Philip and the Angel (9781452416144) (2 page)

“
Did you just think up that
plan?”
Impressive
, Philip
thought.

Angel shrugged. “I’d like a pet, too, but my
parents think I’m too sick to have one. They think a pet will make
me sicker. They have a long list of reasons. It’s a plan I thought
up for myself, but I can’t use it. I’m stuck in the house all the
time. So I give it to you. No charge.”

“
I’ll try it. I’m going to try it.
Thanks, Angel.” Philip turned and started away.

“
Good luck,” Angel called after him.
More quietly she said, “You’re going to need it.”

Philip ran toward home. He had plans to
make.

Chapter Three

Philip went straight to the kitchen. He
didn’t hear a sound in the house, not even a peep from Becky, his
baby sister, so he went to the refrigerator and opened the door.
They hadn’t eaten all of the spaghetti and meatballs his mother
cooked the night before, and he saw six meatballs sitting in a bowl
of tomato sauce. He reached into the tomato sauce and took three
meatballs. He shook the meatballs over the bowl to get off as much
sauce as he could, then he moved to the kitchen sink to rinse the
rest of the sauce off the meatballs. Next, he ripped a paper towel
from the roll which hung alongside the sink. He put the towel on
the kitchen table and put the meatballs on top of it so they could
dry off.

What else can I use?
he wondered. He pulled open the refrigerator door again and
searched.
Lunchmeat! Sliced turkey.
He took the slices of turkey to the kitchen table and put
them next to the meatballs. He wondered how many he could take
without his mother asking questions.

“
Are you hungry, Philip?”

“
Mom! Uh, yeah, I’m making a
sandwich.”

“
Don’t you think you’ll need some
bread?”

“
Bread? Yeah, bread. I need bread.” He
went to the bread box on the counter next to the refrigerator and
grabbed a loaf of bread.

“
A cinnamon twirl turkey sandwich?” His
mother eyed him suspiciously.

Philip looked at the bread he’d taken.
Cinnamon bread, his father’s favorite breakfast.

Philip felt his face redden as he
returned the bread to the bread box and took out the white bread
his mother knew
he
liked.

“
And what kind of sandwich are you
making?”

Philip saw his mother looking at the
meatballs and turkey slices. She had a funny look on her face.
Those little lines that appeared above her nose right before she
started in with a million questions were getting deeper by the
second.

“
It’s a new sandwich. Emery told me
about it. A turkey-meatball layer cake sandwich.”

“
Turkey-meatball layer cake
sandwich?”

Philip knew danger loomed when his mother
repeated what he said.

“
Yeah, it’s supposed to be
good.”

“
It’s supposed to be good?”

Uh oh. Twice. But her nose lines were going
away.

“
I’m going to make it now and try it.
I’ll clean up. Don’t worry.”

His mother took a deep breath and shook her
head.

“
Make sure you do. I have to stop over
Mrs. Moriarty’s for a few minutes. I don’t want to see a mess here
when I come back.”

“
Don’t worry, Mom. There won’t
be.”

His mother walked out of the kitchen, and
Philip sighed with relief. He unwrapped the turkey and took out
four slices. He re-wrapped the turkey and thought about the bread.
It was a new, unopened loaf. His mother might notice if he hadn’t
taken any bread for his sandwich. He opened the plastic bag, moved
the heel of the bread out of the way, and took the first two
slices. Where could he put them so his mother wouldn’t notice? Then
Philip realized he felt a little hungry. He pulled off the crust
from the two pieces of bread—that wouldn’t make his mother
suspicious because he always did that—and tossed the crust into the
trash. He squashed up the two pieces of white bread into the
tightest balls he could and shoved both of them into his mouth.

Before he could start wrapping the meatballs
and turkey in the paper towel, he heard, “Hey, Flipper. Whatcha
doin’? Lunchtime?”

His father walked into the kitchen, Becky in
one arm. The baby made some funny noises and put her hand on her
father’s mouth. Mr. Felton turned his head to get the baby’s hand
out of his mouth.

