Left Out Page 4

  “Time travel, of course. You remember the Magic Tree House books, right?” His father picked up the ball and cocked his arm.

  “Sure,” Landon said.

  “More brilliance.” His father didn’t throw the ball but instead looked up at the clouds, contemplating the genius of a tree house for time travel.

  When his father’s eyes remained cast toward the sky, Landon looked up too, expecting to see a cloud in the shape of a dragon or a magic tree house or a castle.

  Then he thought he heard something. A word?

  Was it “catch”?

  Landon looked toward his father the instant before the football hit him in the head and he collapsed on the grass.

  11

  Landon’s father was a ghost above him, a blurry and sobbing figure coming into focus. Landon read his lips. “Landon? Landon? Oh, God . . .”

  His father’s fingers scampered over his face and the right earpiece and the magnetic disc that had been knocked loose. “Landon? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .”

  Landon opened his mouth to say he was just fine. Nothing came out, or maybe it did. His father’s panic and the bad sound and being on the grass disoriented him. One ear wasn’t working, but otherwise, he was more embarrassed than hurt. He tried to get up.

  His father’s hands now pressed him down. “Are you okay? I don’t know if you should move.”

  Landon shook his head and kept trying to sit up. “Dad, let me up. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Okay.” His father nodded, and with his knees buried in the grass, he gently helped Landon into a sitting position.

  Landon felt for the apparatus on the right side of his head. The cochlear was crooked behind his ear. His father gently removed everything, checked it over with a frown, and then dangled the equipment in front of him. “It looks okay. Just unseated it.”

  Landon took it and put it back on.

  “Is it okay?” His father’s eyes were wet, his lips pulled into the frown of a sad clown.

  Landon got everything reconnected and listened. “Say something.”

  His father looked confused. “Uh . . . one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—”

  Landon cut off his counting with a nod and a smile. “Got it. All good, Dad.”

  His father scooped him up like a hundred-and-seventy-pound doll. He hugged him and spun him around before placing him down. “Oh, thank God. I thought I’d hurt you.”

  Landon laughed. “I’m okay. You threw it and I wasn’t looking.”

  “I know. I know. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” His father shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking. I mean, I was thinking—about the book—I mean, I can’t use time travel, right? And then I remembered I was supposed to be throwing to you and my arm just launched it and . . .”

  “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Landon couldn’t stand when his parents fussed over him.

  “Really okay?” his father asked.

  “Good thing you don’t have a very good throwing arm.” Landon smiled and his father mussed his hair.

  “And . . .” His father looked around. “. . . I don’t see any reason why we need to say anything to . . . Well, this is one of those little things you just forget about because they’re so unimportant.”

  “Absolutely.” Landon didn’t want to give his mother another reason to freak out about football. He hadn’t even gotten the pads on yet. When his father’s eyes widened, he turned to see Genevieve staring at them with her hands on her hips. Her frizzy red hair was gathered in a kind of crazed ponytail.

  “What happened?”

  “Playing football,” Landon said.

  “Are you okay?” Genevieve eyed them suspiciously.

  “Great,” his father said. Then his eyes narrowed and he pointed at Genevieve’s hand. “And what is that, young lady?”

  Genevieve didn’t try to hide her nails; instead she splayed the fingers on her free hand to show off the purple paint. “Polish.”

  “I don’t think so.” Their father shook his head. “You do something like that and I’ll catch the blame.”

  Genevieve pointed to her face. “No lipstick. No eyeliner. That’s what you can tell Mom. I will too.”

  Genevieve had the strong-minded look of their mother, and she jutted out her chin. “I can get by without makeup, but you don’t show up at the deli or the park without nail polish. Not in this town anyway.”

  “What do you mean, ‘this town’?” their father asked.

  “Bronxville.” Genevieve tightened her jaw. “This isn’t like Cleveland.”

  Landon looked back and forth between them like it was a Ping-Pong match.

  “Meaning?”

