Left Out

by Tim Green

  “Something’s going on.” She stared at him.

  Suddenly he could hold it no longer. Landon burst into a smile. “I did it, Genevieve, I showed them all I can play. Really play.”

  The feel of her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug stayed with Landon all the way to school. Nothing around him seemed to have changed, but he felt somehow taller, and it didn’t bother him that he stood out.

  Landon got to English class early. Mr. Edwards was making some final notes for his lesson when Megan arrived, and she got right in Landon’s face. “I hear you’re the new big thing on the football team.”

  Megan looked to be as delighted as Landon felt. He offered a shy nod.

  “Landon, I’m so happy for you. Brett couldn’t stop raving.” Her laugh was a pleasant jingle of bells. “We were texting all night and then he had to meet me before homeroom to tell me again in person.”

  Landon felt a mixture of pride and envy. He couldn’t help wishing it was him Megan was texting far into the night and him she’d met up with in the hallway before homeroom.

  “Seems good so far,” he replied.

  “I’ll say.” With a nod she sat down and took out her copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

  Landon had a hard time focusing in English—and in all his classes. As he pushed through the hallways from one class to another, he stole glances at the kids around him in a way he never had before. It had always been safer and easier to ignore the looks people gave him because they’d rarely been anything but unkind. Now though, he could only imagine it was a matter of time before news of his new prowess spread, and instead of disgust, he’d be seeing admiration in the faces of his fellow students.

  At lunch he half expected someone or other to sit down at his empty table. When no one did, he assured himself it was just a matter of time. He recalled the way heads and eyes magnetically turned toward Jonathan Wagner when he pulled up in his big truck. In time, and of course to a lesser degree, that would happen for Landon. He just knew it.

  He hustled right out of study hall so he could make his usual pit stop on the way to gym and realized as he went that he really was standing taller and straighter and that his height allowed him to look down on everyone from his own private rooftop.

  He slipped into his usual stall, the last one in a row of five. The chipped gray paint on the inside walls and door of the stall were marked with messages and insults, old and new. As they had every day since he’d found this private spot, two round Ping-Pong-ball eyes drawn in Sharpie stared at him with pupils no bigger than dots. Their heavy lids seemed bored with his business, and he wondered if the crooked line below was an accident or a twisted smile.

  Suddenly he stiffened at the sight of a shadow flickering through the thin crack between the door and its frame. He cleared his throat to let the intruder know the end stall was taken, but instead of a departing shadow, Landon saw the tips of two running sneakers.

  He strained for even the hint of a sound and then proclaimed, “This one’s taken.”

  The sneakers shifted. He sensed more movement outside the stall before an iPhone appeared beneath the door, attached to a selfie stick and directed at him.

  He could see himself on the screen as he stared in horror, and then it blinked.

  His mouth fell open in disbelief, and by the time he realized what had really happened—that someone had taken a picture of him sitting on the toilet with his pants down around his ankles—the phone was gone. There was a flurry of shadows in the crack of the stall door and more on the floor as the feet scrambled for the exit.

  Landon yanked up his pants and fumbled with his zipper and the stall door at the same time. He heard what sounded like a crazed cackle of laughter and the slam of the bathroom door. Bursting from the stall, he grazed his head against the door, dislodging his cochlear, and saw only the flash of a backpack disappearing into the hall.

  “Help!” Landon shouted at the top of his lungs. “Stop!”

  He knew it was useless.

  He stopped in front of the mirror and looked at the reflection of a huge boy with his pants unbuttoned and his shirt crumpled above the white of his belly. The battery pack from one ear dangled from the wire connecting it to the disc on his skull. His insides trembled with anger and dread.

  A moan escaped him because he knew that this would now ruin everything.

  82

  The sounds of a commotion out in the hall hurried Landon’s fingers. He fastened his pants, tugged his shirt into place, and slipped the battery pack back behind his ear. After hoisting his backpack, Landon took a deep breath and swung open the scarred wooden door.

