Left Out (13 page)

Landon woke early the next morning. He packed and repacked his Nike duffel bag with a fresh change of clothes, bathing suit, goggles, and towel, wanting everything to be just right, to look just right. He modeled three different bathing suits in his bathroom mirror and ended up going with the black knee-length one that had a narrow orange stripe down the side. The others, he decided, made his gut look too big.

He was ready to go by eight. His dad had pancakes going before his mom wandered down in her robe, bleary-eyed and feeling her way around the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Genevieve appeared in a soccer uniform with her wild hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and a headband.

“You got a game?” Landon asked.

“Yup.” Genevieve scanned her phone with a blank face. “That's how it works.”

Their mom set her coffee cup down with a sharp sound. “What's that supposed to mean, young lady?”

Landon stabbed a pancake but dragged it back and forth across the puddle of syrup instead of shoveling it into his mouth. He wondered how much Genevieve was going to say.

“Just getting my game face on,” Genevieve said with the same blank stare at their mom.

Landon stuffed the forkful of pancake into his mouth.

“Hmm.” Their mom sat down and raised the coffee with both hands, closing her eyes to inhale the steam, before turning her head toward the stove. “Well, Forrest, we should go to the game.”

“Right.” Their dad raised a spatula without turning around. “Should be on the family calendar.”

“I was hoping I wouldn't have to look at any calendar today,” she said with a sigh.

Their father brought another plate of pancakes to the table and sat down beside their mom. “You don't. Just leave everything to me.”

Their mom smiled and then turned her attention back to Genevieve. “How's the social media looking?”

Genevieve put her phone down on the placemat and picked up her knife. “Not too bad, actually. Looks like you did your magic.”

Their mom fought back a smile. “Good.”

“I just hope it's not like the French aristocracy.” His sister busied herself with the syrup.

“Meaning?” their mom asked.

“We all know how that ended.” Genevieve looked at their mom with a false smile. “The guillotine.”

The knife dropped with a clank, and the top of her banana skittered into the puddle of syrup.

“That's an entirely different story.” Their mom took a swig of coffee and set it down hard again.

Genevieve only shrugged and dove into her pancakes.

Landon tried not to think about it, but as he waited for eleven o'clock to roll around, he found himself touching his own neck as he sat in his favorite chair to read. At quarter till the hour, Landon gave up his book and positioned himself in the front window.

Finally, at 11:04, Brett and his family pulled into the driveway. Landon grabbed his bag and scrambled toward the garage. “I'm going.”

His mom cut him off and straightened the collar of his bright blue polo shirt. “Mind your manners.”

“I will.” Landon felt his mom right behind him and he turned to see what was up.

“I'm coming out, to say hello to Courtney,” she said. Before they got through the garage, she tapped his shoulder again. “Make sure you keep your ears dry—remember, wrap them good in a towel someplace out of the way, and tell everyone you won't be able to hear when you're swimming.”

He was too excited to care what she said, and he just kept going.

Brett's mom got out of the big Suburban and circled around to say hello. She stood nearly a foot taller than Landon's mom, and Landon was surprised to see that she had no hair on her head, not even any eyebrows. If Landon's mom noticed, she didn't show it. The two women shook hands before Landon's
mom pulled Brett's mom into a hug. “Courtney Wagner, you're my type of gal.”

Brett's mom blushed down at Landon's mom, but she seemed pleased. “Well, Brett says Landon is a very nice boy, and we like nice boys.”

“He is.” Landon's mom gave Brett's mom's hand a squeeze.

Brett's mom pointed to her hairless scalp. “With all my treatments, we've been going through a lot, so we know what it is to look a little different, and it's always nice when people don't care.”

Landon's mom beamed. “You're wonderful. Thank you again.”

Landon had stopped before getting into the SUV to keep an eye on his mom because he was afraid she was going to start giving Brett's mom instructions on his ears, but she didn't. He gave her a final wave and climbed in next to Brett. In the third row of seats, two twin girls who looked to be kindergarten age wore fluffy, blue bunny ears and were focused on the iPad on the seat between them. Kiddie music jangled and the two of them looked at each other and laughed before staring down again.