  “Certain things are expected here, Dad.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like nail polish. Tevas instead of Crocs.” Genevieve wiggled her toes at them. “Nothing too crazy, but it’s different. Oh, and Tuckahoe are our mortal enemies.”

  “Tuckahoe?” Their father wrinkled his brow.

  “Arch rivals in all sports, especially football.” Genevieve handed Landon the shirt she’d been holding. “Here, put this on.”

  “I have a shirt on.” Landon pointed to his dark gray Minecraft Eye of Ender T-shirt.

  “Izod. Put it on,” Genevieve said. It was an order.

  Landon looked at his father and shrugged. “She’s good at this stuff.”

  Genevieve looked away as he tugged the blue collared shirt with its little alligator patch down over his jiggling belly.

  “Good.” Genevieve turned from Landon to their father. “Now we’re off to lunch.”

  “What do you mean, ‘off to lunch’?” he asked.

  Genevieve sighed. “It’s what kids do here, Dad. They meet at the diner or the club or the pizza place.”

  “And how do kids pay for that lunch?” He scratched his jaw.

  “Mom gave me a credit card,” Genevieve said. “She said if you had a problem to say it’s this or join the country club. Lots of kids eat there.”

  “I don’t golf.” Their father blinked.

  “I know,” Genevieve said.

  “Guess I’ll make a sandwich and get back to work.” He gave Landon a knowing look. “I think I had a breakthrough.”

  Landon retrieved his Cleveland Browns cap and followed his sister.

  “Don’t walk behind me, Landon.” She waved her hand. “Walk beside me.”

  Landon hustled up. “Well, you walk so fast. It’s always like a death march or something with you. You and Mom.”

  “We have places to go,” she said.

  They were passing the library when she tapped him and asked, “What’s Dad’s breakthrough?”

  Landon explained as best he could. Genevieve shook her head. “He’s something.”

  “I like it.” Landon didn’t want to trample his father. In fact, he wanted to look up to him, but sometimes it was hard. Whenever anyone asked what his father did and Landon told them he was a writer, the next question always hurt. He tapped Genevieve’s shoulder. “Do you have to have a book published to be a writer? Technically, I mean?”

  Genevieve frowned. “Of course not. Did you ever hear of A Confederacy of Dunces?”

  “You saying Dad’s stupid?”

  “No.” Genevieve swatted him. “It was a book no one wanted. Dad told me about it. The author was John Kennedy Toole, and he never published anything. He died . . . actually, he killed himself.”

  Landon’s stomach clenched. “Geez, Genevieve.”

  “Yeah, but then his mom forces some writing professor to read her son’s manuscript and bam, it not only gets published, it wins the Pulitzer Prize.”

  “Gosh.” Landon thought about that all the way to the diner.

  When they arrived, there were no bikes outside, and that relaxed Landon a bit. They went inside, and Genevieve waved to a table where two girls sat holding two empty places.

  “Guys, this is my brother, Landon.” Genevieve presented him with a flourish. “Landon, this is Katy Buford and this is Mega
n Nickell. We’ll all be in seventh grade together.”

  Katy’s short hair was straight with bangs and so blond it was nearly white. Megan had dark, wavy hair pulled back by a band across the top of her head. They both wore shorts and colorful Polo shirts with Tevas on their feet. Landon blushed and said hello. As he shook hands he noticed that they not only had painted nails, but also a touch of lipstick and maybe something on their eyelashes.

  They all sat down. Katy launched into an excited discussion with Genevieve and Megan about the new middle school girls’ soccer coach.

  Katy rolled her eyes. “Wait till you see how cute he is! But my mother said he grew up in New Haven, so he’s probably poor as a church mouse. Can you believe people live in places like New Haven? I bet there are some pretty bad places in Cleveland, huh?”

  When Landon looked over, Megan was staring at him with large, pale blue eyes. He was afraid she’d ask about his ears, but she smiled. There was a gap between her front teeth, and they were all strapped together with bright orange braces. He looked back at her eyes. She was beautiful.