  He blinked and gasped at what he saw.

  Mike Furster lay sprawled out on the floor. His backpack and its contents had been flung about. Genevieve had a knee planted in his back, a handful of his spiked hair in one hand and his iPhone in the other. Xander hadn’t gotten far, and he now turned back to rescue his friend, closing in fast on Genevieve.

  Landon stepped forward to help Genevieve, but he was spun around by Skip.

  “Stay out of it, you big slob.” Skip yanked Landon’s arm, causing him to stumble into the lockers with a bang.

  Landon’s eyes darted toward his shrieking sister.

  Xander had her in a headlock and he was grabbing for the phone. Skip was moving in.

  Landon felt it. Without warning, at the sight of his little sister being manhandled, that nasty blew right through his brain.

  Landon got hold of Skip from behind, lifted, and flung him with one motion, through the air and into the lockers with a cymbal crash Landon could feel.

  Landon grabbed Xander by the neck and tore him free from Genevieve, raising him and tossing him to the floor. Landon roared. Looking at Mike, his head shook with fury. Mike had flipped himself over. With terror in every muscle, he scrabbled backward on the floor like a crab. Landon roared again and Mike took off, without his phone.

  Xander started to follow, but Landon grabbed him by the neck again.

  That’s when Mr. Edwards appeared with his own look of shock and terror. His eyes went up toward Xander, squeezed in Landon’s grip.

  Mr. Edwards held up both hands the way you’d fend off a monster. “No, Landon. Put him down! You’re hurting him!”

  Landon dropped Xander to the floor, where he fell in a heap. Genevieve had ahold of Landon’s arm, and he looked down.

  “What’d they do?” Genevieve’s face was aflame. “Take a picture of you in the bathroom?”

  Landon nodded.

  Genevieve gritted her teeth. “Well, too bad for them.”

  Even as the principal rounded the corner flanked by two teachers, Genevieve dropped the phone to the floor and stomped the life out of it.

  83

  Megan was the one who had told Genevieve what was going on. She’d overheard Skip bragging about their plan to Katy after lunch. It embarrassed Landon that Megan knew what had happened, but he couldn’t help also feeling grateful that she had helped save him from what would have been a disastrous new assault. Those were Landon’s thoughts as he and Genevieve sat in the principal’s office waiting for their father.

  It took over forty minutes for him to finally arrive, ducking through the door and clicking his tongue. His first words were worried. “Oh, kids. Are you okay?”

  Mr. Sanders popped through the door, all business. “Mr. Dorch? Somehow I was expecting your wife.”

  Landon’s dad bit a lip and his cheeks reddened. “Oh, she’s on her way. I told her it was an emergency. She’ll walk through that door at any minute.”

  Landon’s dad turned a hopeful face toward the door.

  Mr. Sanders considered Landon and Genevieve. “I’m not sure it’s an emergency, but a suspension does go on their disciplinary record.”

  “Suspension?” Landon’s dad looked shocked.

  “Your son was warned,” the principal said, and then he nearly gagged on his next words. “Landon was choking another student, Mr. Dorch.”
/>   Landon wanted to look down, but then he’d never know what they were saying. When people were angry or serious, their tones always dropped, rendering his cochlear implants nearly useless on their own. So, he watched his father react with shock, sadness, and worry, until he realized that Genevieve was spouting off.

  “. . . picture of Landon using the bathroom, which is totally illegal!” Genevieve’s face was on fire.

  “You’re not a lawyer here, miss.” The principal shifted his scowl from Landon to his sister. “You’re a young lady in a lot of hot water. Assaulting a fellow student? Destruction of property?”

  “I didn’t assault him.” Genevieve glared right back at the principal. “I tackled him because he took a picture of my brother using the toilet and he was going to post it. Is that okay with you?”

  Landon kept his eyes moving to see who would speak first.

  It was a standoff.

  Then the door flung open and their mother burst into the room.

  84

  Landon had never seen his mother’s hair so out of place.

