Left Out

by Tim Green

  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.

  43

  “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.

  44

  “Guys, this is Landon.” Jonathan gave Landon a pat on the back. “I have no idea why he wanted to meet you, Eli, but I told him that if he asked for a picture with you, it would make your day.”

  Eli held out a hand and Landon shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Manning.”

  “Hey, Landon.” Eli spoke quietly, but Landon understood. “You know who Michael Bamiro is, right?”

  “Hi, Mr. Bamiro.” Landon shook the giant man’s hand. “I play football too. I want to be a lineman like you and Mr. Wagner.”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan said. “He’s on my nephew’s team.”

  “Very nice,” Bamiro said. “What high school you guys play for, Landon?”

  Landon blinked and stuttered. “I, uh . . . we play for a seventh-grade youth team, sir.”

  “Seventh?” Bamiro was surprised.
<
br />   “Yes,” Landon said quickly. “I’m twelve.”

  “You?” Bamiro laughed, flashing a set of bright white teeth. “I think you’re bigger than I was at twelve. You hear that, Eli? Maybe you can last long enough for Landon here to block for you.”

  Eli grinned and pointed at Bamiro and Jonathan Wagner. “With you two knuckleheads in front of me, I’ll be lucky to make it through next season.”

  The three players laughed at that together, and Landon blushed even harder when Brett stepped into their little circle. Landon had to wonder—as nice as Brett had been—if he wouldn’t expose Landon for being more of a water boy than a lineman, but Brett only smiled and asked if he could get a picture with Eli too.

  Rashad Jennings, the Giants’ running back, suddenly appeared and threw his hands up in the air. “Manning, Bamiro, Wagner. Come on, guys. Let’s get this lovefest over with. Eli won’t be able to fit his head into that new Corvette he’s driving.”

  “Well, it’s a convertible,” Eli said.

  Rashad snapped his fingers. “Of course. Now we know why. You already can’t fit your head in, so you gotta keep the top down.”

  The players all laughed again, and so did Landon and Brett.

  They got a bunch of pictures with the players individually and all as one big group.

  “Okay,” Jonathan Wagner said. “We good? ’Cause if we are, I say let’s eat. I promised my man some chili dogs.”

  They all piled plates with food and sat down at one of the long tables on a brick terrace under some enormous shade trees. Landon’s eyes were busy, darting back and forth, trying to follow the banter between the players, who seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company despite the constant kidding.

  With winks and slaps on the back, they made him feel part of it all.

  Their plates were pretty much empty when Rashad Jennings pointed at the diving board and said, “I’m fixing to light that thing up now, boys.”

  “Light it up?” Jonathan slapped Rashad on the back. “With a pencil dive or something?”

  Everyone laughed.

  Rashad kept his chin up. “How about a backflip?”

  The players all hooted.

  “Yeah!”

  “Let’s see that!”

  Jonathan Wagner held up both his arms. “Who needs something fancy like that when you have the world champion cannonballer right here?”

  Landon bit his lip to keep from laughing, and he couldn’t help himself from shouting, “I bet I can beat you!”

  “What?” Wagner tilted his head and knotted up his face. “Boy, you’re gonna be big one day, but I hit that water like a twenty-ton bomb.”

  Landon shrugged. “I think I can beat you.”

  The players went wild, hooting and laughing, pointing at Wagner and saying Landon called him out.

  Wagner stood up and pretended to be angry, throwing his napkin down on the table and pointing at Landon, but he was unable to keep from smiling. “It’s on, my man. You and me. Cannonball championship of the world!”

  Landon’s spirit soared.

  45

  Landon changed in the same bathroom he’d tried hiding in. He looked at himself in the mirror, removed his ears, patted his belly, and grinned. He knew he could cannonball. He marched outside, and everyone was lined up around the pool. When they saw him, they cheered, waving their hands and grinning. He wished he could have heard it, but in a way, the silence helped him not to get nervous.

  Jonathan Wagner stood on the end of the diving board, and it bowed beneath his tremendous weight. Landon gulped as the big man began bouncing up and down on the end of the board. After half a dozen jumps, he launched himself quite high, dipped, tucked, and plummeted into the water.

  A geyser exploded. The column of water shot at a sideways angle, though, drenching a good dozen people, who scattered. Landon laughed at the sight of their happy screaming. When the crowd recovered, everyone began to clap and chant. Landon read their lips.

  “Lan-don, Lan-don, Lan-don.”

  He was briefly reminded of wind sprints, but pushed that ugly thought from his mind and climbed up onto the board. The sandy surface scratched his feet. He strode out to the end, where he curled his toes over the lip and felt the flex of the board beneath him. He knew he couldn’t get as high as Wagner and he knew he wasn’t nearly as big, but technique was very important when cannonballing, and that he had.

