Philip Gets Even (9781597050807)

Philip Felton and Emery Wyatt, fourth grade
classmates, enter a neighborhood art contest. With the help of an
artistic elderly neighbor, Mr. Conway, they create a painting
titled “Everyday Things,” a portrayal of common, everyday objects
painted in various positions on the canvas.

On the day of the judging the boys find their
painting, along with a few others, in a back room of the gallery.
They accidentally destroy the art project of the toughest boy in
their school, sixth-grader Johnny Visco. When the mistake is
discovered, the contest is cancelled. Philip and Emery are in
disgrace and Johnny Visco is angry.

From here the story details the revenge
Johnny Visco takes by getting the two boys who destroyed his art
project into tons of trouble in school.

When Johnny Visco’s attacks show no sign of
stopping, Philip, Emery and Mr. Conway concoct a plan that finally
puts Johnny Visco in his place and prevents him from tormenting the
boys any more.

by

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Young Adult Novel

Edited by: Robbin Major

Copy Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Senior Editor: Robbin Major

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Vin Tartamella

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in
this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
publisher.

Wings ePress Books

http://www.wings-press.com

Copyright © 2007 by John Paulits

ISBN 978-1-59088-080-6

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at
Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

March 2007

Wings ePress Inc.

403 Wallace Court

Richmond, KY 40475

For Uncle Ed

It all began when the Agora Gallery of Fine
Art opened at the mall. Philip Felton and Emery Wyatt were fourth
grade classmates at the Donovan Elementary School, which had just
gotten a new art teacher that year. Somehow their class got
scheduled for art three periods a week, more than any other class.
Ever since September, the two best friends had been painting,
cutting, pasting, drawing, coloring and making collages more than
they ever had in their lives. For the most part, it was fun. Not as
much fun as having three gym periods a week, but better than
sitting, bored, in the classroom.

When, on one Saturday morning in late March,
Philip’s father had to go to the mall to get some office supplies,
Philip and Emery went with him. Each boy had saved a few quarters
and planned to spend them on the video games at the arcade on the
second floor of the mall.

“Want to go see that new art gallery?” Emery
asked as the two boys left the arcade, poorer but satisfied they’d
spent their money well.

That stopped Philip in his tracks. “What
for?” he asked, frowning. “Don’t we get enough of that at
school?”

Emery shrugged. “We might get homework that
says we have to see some art or something dumb like that. You know
Ms. Trinetti likes to give homework like that. Especially to us
’cause we have her so much.”

Philip nodded. He couldn’t argue that.

Ms. Trinetti was the new, young, chubby,
enthusiastic art teacher, who had long blonde hair and wore sandals
to school every day no matter the weather. She’d told her students
how much she’d liked art when she was their age. How she’d won
prizes in high school with her paintings. How she’d studied art in
college for four years. How she’d studied art in graduate school
for another two years. Both Philip and Emery were unsettled hearing
how much school lay ahead even after fourth grade was over.

“If she does, then we can say we were already
in an art gallery. We won’t have to do anything.”

Philip nodded. Emery’s idea made some sense.
“You know where it is?”

“Down the end,” and Emery pointed.

The Agora Gallery of Fine Art was the size of
two stores. Philip remembered that a sneaker store had once been in
the end spot. What the other store had been, he couldn’t
recall.

The walls of the gallery were bright white
and covered with paintings. The room smelled new. When they
entered, a pretty, young, Asian woman smiled at them. The woman had
long black hair pulled into a ponytail and was seated behind a
white plastic counter on their right. “Come to take a look around,
boys? If you have any questions, my name is Tracy.”

Emery and Philip nodded and smiled in
return.

“Be sure to take one of our contest flyers
when you leave,” and she tapped a pile of red papers.

Philip and Emery walked up to the first
painting on the wall opposite Tracy.

The painting was a square, two feet on a
side, enclosed in a shiny, black plastic frame. Emery and Philip
stared.

“What’s it look like to you?” Philip said
thoughtfully.

Emery studied it. “It looks like feet,” he
said.

Footprints of different sizes and colors
pointed in all directions. Any space that wasn’t covered by a
footprint was filled with either small bluebirds or small red
devils. And any space that wasn’t covered with footprints, birds,
or devils was painted green.

“Yeah, to me, too,” said Philip. “Why would
anybody paint feet?”

Emery turned to Philip and smiled. “Maybe
somebody ‘toed’ the artist to.”

Philip gave a snort of laughter and looked
over his shoulder. Sure enough, Tracy had heard them and was coming
their way, holding a piece of yellow paper in her hand.

“Everything all right, boys?” She smiled.

Both Philip and Emery nodded, pressing their
lips together tightly, trying not to laugh.

“Here, you can read about this painting and
this artist.” She handed Philip the yellow paper and went back to
her seat.

Philip and Emery turned their backs to her
and faced the painting.

“What’s it called?” Emery asked.

There was a number one on the head of a small
tack stuck into the wall next to the painting, so Philip matched
that number one with the number one on the sheet Tracy had given
him.

“It’s called,
Journey Through Life
.
Emery, you know how much this thing costs!”