  “Why are those other boys not in here?” Landon’s mom demanded.

  “Those boys were the victims of this assault, Mrs. Dorch.” The principal stood up to show just how outraged he really was. “And the discipline of children besides your own isn’t any of your business, madam.”

  “Justice is my business.” Their mom slapped her iPad down on the principal’s desk. The page read: CODE OF CONDUCT AND DISCIPLINE. Beneath that was a seal and then: BRONXVILLE SCHOOL DISTRICT. “Take a look at your own handbook, Mr. Sanders. Those ‘victims’ were not victims. They’re bullies who’ve tormented my son since before school began, and you will not continue to turn a blind eye to that. Being inept is no excuse for a middle school principal paid by my tax dollars.”

  “You’re not going to tell me how to do my job, madam. This meeting is over. You can head right out that door, or I’ll call security and have you removed.” Mr. Sanders trembled and then snatched up the handset of the phone on his desk.

  “Good.” Their mom held up her cell phone. “I’m calling the newspaper.”

  “Wait! What?”

  “That’s right.” Landon’s mother continued to tap the screen of her phone. “And then I’m calling the superintendent, but first, the newspaper. Bullying is a big issue these days.”

  “Mrs. Dorch, put the phone down.” Mr. Sanders’s eyes sputtered like wet candles. “Please.”

  Landon’s mom didn’t put it down, but she stopped tapping. “Do you know what that handbook says?”

  “Which part?” Mr. Sanders asked.

  “The part on page forty-two about aggravated harassment, followed by internet harassment on page forty-three, and especially possession of indecent material on page sixty-seven. I’m not sure about disseminating indecent material because I’m not sure if the perpetrator sent the picture to anyone before he was stopped by this brave young lady who happens to be my daughter.” Their mom nodded toward Genevieve.

  Everyone in the room stared at Landon’s mom with open mouths, none more astounded than Mr. Sanders. “You . . . you . . . but, the camera—the phone, I mean—was broken.”

  “That’s what the cloud is for.” Landon’s mom folded her arms across her chest. “If my husband and I want to push this, I think we need to involve the district attorney, don’t you? I’m sure you remember the presentation that the DA’s office made to the kids last year warning them about crimes like these? It’s on your website, Mr. Sanders. It’s part of why I chose to move into Bronxville. According to the website, the DA said that disseminating a picture that reveals a private part of a person’s anatomy is a Class D felony. You should know that.” Their mom wore a look of disgust.

  “Of course I know that.” Mr. Sanders stood upright in a futile attempt to regain his authority. The principal looked at Landon’s dad and then at his mom. “Mrs. Dorch? I think we can settle all this quietly and to everyone’s satisfaction, don’t you?”

  “First you’ll admit you’ve got the wrong kids sitting in your office.” Their mom didn’t blink.

  Mr. Sanders looked like he’d been hung by his thumbs.

  Landon’s dad glanced at their mom. “I know my wife, Mr. Sanders. I know how she thinks and how she feels, and I have an idea that just might satisfy her, but it won’t be easy to pull off. Maybe, just maybe, if you’re willing to work with us, my wife and I might find a way to let you resolve this without involving the DA.”

  85

  Landon’s mom didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either. What she said was that she wanted to think about it with the family—at home.

  Landon sat with his family around the kitchen table, trying to decide what to do. His dad tried to persuade his mom that an apology from the boys would do.

  “See, the thing is, Gina,” Landon’s dad said, “Saturday’s the big game against Tuckahoe. It’s a huge tradition. The whole town goes out to watch.”

  Landon’s mom narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean, Forrest?”

  Landon’s dad sputtered. “Well . . .”

  “Not to them. What does it mean to me? What do you think?” his mother asked.

  “Well . . . if we get the DA involved, they may cancel the game. The whole thing would blow up, and our kids would be in the middle of it.” Landon could tell his dad felt like he was on dangerous ground, because he was scratching his neck and blinking a lot.

  His mother thumped a small fist onto the table. “What those boys did is a crime. Crimes are meant to be punished.”