“
What are you making?”

Philip answered with his mouth still full of
bread. “I’m maggin samdge.”

“
You’re what?”

“
Samdge. Samdge. Maggin samdge.” He
chewed as fast as he could. “Samdge.” He lifted the loaf of bread
to show his father.

“
Oh, sandwich.”

Philip nodded and swallowed.
Pshew.

Philip and his father stood looking at each
other.

“
Well?” his father said. “Make your
sandwich. Or as they say in the Donovan Elementary School,
‘samdge.’”

Philip had no choice. As his father bounced
the baby, Philip stuck two of the meatballs between two slices of
bread. He looked up. His father still eyed him.

“
Aren’t you going to put anything else
on your sandwich?”

Philip shook his head.

“
What’s the turkey for?”

“
Uh, in case I’m still hungry after I
eat this sandwich then I can make a turkey sandwich.”

“
Oh. You leave nothing to chance, I
see.” His father bounced the baby some more.

Philip and his father looked at each other
again. Mr. Felton smiled at his son absent-mindedly as he switched
the baby to his other arm.

Philip bit into his sandwich, careful to get
bread only. He didn’t want to waste the meatballs.

“
All right. All right.” Philip’s father
said this to Becky. “I’ll take you. How can someone who doesn’t
talk be so clear in her requests? I should never have let her know
there were such things as playgrounds.”

Philip swallowed a second mouthful of bread.
“Bye. Go have a good time, Dad.”

“
Tell your mom I went to the
park.”

“
I will. Bye. Bye now. Bye.”

“
Good-bye already.” His father left the
room.

Philip breathed a deep sigh of relief. Now,
maybe, he could get on with his plan. He wrapped up the meatballs
and turkey slices, but as he lifted the package, one of the
meatballs rolled out and fell on the floor. He picked it up and
tried again, but no matter how many times he wrapped his package,
he couldn’t get the third meatball to stay put. He shoved the
runaway meatball into his pants pocket and put the bread back into
the bread box. The table looked clean so he picked up his package
and headed to the door. As he left his house and walked toward
Angel’s house, Philip shook his head. He never knew getting a dog
could be so much work!

Chapter Four

Behind Angel’s house lay an open,
grassy backyard, some bushes, and the backyard of the house on the
next street over.
The stray dog Angel saw
must run around between all of the backyards
, Philip
thought. Philip stood next to the tree separating Angel’s yard from
her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Beebe’s, yard. He inspected all of the
windows in Angel’s house, hoping to see her at one, but she wasn’t
there. What should he do now? The dog could be anywhere.

“
Woof,” went Philip. “Woof. Woof.”
Philip listened for an answer but got none. Philip barked in a
louder voice. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

“
Well, hello little doggie.” Mrs.
Beebe, an older gray-haired woman, who lived alone, stood on her
back porch staring at him. She had a blue bandanna on her hair and
gardening tools in one hand. “Would the doggie like to be
petted?”

Philip felt ridiculous. It was the first time
he’d ever been caught barking like a dog.

“
I was just . . . trying something,”
Philip stammered.

“
Was the doggie asking for a bone?” the
old woman cackled.

“
No, no. I was . . . I gotta go.”
Philip hurried across the backyard and went out to the
sidewalk.
Was the doggie asking for a
bone?
Philip repeated. He felt so stupid. With Mrs.
Beebe digging in her garden, he wouldn’t be able to get the dog
even if it showed up. He decided to hide the food he’d taken and
try again tomorrow.

But the next day, Sunday, his parents took
him to the mall to get new sneakers for the summer. Then they went
to the Chinese restaurant, Hong Fat’s Wok, to eat. After dinner, he
settled down to do his homework for Monday. He thought he might try
to sneak out for a while afterwards, but his mother called him into
the laundry room. When he got there, he saw she had those lines
above her nose again.

“
Philip, what is this . . .? Ugh! What
is this . . . stuff in your pants pocket?”

