by Tim Green
His father dipped his head into the menu, shaking his head with wonder. When the waitress returned, Landon asked for a glass of water and said he still hadn’t made up his mind about his order.
“So, what’s Genevieve doing tonight?” he asked when they were alone.
His father lowered the menu and raised an eyebrow. “No idea. On her computer? Texting? I was in a real writing zone and all of a sudden I saw the time. Didn’t want to be late picking you up. Why?”
“No reason.” Landon dipped his head. “How about this Banana Caramel Crepe?”
“Oh, didn’t see that.” His father got back to business.
The waitress returned with their water and Landon asked for the Seventh Heaven. His father went for the Banana Caramel Crepe. They sipped their water and watched people walk past on the sidewalk, some of them entering Häagen-Dazs to sit down, others lining up for cones at the counter. His father tapped Landon’s hand, and Landon looked up.
“I gotta tell you, Landon, this book is really going good,” his father said. “Nodnal is some character.”
“Wait,” Landon said. “I thought you weren’t going to name him Nodnal.”
“Well, right. It’s a working name. I’ll change it at the end, but for now it’s really helping me. I see him as Nodnal.”
Landon saw the glow of excitement on his father’s face and couldn’t bring himself to protest, even though he hated the idea.
“I mean, right now.” His father leaned toward Landon and motioned with his hands. “He’s in the dungeon. He was wrongly accused of conspiring against the king, but he’s made a friend, a knight. I’m about to have them escape.”
Landon tried his best to look interested, but his own life was such a mess, he just couldn’t find room to care about a fictional character.
“Sounds good,” he managed to say.
His father sat back, then glanced around at the other tables, but Landon could tell he was trying to decide whether or not to ask him something.
“So, football going good?” Landon’s dad folded his arms on the table and leaned in again. “I mean, you like all that hitting and stuff?”
Landon shrugged. “It’s not easy.”
His father shook his head vigorously. “No way. It’s pretty crazy if you ask me, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep doing it if it’s not for you, Landon.”
Landon scowled. “Why? Did Genevieve say something to you?”
“Not at all,” his father said.
“’Cause I’m not her, you know. Things come easy to her.”
“Sometimes it seems that way,” his father said, “but she works pretty hard, I gotta say.”
The ice cream arrived. Landon dug in, truly hungry because his stomach was completely empty, and facing Genevieve now seemed far off. If she was busy on the computer or texting with her friends, he could sneak right into his bedroom and lock the door. He took a big bite, and mango exploded in his mouth. He cut that flavor with a dash of raspberry and whipped cream.
“Mmm.” He got serious about his dish and didn’t look up until he paused before the final scoop.
“You beat me,” he said to his dad.
His father scraped some melted goo from the bottom of his dish. “Well, it’s not a contest, but wow, was that crepe good. I’m glad we stopped here.”
Landon noticed a splotch of caramel on his father’s shirt, and that made him think of his mom and what she’d say if she were here. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“If I don’t get a lot of playing time—in the games—you won’t care, right?”
His father’s mouth turned down. “Nah. Who cares about that? It’s your first time ever trying this thing. Everyone else’s been doing it forever, and what’s the rush? I told you, it’s about being a part of something. That’s what a team is. Gosh, my high school buddy Dale Higgens had no rhythm whatsoever, but there he was with that triangle—sometimes the bongos—right there, marching along with the rest of us with his chin high, all the way to Orlando one year for the Nationals. Did I ever tell you we went to the Nationals one year?”
Landon nodded. “Pretty sure you did.”
“Yeah, well, we were a band, which is the exact same thing as a team. Like a band of brothers. A unit. A squad. Man, did we have some times. Band camp?” His father raised an eyebrow again, twirled his spoon and sighed happily before he let it drop into the bowl. “You ready?”
“Almost.” Landon ate his last spoonful, and then he asked the question that had been on his mind all along. “So, with the band, did anyone ever have some get-together, like a party, and not invite the whole band? I mean, that had to be normal because of how many people you have in a band.”
His dad reached across the table and put his hand on Landon’s. “Hey, buddy, we got plenty of room. I can fire up the grill. Burgers. Chicken kabobs. We can fit that whole doggone football team of yours right around the pool if that’s what you’re wondering. I like the idea. Mom won’t mind.”
Landon fought to control himself.
He had no idea what to say.
35
Landon sputtered. “No, that’s okay. I was just thinking about how big a group you have with a band. I was just wondering.”
“Well, yeah. I mean if you’re in the band, you’re in the band. Everyone just knew everyone was invited. That’s what I’m talking about. That’s how things work, see?” His father sat up, straight and wise. “A Cub Scout den is a different bird. I think because of all the focus on the individual skills and merit badges and stuff. I think all you did with your den was that laser tag once. Scouts isn’t as much about camaraderie as a team or a band is. You sure you don’t want to ask the guys over? Even after practice one night? Everybody for a dip?”
Landon shook his head and wiped his mouth. “I don’t think so. Maybe some other time.”
His father’s hands went up in surrender. They paid the bill and headed home.