  With all eyes on him and the chant of his name on their lips, Landon got into a rhythm, up and down, flexing his legs, getting more height. When he was ready, he took one last jump for balance, launched himself, and tucked like a true human cannonball. When he hit the water, he fought to keep his form and felt the water explode beneath him. Then the suction drew his body into the void with tremendous force.

  He let his momentum carry him down until his knees scraped the bottom of the pool, and there he floated, suspended in water and joy until his breath ran out and he sprang off the bottom, breaking the surface to a new round of silent cheers.

  He knew by everyone’s reaction that he’d won.

  Even Jonathan Wagner slapped him on the back, giving him a big thumbs-up. Then Bamiro raised Landon’s arm high in the air and said something while people cheered even more.

  46

  Landon and Brett swam the rest of the afternoon, and by the time they had to go, they were exhausted. Landon changed into dry clothes and put his ears back on, so he could hear when Jonathan Wagner stopped Brett as they were getting into the Suburban.

  “Hey, Brett,” the Giants’ right tackle said, “you got one heck of a friend. You’ll have to bring him around again.”

  Landon buckled his seat belt and closed his eyes, concentrating hard, because he was determined to remember the sound of those words for as long as he lived. When he opened his eyes, Jonathan Wagner was at the window and motioning for him to roll it down. Landon did and said, “Thanks for having me. It was a great time.”

  “Hey, my man, you are more than welcome.” Jonathan reached through and shook his hand. “And thanks for bouncing back on me after my off-sides penalty with the implants there. I appreciate you not holding a grudge. It sure wasn’t a smart thing to say, that’s all. And I just want you to know I’m sorry. Anyway, you’ll be seeing me again real soon.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, well, we got a bye week coming up, and my sister, Courtney, makes this meatloaf like our mom used to make that keeps me coming back.” Jonathan’s face looked a bit sad for a second, but then it brightened. “I’ll check you guys out at your practice. This is all if Coach McAdoo gives us some time off. He should, so . . .”

  Jonathan held out a fist and Landon knew to give it a bump, even though his head was spinning.

  “I’ll get to see you and Brett in action.”

  And suddenly, even after the magic of the day, Landon’s nerves were on edge.

  47

  “I want to kiss Brett Bell.”

  Landon’s mouth sagged open. “What did you say?” He blinked, unsure of what he’d just seen and heard, because it sounded like his sister had just said she wanted to kiss Brett Bell. Landon and Genevieve were out in the yard in the dying light of the day with glass jars, catching fireflies. The damp grass tickled his bare feet. In the twilight beneath the trees he easily could have mistaken what she said.

  Genevieve staved him off with a hand as she crouched and then pounced with her jar, scooping it into the grass and clapping the top on in one expert motion. She held the jar up and frowned, searching in the gloom. When the bug lit up, it burned so bright Landon could make out the smile on her face and read her lips clearly when she looked at him. “I said I want to kiss him.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “Oh, Landon.” She rolled her eyes. “In a sister sort of way, or the way the French kiss when they meet.”

  “A French kiss?” Landon scowled at her. “Geez, Genevieve. That’s even more gross, sticking your tongue in someone’s mouth. What’s more disgus
ting than that?”

  Genevieve sighed. “Please, Landon. Nothing gross. Nothing romantic. ‘Kiss’ as in, he’s the greatest kid in the world. That post with the split picture of you and Jonathan Wagner doing cannonballs? Michael Bamiro calling you the world champ? It’s all over Instagram. That peeping thing is practically gone.”

  Landon caught a glint of light in the corner of his eye, and he spun and flailed after it, missing the fly completely. He watched it blip as it floated up into the trees, and then he turned back to Genevieve. “What about Megan?”

  Genevieve nodded. “She’s fine, Landon. She felt bad for you with all this.”

  “But she didn’t come over.” Landon fit the top onto his empty jar, practicing his scoop, and then hustled across the lawn when he spotted a firefly winking from a blade of grass. He pounced and held the jar up for Genevieve to see the bug blinking away.

  “I got it!”

  Genevieve came over and patted his shoulder. “Nice work.”

  Landon studied the insect as it crawled around on the inside of the jar with a wing askew and its bottom glowing, a miniature version of the sticks they carried with them on Halloween. He looked up when his sister tapped his arm.

  “She’s coming tomorrow to swim.”

  Landon’s face got hot. “Tell her I’ll be locked in the closet of my room when you guys are changing. Um . . . what about Katy?”

  Genevieve swatted the air. “Forget Katy. She’s dead to me.”

  “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

  “Trust me, Landon.” Even in the dim light Genevieve’s eyes sparkled with anger. “What I’d like to do to her? Being dead is nice.”

  “Dad always says, ‘Forgive and forget.’” Landon angled his head toward the house. In the light of the great room through the big window overlooking the backyard, they could see their father at his desk, working away.

  “Forgiveness is for people who ask,” Genevieve said.