The runaway meatball! He’d forgotten he’d
stuffed it into his pocket yesterday.

“
It looks like ground meat. Did you put
meat in your pocket?”

“
Oh, yeah. I forgot. I put a meatball
in my pocket. In case I got hungry. You know. Like later, after my
sandwich.”

“
You put a meatball into your pocket?”
his mother repeated in astonishment.

“
Just one.”

“
Just one,” his mother repeated.
“Philip, would you like to put your hand into this pocket and take
out what you put in there?”

Philip looked at the mess on his mother’s
fingers.

“
No, thank you,” he said
softly.

“
This is . . . how could you . . .?”
Philip’s mother silently shook her head and Philip walked away. It
didn’t seem like a good time to ask to go out.

The next day after school Philip walked by
Angel’s house. Emery had to go home to walk his dog. He didn’t want
to talk to Emery anyway after spending half his lunch period trying
to make up a story to explain to Emery why he only ate the bread
and not the meat from his ham sandwich. Angel was nowhere in sight,
so Philip walked around her house and into the wide space of
backyards. There, as if by magic, stood the dog Angel had
described, sniffing in an open garbage can, three houses down.
Philip tossed his school bag off his shoulder and scuffled around
inside until he found his supply of meat and the short rope and
noose he’d prepared. He walked slowly toward the dog. When he got
one house away from the rooting dog, the dog looked his way.

“
Meat,” Philip whispered. “Meatballs,
turkey and ham. Want some?”

The dog twisted its head and studied Philip.
Philip tossed one of the meatballs gently toward the dog. The dog
watched the meatball roll to a stop. It took the few steps needed
to reach the meatball, then bent down and sniffed at it. Slurp! The
meatball disappeared. The dog looked expectantly at Philip.

“
Come here.” Philip held the other
meatball between his fingers. The dog walked over and sniffed it.
Slurp! Gone. It disappeared so fast into the dog’s mouth that
Philip checked his fingers to make sure he still had
five.

“
I have more,” Philip told the dog. He
rolled up a slice of turkey and broke it in two. The dog ate one
piece, then the other. Philip put a bunch of rolled-up turkey and
ham on the grass. As the dog inspected each one before slurping it
up, Philip got his noose and rope ready. After the dog ate the
third from last piece of ham, it looked up at Philip, and Philip
slipped the noose over the dog’s head.

“
Arolwll!” the dog whelped.

“
Whoa!” screamed Philip.

The dog began running around the backyard
trying to get the rope off its head. Philip held on, tripped, and
slid across the grass on his knees, then his stomach, then his
back.

“
Wait, wait. Here’s more meat,” Philip
yelled at the dog. The dog stopped and shook its head, but the
noose stayed in place. Philip got up. The dog took off again and
jumped over a short fence. Philip went with him and leaped
desperately but caught his knee on the top of the fence and his
pants ripped.

“
Wait a minute, you dumb dog. Hold
it!”

The dog ran through Mrs. Beebe’s newly
watered garden. Philip slipped on the grass and went down among the
daffodils. He could feel the wet dirt moosh through his jeans. The
dog gave a strong yank, and Philip’s right ear splashed into the
mud.

Philip struggled to his feet. One of his
sneakers had come off and his white sock had already turned brown
with mud and started to slide off his foot.

The dog started running again, but running
away from Philip’s house, back through Mrs. Beebe’s yard. Philip
gave a fed-up yank on his rope. The dog went, “Rolwp!” and
stopped.

“
Come this way, dumb dog.” Philip
pulled the dog toward the opening between Mrs. Beebe’s house and
the garage next to it. The dog saw the direction Philip suggested
and ran through the space. Philip felt another strong yank on his
rope, and off he went behind the speeding dog. A nail stuck out of
the garage and Philip’s shirt went
rrriiipppp.
He purposely slid to the ground and
tried to pull the dog to a stop, but he was already on the cement
leading up to the garage.