The sun was well down, and Landon’s dad put the headlights on. They were nearly at the turnoff when they saw a small figure marching down the sidewalk, arms and legs flying high.
“Well, how about this for timing?” His father nodded at the furious display of limbs, and as he pulled over, Landon saw that it was his mom. She insisted on walking to and from the train each day, even with her crazy hours, because she said it not only lowered the carbon footprint of their family but also gave her a bit of exercise and the chance to wind down.
His father rolled down Landon’s window. “Hey there, pretty woman. Going my way?”
Landon rolled his eyes, but looked to see how his mom would respond. She shifted her briefcase’s strap on her shoulder and put her hands on her hips, smiling. “Forrest, what are you teaching our son?”
“That pretty women are hard to find and if you do find one, you pick her up! That’s a lesson worth learning, I’d say.”
“Oh, you would?” she teased.
“Definitely.”
Landon’s mom climbed into the backseat beside the football gear and then tapped Landon on the shoulder. “And my lesson is that being bold is the only way to win the prize.”
Landon’s dad tapped his arm. “And what a prize I am.”
They went straight home, happy, without speaking. Landon digested the words his parents had spoken, sifting the lessons from the laughs. He knew Megan Nickell would be like that, joking around and happy and appreciative. He could just tell, but thinking of her made him think of Genevieve and the blowout he knew they were going to have as soon as she caught wind of him bailing out of the contact drills in exchange for carrying the water bottles.
He realized his mom was tapping his shoulder, and as they pulled into their driveway, he turned around.
“I said, how is football going?” His mom’s sharp look seemed to see right into his head, like his eyes were windows without curtains.
Landon nodded. “Fine. Good.”
“Isn’t that great to hear?” She patted his sh
oulder, and they all got out. Landon heard his parents talking but didn’t bother to pay attention. He got his football gear from the backseat and laid it out to dry in the garage before following them into the house. He dumped his cleats in the mud room before entering the kitchen.
“Well, we just had some pretty serious ice cream at that Häagen-Dazs store,” his father said to his mom, “but I can cook something up for you if you’re hungry. I made lobster ravioli. Sound good? Or, I could whip up an omelet, a little sage and white cheddar?”
Landon’s mom sat on a bar stool at the granite-topped island in the middle of the kitchen. She wore a tired look. Her shoes were off and her feet were already up on the next stool. “Just some salad if you have it, Forrest.”
“I always have salad,” Landon’s father said. He looked at Landon and winked. “I was a rabbit in another life. I ever tell you that?”
Landon gave his father the grin he was waiting for and then said, “I’m gonna shower.”
On his way up the stairs Landon considered his mom. He couldn’t remember a time when she’d been gone more or seemed so tired, and he began to wonder if she or his dad regretted coming to Bronxville. It certainly wasn’t treating Landon very nicely so far. Before he crossed in front of the open hallway that led to Genevieve’s room, he stopped and peeked around the corner and strained for a hint of noise. He heard nothing and tiptoed across, making it safely to his own room, where he put his ears in their drier and took a nice cool shower.
When he got out, he wrapped a towel around his waist, walked into his bedroom, and yelped with fright.
36
Genevieve jumped up off the bed, and it looked like she yelped too.
Everything was silent to Landon. He had an idea of what Genevieve was saying, though. He didn’t have to read lips to know she was raving mad. Landon told himself to stay calm. He knew he just had to weather the storm. It would pass. And, a storm was always a lot less frightening when you couldn’t hear the thunder.
Genevieve started pacing and flashing her phone in his face. He didn’t read the text messages or the Instagram posts. He didn’t have to. He knew from the pain and anger on her face that they were about him. He didn’t have to read about people calling him a powder puff. He knew what they thought.
“I can’t even hear you, Genevieve.” Landon stood in the same spot, folded his arms, and pointed to the ears in their drier.
“Look at me.” She mouthed the words slowly. The look in her eyes was so white-hot that he couldn’t look away.
She shook her head violently. “You cannot quit!”
Landon just looked down at her and shook his head. “Leave me alone, Genevieve. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything’s easy for you.”
“For me?” Her face twisted in disbelief. “Do you know what I’ve done for you?”
Landon looked away until she grabbed his arm and gave it a yank.
He could tell she’d lowered her voice as she leaned close and said, “Don’t you look away. You look at me! I know you understand. I’ve made nice with one of the meanest girls I’ve ever met in my life because of you. Do you know why? So she won’t torture you.”
Landon was confused. “Not Megan.”
“No, not Megan. Katy! She looks at you like a spider looks at a fly. She’d love to wrap you up and suck out every ounce of blood and leave you shriveled up like a mummy, but she won’t because she wants to be my friend.” Genevieve jabbed her own chest with a thumb. “Do you know how much I hate that? You think that isn’t hard?
“No, you don’t.” Genevieve shook her head violently again, and then she grabbed him by both arms and looked up into his eyes, slowly mouthing the words, “Pain is temporary, Landon, but quitting? Quitting is forever.”
She turned and left him alone, wrapped in his towel, still dripping.
