    “Yes, Albert, yes. You may have a
partner.”
    Philip thought Ms. Trinetti said “you” louder
than she had to.
    Albert gave a relieved smile and rearranged
himself comfortably in his seat to listen further.
    “Now, the work must be