  They ordered Cokes and iced tea. While the girls looked at the menu and Katy babbled on about boys and clothes and makeup and money, Landon stole glimpses of Megan. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. When the waitress returned with their drinks, Landon reached for his soda too fast and knocked it over, and some spilled on Megan’s white shorts. She gave a little shriek and jumped up, her face reddening at the attention from everyone around them. Landon struggled up out of his seat and dabbed at her shorts with his napkin.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said.

  Megan laughed nervously and gently pushed him away. “No, I’m okay. Please, Landon. Stop.”

  Landon stood, his shoulders slouched, a tower of shame. “I . . . I am just so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s no big deal.” Genevieve patted his shoulder and they all sat down.

  Landon could see Megan was still embarrassed by the incident and blotting her shorts with water under the table. He suspected Katy’s now-deadpan face was her way of showing contempt. Landon felt his own face burning. To rebuild their image of him, he forced a chuckle and blurted out, “I’m good at knocking things over. That’s why I’m going to play football.”

  “What?” Katy’s face morphed into disbelief. “How?”

  “Well, he’s getting—” Genevieve started to explain.

  Megan’s face brightened, though. “That’s great, Landon.”

  “Is it?” Landon thought so, but her enthusiasm puzzled him.

  “Yes.” She nodded, smiling.

  He had to ask. “Why?”

  12

  Landon leaned toward Megan’s face, intent on her lips. The diner around them created a buzzing hum that made hearing even more difficult for him. Crowded places were always a nightmare.

  “Well,” she said, still bright, “my boyfriend is the quarterback.”

  “Your . . . wait, what?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  Landon didn’t think things could get worse. Then they did.

  “His name is Skip,” Megan said.

  Landon knew of only one Skip, the redheaded boy from their first lunch at the deli, and something told him that was exactly who Megan was talking about.

  “He’s super nice.” Megan spoke very directly to Landon, and he now noticed that her voice was funny, loud and slow, like he was four years old instead of twelve. “He’s tall and he’s cute and he can help you fit in.” Megan reached out and patted Landon’s arm and then sat back, proud of her ability to communicate with him.

  “You talk like you think I’m stupid.” Landon’s mood plummeted.

  Genevieve poked his arm. “Landon, be nice.”

  Landon glared at his sister. “I can hear, you know.” He pointed to his cochlears.

  The waitress appeared, and Genevieve took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. “Let’s order! I’ll have prosciutto on toast with a side salad and balsamic vinaigrette, please. Landon, how about you?”

  “Pastrami.” Landon folded his arms across his chest and slumped in his chair. His brain felt like mud, wet and gooey, a real mess. Katy looked at him like he was some kind of toad. When he felt a tap on his arm, he turned to see Megan, not sulking back or mad or babying him, but with a bright smile.

  “I’m sorry, Landon,” she said. “I never knew a deaf person before. I’ll get it right. Just be patient with me, okay?”

  Landon’s mouth fell open. He wanted to cry, but knew he had to choke back his emotions. He hadn’t really known how he wanted people to treat him before, only that they all either treated him with syrupy kindness that felt fake or, worse, with cruelty for being so big and clumsy and hard to understand and deaf.

  Now, here was this beautiful girl who made his heart whirr, and she’d done what he wanted everyone to do: be honest and understanding, offering kindness without pity.

  “Yes,” he said, “I can be patient. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” she said to him before turning to the waitress. “I’ll have a grilled cheese with fries, extra pickles, and can you bring my friend another Coke, please?”

  Megan nodded at Landon’s nearly empty drink, and it was only then he realized she was talking about him.

  Landon took a breath and held it, savoring the fizz and the flavor, not of the Coke, but of maybe, finally, having a friend.

  13

  Landon stayed busy with his sandwich and then explained to Megan that he could hear, just not like most people. He pointed to the metal disc attached to the back of the right side of his head. “I had surgery. There’s an implant under here. A wire goes from the implant into my inner ear, where they put a computer chip. The disc transmits sound impulses to my inner ear.”