Landon felt like she’d stabbed him in the stomach and twisted the knife. It hurt and it made him furious. He wanted to strike back, and when he saw the medal she’d given him, he snatched it off the bedpost and marched after her. She’d already disappeared into her bedroom.
He knew he should knock, but he was too mad for manners. With the medal in his hand, he cocked his arm back, ready to throw it onto her floor. He didn’t need her medals and he didn’t need any of his own.
He grabbed the door handle with his other hand and flung it open.
Landon couldn’t hear the screams, but he knew there was screaming.
In a flash of skin and underwear and towels, he realized he’d barged in on Genevieve and her friends changing to take a night swim.
The medal slipped from Landon’s hand and fell silently to the floor.
37
Landon squeezed his eyes shut and bolted back to his room.
He lay facedown on his bed with a pillow over the back of his head. His breath got hot and short, and he wondered if a person could suffocate himself. He threw the pillow off and rolled over, gasping for air, and lay there huffing for a long while. Finally, he swung his legs off the bed and sat there with the towel still wrapped tightly around his flabby waist.
He got up and dressed himself.
His hands trembled, and he dropped his ears twice before he had them on and in place. He cracked open the door and listened hard for any sounds, but the house was still. He tiptoed out and peered down Genevieve’s hall. Her bedroom door stood ajar, but no light spilled from it. Quietly, he made his way down the stairs. His father’s computer was on, but the chair stood crooked and empty. He rounded the corner and saw his parents sitting with Genevieve at the kitchen table. They talked in a low murmur that he hadn’t a prayer of understanding. His mother held Genevieve’s hand across the corner of the table. Genevieve’s head hung low and her back was to him.
Landon touched her shoulder. “I didn’t see anything.”
Genevieve looked up in horror. “You just had to shove that medal in my face, didn’t you?”
Landon’s mouth fell open. He’d never seen Genevieve this mad at him. He wanted to tell her about Xander’s birthday party. He wanted her to feel bad for him and comfort him, but nothing came out.
“And don’t even say you didn’t see anything!” Genevieve threw her hands in the air, her eyes as wild as her hair. “They totally freaked and Katy said they had to leave and she’s already blabbed about it. It’s out there.”
Genevieve held up her phone as proof and then turned the phone her way, looked at it, and groaned before putting her head down onto her arm to cry.
38
Landon’s father looked ill. His face was pasty and he twiddled his fingers with his eyes rolled toward Landon’s mom, awaiting her response.
Landon’s mom stared at the tabletop, searching the rich wood grain for some kind of inspiration or truth. Finally, she sighed and looked up at Landon’s dad. “Well, Landon is a normal boy, and normal boys are curious about these things.”
Landon’s father seemed to have swallowed his tongue. He shook his head uncertainly and gurgled.
Landon’s mom looked at Landon now.
Landon shook his head. “No. I’m not curious.”
“Landon? It’s all right,” his mom said. “It’s perfectly natural for boys your age; your father will tell you that. Forrest?”
“Uh . . . of course,” his father said.
“Mom! I did not see them on purpose!” Landon clenched his fists. “I was giving her back her stupid medal.”
“Now my medal’s stupid?” Genevieve raised her head. Her eyes were red, and she was livid.
Landon kept going. “That’s the only reason I went to her room, and I didn’t have my ears on and I didn’t hear anything or anyone and I had no idea they were even there.”
His mom removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes before looking up. “Oh . . . well . . . a misunderstanding. All of it. I’ll call the girls’ mothers and get it worked out.”
“Good luck with that.” Genevieve looked bitter, but Landon’s mom was undaunted.
“It’s already out there, Mom.” Genevieve groaned and lifted her phone off the table. “Katy called Landon a ‘Peeping Tom,’ and people are going wild with it. It’s a hashtag. #PeepingPowderPuff.”
“Well, every sensible person knows the internet is no place for reliable facts,” their mom said.
“Like saying President Obama wasn’t born in America.” Landon’s dad raised a finger.
Landon’s mom scowled at her husband. “Well, fools are fools, and I can’t help that. What I can help with, though, is this Katy Buford. We’ll see how long she keeps this up after I call her mother. I’ll give her a hashtag.”
Landon stood there, lost and crushed and wanting to go back to Cleveland. Kip Meyers and his friends calling him a big, fat dummy was a piece of birthday cake compared to this.
Suddenly, the phone rang. They all just stared at it.
Landon’s mom sighed. “Maybe she’s saving me the trouble of looking up her number.”
She got up slowly from her chair to answer. “Hello? Yes, this is Landon’s mother.”
His mom paused, and then her face turned angry. “What?”
Landon wondered how he could continue to sink when he’d already hit the bottom. He grabbed his cochlears and stood there, ready to pull the plug.
39
Landon’s mom looked at him, fuming, but it wasn’t him she was mad at. He could tell.
“I hate to say it,” his mom said into the phone, “but I’ve seen things like this before. This isn’t the first time Landon’s been excluded from a birthday party . . . Uh-huh . . . Uh-huh . . . yes.”
Landon’s dad bit into his lower lip and began twiddling his fingers again.