“Ten dollars?”

Philip gave him a look. “Pfft. Try three
thousand five hundred dollars.”

“Three thousand five hundred dollars! For
colored feet?”

The boys looked at the painting with a new
appreciation.

Emery took the paper from Philip and studied
it. Then he turned and walked over to Tracy.

“Did anybody buy that feet painting?” he
asked.

“Not yet,” Tracy said raising her eyebrows.
“Interested?”

Emery shook his head hard and walked back to
the painting.

Suddenly, Philip grabbed the paper back from
Emery.

“Look at this!” he said. At the top of the
page were the words: ARTIST:
Olivia Trinetti
.

“Ms. Trinetti?”

“Must be. Yeah, it says here she’s a teacher
and everything.”

“Wow,” said Emery. “Ms. Trinetti paints feet
when she’s not in school.”

That sounded so silly both boys started
laughing again.

“Shhh,” said Philip. “That lady’ll hear
us.”

They controlled themselves and moved to the
next painting.

“Did she paint this one, too?” Emery
asked.

“Yeah. She painted ‘one,’ ‘two,’ ‘three,’ and
‘four.’”

The boys studied painting number ‘two.’ This
time instead of feet, bananas covered the canvas. Bananas of every
possible color. Except yellow. The background of the painting was
yellow.

“What’s this called?” Emery asked. “
The
Bananas of Life?
”

They snorted with laughter again.

“It’s called
The Possibilities of
Life
,” said Philip.

“I find it quite a-peel-ing,” said Emery.
Philip and Emery looked at each other and started laughing again.
When they realized the noise they made, they squeezed their lips
tightly together and moved on.

The third painting was on the other side of a
wall that shielded them from Tracy’s view, and they were glad for
the protection.

“Feet and bananas,” said Emery with a shake
of his head. They looked at painting number ‘three’ and started
laughing again.

This painting was of nothing but eyes. Big
eyes, small eyes. Eyes of every color against a background of
red.

By now the boys couldn’t stop laughing.
Having to laugh without making any noise only made them laugh
harder. Through teary eyes Philip looked at the paper for the title
of the painting.

In a sputtering whisper he said, “
The
Vision of Life
.” “‘Eye’ guess that’s a good name,” said Emery,
pulling down the skin under his left eye. In between breaths of
laughter, he added, “Too bad she couldn’t put everything into one
painting. The eyes could watch the feet squish the bananas.”

“Stop it,” laughed Philip. His sides were
starting to hurt.

The boys peeked at the fourth painting and
had to turn away.

When they thought they could handle it, they
turned back to the painting. They burst into giggles again and
struggled hard to stay quiet.

The fourth painting was covered with dancing
pickles. Green pickles with tiny legs and eyes, but no arms. And
each pickle wore a hat of a different shape and color, and each hat
had a colorful feather in it. The background of this painting was
orange.

Gasping for breath, the boys looked at the
paper to find the title of the painting.

“
The Joy of Life,”
said Philip, hardly
able to speak.

“Yeah,” Emery sputtered. “If you like
gherkins.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Philip, who
knew he couldn’t stand laughing silently much longer without either
hurting himself or screaming out loud.

The boys turned their backs on the paintings
and breathed in and out.

After a minute Philip said, “Are you
okay?”

Emery took a deep breath. “I think so.”

Philip opened and closed his mouth a few
times because it was hurting back near his ears from laughing so
much.

They calmly walked out from behind the wall
toward Tracy’s desk.

“Enjoy the paintings, boys?” Tracy
smiled.

Both boys nodded, not trusting themselves to
speak.

“Don’t forget this paper,” and Tracy handed
them one of the red papers.

Emery grabbed it and followed Philip back
into the mall.

From the back seat, as they drove home, the
boys told Philip’s dad about their trip to the art gallery.

Philip’s father listened and then asked, “How
do you know your art teacher painted those paintings?”

“It says so on this paper the lady gave us,”
said Philip. “Her name is right up top.”

“What else does it say about her?”

Philip read. “Ms. Trinetti’s work
ex-em-pli-fies...” Philip smiled when his father did not correct
him. “...the Neo-Classic approach to Post-Modernism. Her...” Philip
paused and spelled out the next word. “f-a-c-i-l-e.”

“Facile,” his father pronounced. “It means
sort of easy and relaxed.”

“The dancing pickles looked relaxed, all
right,” said Emery, and he and Philip leaned into each other,
laughing.

Philip continued. “Her facile use of comedy
and tragedy underlines perfectly the d-i-c-h-o-t-o-m-y.”

“Dichotomy,” said Philip’s father. “It means
a split.”

“Yeah, a banana split,” said Emery, and the
boys dissolved into laughter again.

Finally, Philip read on. “...dichotomy
between the yin and the yang of life’s struggle.” Philip looked up.
“What does
that
mean?”

“Mmmm, read a little more,” his father
suggested.

“She elevates and ex-pli-cates...?”

“That means explains.”

“She elevates and explicates the crash and
fall of the or-gan-ic and the inorganic in the flows and eddies of
existence. Dad, what is this talking about?”