  Landon pointed behind his ear. “You might think this is a big hearing aid. Actually, it’s the processor and also the battery, and it picks up sound waves and sends them to the metal disc, which sends them to my inner ear. I’ve got the same things on the left side. My mom just calls the whole setup my ‘ears.’”

  Megan nodded, clearly interested. But Katy just looked on, more in bewilderment than anything, like she couldn’t believe Megan was bothering with him.

  “So, I hear,” Landon explained to Megan, “but it’s not like what you hear. Nothing is ever really clear, and I need to see people’s faces.”

  “Like lipreading?” Megan asked.

  “Yeah, but really the whole face is important,” Landon said. “I put it all together, what I hear and what I see, and I guess I can understand people pretty well, but . . .”

  Megan tilted her head. “What?”

  “With my family, I tap them to get them to look at me so I can see them. It’s a habit,” he said.

  “So?”

  Landon shrugged. “Other people don’t always like it.”

  Megan shrugged back. “Too bad for them.” She popped the last of her fries into her mouth. “Hey, are we going swimming or what?”

  Genevieve paid with the credit card, and when the other girls tried to give her money she told them they could take her out next time. Landon just watched and felt like a goof, but that didn’t stop him from feeling proud of her and mystified at this new world they lived in: his little sister buying lunches on a credit card, ordering iced tea and prosciutto like grownups. On their way out of the diner, Landon tapped Genevieve on the shoulder and spoke low. “You’re awesome, you know that?”

  “You are, too.” She hugged his middle and stood on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

  Landon walked behind Genevieve and Katy, right alongside Megan.

  Landon learned that Katy’s father was the richest man in Bronxville, and he supposed that was why Genevieve tolerated her eye-rolling and rude attitude. Megan was confident. She described her father, the president of the country club, as a “climber”—which made Landon think of his mother, although he didn’t say so.

  Megan was careful to look at him when she spoke,
and they talked about Bridge to Terabithia, which was her favorite book. Landon mostly listened and felt a little foolish when he told her it was too sad for his taste.

  Megan looked disappointed. “Lots of the best books are sad.”

  Landon wiped the beads of sweat from his upper lip, aware that his bulk was making him feel hotter still. “I know. But life is sad. Why should books be sad, too? I want books to be happy. I like heroes, and adventures.”

  She brightened. “Do you like Ella Enchanted?” Then she scowled. “Did you read Ella Enchanted?”

  “I did.” Landon nodded hard and fast.

  Katy laughed, and it seemed to Landon from the flick of her eyes that she was laughing at him, but he ignored her and continued. “See? That’s a happy ending. How about the Chronicles of Narnia? Have you read those?”

  Megan shook her head. “No.”

  “Oh, well, you have to.” Landon trudged on, feeling the solid sidewalk beneath his feet and standing tall so that he easily looked over the top of his sister’s head as they walked past the gate posts into their driveway. Now that he saw the house through the eyes of the richest girl in town, it seemed more like a cottage than a mansion, and Landon was sharply aware of the untrimmed hedges and a shutter that needed fixing on one of the upper windows.

  As they reached the side door, he wondered if he should have even admitted to reading Ella Enchanted, because he doubted that was the kind of book a real football player would read. He felt certain Megan’s boyfriend, Skip, wouldn’t read such a thing. In a storm of self-doubt and discomfort, he went upstairs to his room to get changed into his bathing suit.

  When he arrived at the pool, the girls had already put out their towels on the lounge chairs. Landon claimed a chair, and then he pulled Genevieve aside. “Should I wear my shirt or take it off?”

  Genevieve studied his face. “Why would you leave it on?”

  Landon lifted his shirt and pointed to the pale roll of blubber spilling over the band of his red bathing suit. “This.”

  Genevieve frowned and swatted the air. “No one cares, Landon. You’re not posing for a magazine.” She said louder, “How about a cannonball contest?”