  “But sometimes people forgive and forget?” his father suggested quietly after a pause.

  “Has anyone involved asked for forgiveness?” His mother tightened her lips and shook her head.

  “Not yet,” their dad said.

  Their mom’s eyes blazed. “Sometimes people cross a line they shouldn’t, and if you want them to know you mean business—so it won’t happen again, Forrest—then you take action.”

  Landon’s dad hung his head, and Landon knew how he felt, that desire to just have it all go away. Landon knew things did go away too. He’d experienced it. If you just kept your head down and kept going? People would generally leave you alone. But for the first time he could remember, Landon had experienced something better than just being left alone. He had friends. He had people who believed in him. Maybe he even had a gift that people would admire, and admiration? It was quite a prize.

  His dad came up with another idea. “Listen, I know you say their fathers encourage this kind of bullying, the way they act as coaches. What if they agreed to quietly resign?”

  “Coach Bell would bring the right spirit to the team,” Landon’s mother agreed.

  “Look, they don’t want this going to the courts any more than Mr. Sanders does. I bet they’ll agree.”

  “And Coach Bell can be the head coach.” Landon tried not to sound too excited, because he knew his parents’ mood was somber.

  “Will they even do that?” Genevieve asked. “I mean, Mr. West is the chief of police.”

  Landon’s dad grinned. “Well, we’re just gonna have to find out.”

  86

  The next day, school spirit was soaring. Signs praising Bronxville football plastered the hallways in black and orange. From a distance, Landon saw Mike Furster walking and talking intently to Skip Dreyfus. Landon slowed down so as not to catch up to them. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, he hurried to homeroom, excited.

  Brett grinned and jumped up, slapping a piece of paper down in front of Landon. “Here, check this out. My dad drew these up for short yardage. Just what my uncle was talking about. You and me like a steamroller.”

  Landon looked up from the diagrams of Xs, Os, and arrows. “Really? But we didn’t practice them.”

  “Ahh, in the NFL they put plays in on the sideline.” Brett swished a hand. “Everyone knows what to do. How awesome is it that my dad is running things?”

  Genevieve had filled
Megan and Brett in on what had happened.

  Now, Landon looked into Brett’s eyes for some sign, a flicker of doubt maybe. Brett stared right back at him, stone-cold serious.

  “How many players will we even have Saturday?” Landon asked.

  Brett shrugged. “You and me. Guerrero, Miller, Rinehart will be there. There will be others. Lots. Skip, Mike, and Xander will apologize. You’ll see. And if they don’t? They only have themselves to blame, not you.”

  Landon looked around the homeroom. No one was watching him, but he leaned close to Brett anyway. “Are they really not going to show up? Coach Furster and Coach West, I mean?”

  “I heard your mom scared the heck out of them. I heard they apologized and agreed to resign if your parents didn’t press charges against their kids.” Brett frowned, but then he smiled brightly. “My uncle said he’d help, so who needs them?”

  That spark of news lit a small fire in Landon’s heart. “If your uncle’s there, I think everyone will want to play. I mean, who gets to play for an NFL player? Even if it’s just for one game?”

  87

  In English class, Megan threw Landon several worried glances.

  He just couldn’t get into the discussion. All he could think about was the game and what would happen. It was the Megan and Mr. Edwards Show, but neither of them could be discouraged. They went back and forth about revenge, its different forms, and the similarities between Dumas and Edmond Dantès, now the Count of Monte Cristo. After the bell, Mr. Edwards took Landon by the arm and steered him toward his desk. “I heard about everything that’s going on. You stay strong, Landon.”

  “I am,” Landon said. “Thanks.”

  Megan was waiting for him outside the class. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Really. I’m fine. I’d be better if everyone wasn’t so worried for me.”

  Megan gave him a crooked smile, and her blue eyes blazed with kindness. She reached around his middle and pressed the side of her face into the bottom of his rib cage, hugging him tight. “I know what you mean, Landon.”