“My sisters,” Brett said. “Don't worry about them. One's Susie, the other's Sally, and even I have a hard time telling them apart.”

“Hi, Landon.” Coach Bell reached around from the front seat to shake Landon's hand as Brett's mom got in.

“Hi, Coach,” Landon said. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Brett's mom turned around in the passenger seat and looked directly at him. He liked what she'd said about looking
different, and he was careful not to stare at her missing eyebrows or hair and to look her in the eyes when she spoke.

“It's our pleasure to have you, Landon.”

Landon gave her a nod and then watched his mom wave as they pulled out of the driveway. He breathed a sigh of relief when she finally disappeared from sight.

Brett tapped Landon's chest. “Know who's gonna be there?”

“Well, you said Eli and Rashad . . .”

Brett trembled with delight. “Yup, them too, but can you guess who
else
?”

Landon shook his head. “Who?”

“Michael Bamiro.” Brett spread his arms as wide as the inside of the SUV would allow him. “Biggest guy on the team and one of the top five big guys in the
whole
NFL.”

“Wow,” Landon said. “How big?”

Brett nodded, evidently glad to see Landon's enthusiasm. “Six foot eight. Three hundred and forty-five pounds. How about that?”

“Man . . .” Landon shook his head and then raised his eyebrows. “Did I tell you my dad is six-ten?”

“I've seen him.” Brett's eyes sparkled. He directed his voice toward the front. “Dad, did you know Landon's dad is six-ten?”

Landon could see Coach Bell shaking his head, but he wasn't sure what he said in response. Landon thought it was, “That's tall.” But he couldn't be sure.

“Hey,” Brett said, nodding at the duffel bag on Landon's lap. “You bring your phone?”

“Yes.” Landon got it out and showed him.

“You do
Clash of Clans
?”

“No.”

“You want to? You should. You can be in my clan. Here, I'll set it up. It's free!” Brett took the phone from Landon and got to work.

Landon felt like he was floating as Brett leaned toward him, showing him how to get things set up and then showing him his own phone. “I've got a Town Hall 8, but I've been doing it for over a year. It takes time, but you can be in a clan and still get matched up to battle guys your own strength level.”

They spent the rest of the trip with Brett schooling him on
Clash of Clans.
A couple of times, with all the talk of castles and dragons and archers, Landon felt like he had an opening to tell Brett about his father's book, but he kept quiet because he didn't want to ruin anything. And, as they pulled up the long, curving driveway and into the circle in front of Brett's uncle's gigantic house, Landon told himself to keep as quiet as he could about everything. He needed to just get through the day without botching things up. Building a friendship with Brett would be even more spectacular than creating a clan war base, but he sensed it was similar in that he'd have to do it one block at a time, with great care and patience.

They parked among a parade of glittering automobiles and walked through the house out to the backyard without even knocking. Each of Brett's parents held the hand of a twin. Brett
and Landon followed behind out onto the sunlit terrace, where two large tents stood on either side of the pool to protect the colorful buffet tables laid out there. The party was already in full swing with people in shorts and bathing suits everywhere in and around the big pool. Landon not only heard but felt the thumping of music from the outdoor sound system. Several men—players, by the look of their muscles—welcomed the Bell family like old friends.

They kissed Brett's mom on the cheek, smiling at her as if she wasn't sick at all.

Then one of the players who had a beer bottle in his hand turned suddenly on Landon, laughed, and asked cheerfully, “Hey, my man? What the heck are those things?”

It seemed like the whole party suddenly stopped so everyone could stare at Landon. Just like that, his plan of keeping a low profile was destroyed.

Brett's mom gave the player an angry look and said, “Jonathan
Wagner
, what's wrong with you?”

Landon realized that the player standing in front of him was Brett's uncle. He couldn't break out in tears. He couldn't hide his face.

He had to say something.

He just had no idea what.

“I'm . . .” Landon's mind went blank.

Brett and the others looked stunned.

Landon suddenly turned and dashed back into the house without knowing what he was doing or where he was going. He passed through a great room with a TV the size of a wall and down a hallway that he thought led to the front entrance. He found himself in a huge library, reversed his course, saw a staircase, reversed again, and ducked into a marble-floored bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

He was huffing to catch his breath, and he looked at the pain on his face in the mirror. His fingers crept over his ears, caressed the battery packs, and slid along the wires to the discs magnetically stuck to the implants beneath his scalp. He should have worn his cap. He had been planning to, but the thought of walking into a New York Giants players' cookout with a
Cleveland Browns cap didn't seem right. He wanted to remove his ears—just stash the equipment in his bag and look like a normal kid—but he knew he couldn't. He'd be too cut off if he did.

He stood there for a while. Time seemed to have frozen. He jumped at the sudden sound of a knock on the bathroom door and turned the water faucet on to make it sound like he actually needed to be in there. “Just a minute.”

“Landon?” It was a voice Landon didn't recognize, but he was shouting through the door and Landon thought he understood. “Hey, my man, it's Jonathan, Brett's uncle. You all right?”

Landon gathered himself and opened the door. “I just had to use the . . .”

“Hey, my man.” Jonathan wore a sad face. Behind him stood Brett's dad.

Jonathan Wagner put his hands on Landon's shoulders. “I am way sorry. Listen, I did
not
mean to insult you or upset you. No way, my man. You gotta believe me.”

“It's okay.” Landon wanted to melt.

Coach Bell stepped forward and asked, “Landon, are you all right to stay?”

Landon nodded. “Yes.”

“For sure,” Jonathan said. “Come on, my man. I'm personally dressing up a couple dogs for you. What do you like? Ketchup? Mustard? Chili? How about a chili dog?”

“It's okay.” Landon looked down at his sneakers. “I'm fine. Really. I just had to wash my hands.”

“Landon, my sister told me your gear there is so you can
hear
,” Jonathan said. “I had no idea they could do something
like that, implants and all. So, think about it, you're, like, bionic. In a good way. Hey, I am too. I got this plate in my arm here.”

Jonathan presented a tattooed forearm split down the middle with a shiny scar and laughed. “Sets off metal detectors in the airport. I know about hardware, my man. It's all good, right? Are you sure you're okay?”

Landon could only nod. He appreciated Jonathan feeling bad and letting Landon know that he meant no harm. He could hear his father's voice. “Forgive and forget, Landon. Forgive and forget.”

But in truth, he was horrified that there had been a scene, and he didn't want to go back into the crowd.

“Hey, you gotta come on out because you know who I'm going to introduce you to?” Jonathan said.

Landon shook his head.

“You like Eli Manning?”

Landon nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

“Hey,” Coach Bell said. “That's a great idea.”

“Sure, everyone likes Eli. Come on.” Jonathan turned, saw Landon hesitate, and took hold of his arm. “My man, you're not just gonna meet him. I'm taking a pic you can post on whatever you're into and all the kids at your school are gonna freak. Come on, now. You don't want to hurt Eli's feelings by not wanting to meet him.”

Landon let himself be led because how could he resist? Jonathan was built like a battleship, with bulging biceps pushing the sleeves of his polo shirt against cannonball shoulders. Tattoos covered his arms—green, black, and orange, with all
kinds of designs and pictures. It reminded Landon of a graffiti-covered brick wall. As he was hauled back out into the crowd, all Landon saw were smiles.

“We worked it out, Courtney.” Jonathan motioned for his sister to follow them and then turned to Landon. “My sister's a tough cookie.”

Landon laughed. “So is Brett. He's the best player on our team.”

Brett and his mom gave Landon thumbs-up and followed with Brett's little sisters in tow.

The crowd parted by the diving board next to the second tent, and there he was: Eli Manning. Landon felt his heart double-clutch. Manning had a can of grape soda in his hand and was talking to a player who could only be Michael Bamiro. The Giants lineman was nearly as tall as Landon's dad, only his chest was twice as wide and his legs were like tree trunks. Stylish black-framed glasses and a shaved head gave him a studious look.

Both men turned their dark brown eyes on Landon and both smiled like he was some long-lost friend.