Left Out (2 page)

As they left the Cleveland suburb with its wide old streets, thick trees, and bright green lawns amid the crack and rumble of thunder, Landon leaned his head against the window and thought about what was to come. He smiled to himself and kept thinking back to his mother's expression when he made his big move to talk about football.

“Football?”
Her face had gone from shock to amusement and she'd nodded her head like a bobble-head doll before giving him a knowing look. “Your father never played football, you know?”

Landon had nodded. He knew all about his father, a great big bear of a man who was nearly finished with his third unpublished novel. At six foot ten, Landon's father was a gentle giant, with fists the size of holiday hams, a peaceable man without a
violent bone in his body. Landon's mother never tired of comparing him to his father.

“He's so . . . so . . . calm. That's Landon. Calm as a summer day!” his mother would say, beaming at him and then back at whoever she was speaking to.

But Landon knew better. Although he'd never thrown a punch in his life, he fantasized often about getting revenge on his school tormentors on a football field. And what was so pleasant about a summer day? Swimming was the only plus he could see. Give him a pool and a diving board and he became an impressive human cannonball. But because of the extra weight he carried around and the fact that summer heat made his implants more noticeably uncomfortable, he liked fall better. The air was cool and crisp and the surge of football gushed from the TV. Now at his new school, he'd be like one of the NFL stars he'd watched but could never think of being.

He stared at his mother's dark curly hair as she guided their Prius carefully out of town with two hands firmly on the wheel, eyes glued to the road, lips tight. In the passenger seat, his father sat hunched over and squished by the confines of the little car, the back of his head snug against the roof and hands folded in his lap. His father would sit that way for hours on end without a peep of discontent. In fact, he'd be wearing a simple smile as he soaked in the nearness of his family and agreed with Landon's mom on a barrage of ideas.

Landon leaned toward his sister, who was still looking back, saddened by the loss of so many friends.

“It will be okay, Genevieve. You'll make new friends. I know
you will.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “It will be good. You'll make friends and I'll play football. Yes!” he said with a grin. “That's what I really want to do.”

In the mirror he saw his mom's face tense up, and she shot a glance at Landon's father as if the whole thing was his fault. “Are you happy now, Forrest? Landon's looking forward to football.
Foot
ball.”

“Right,” his dad said. “He's a big boy; he'll be fine, Gina. Watch, it will be good for him.”

“I told him
you
never played.”

His father laughed. “I told him they couldn't find a helmet big enough for me, and I wasn't all that keen on it anyway, so I played the tuba in the marching band. Talk about good times. . . .”

“A marching band . . .” Landon's mom drifted into a blissful state as she obviously imagined the delights of the marching band.

“Well, I can't play music,” Landon reminded them. “But I bet I can block and tackle.”

Before his mother could reply, the dark sky opened up with a torrent of raindrops that hit the car like bullets. She redoubled her grip on the wheel and set her body against the storm, leaning into it like a hunter. They were on the highway in the passing lane, and a tractor-trailer raced up behind them blaring its horn.

Landon's mom made it into the right lane, and the ghostly shape of the truck cruised past like a sea monster, its taillights barely visible through the backsplash.

As they crawled along in silence, hazard lights blinking on
and off, Landon grinned to himself about his victory in being able to play football. The idea of beginning practice in just two short weeks gave him goosebumps.

Over an hour later, they finally got clear of the storm and his mother was able to increase their speed. Then she picked up right where they'd left off.

“What do you know about blocking and tackling, Landon?” she asked.

Landon took a breath and surprised everyone. “Keep your head up. Hit 'em hard. Chop your feet!”

Landon started stamping his feet on the floor in a quick staccato rhythm, the way he'd seen it done on YouTube. He got carried away until his mother shouted, “Stop that, Landon! Just stop.”

They rode in silence again before his mother reminded Landon of the deal. “All we have to do is make sure the doctor will allow it. Football is okay with me, I said that, but we will have to make sure the doctor is all right with it. We'll see him the week after next.”

Then she latched on to a new idea. “And what about a helmet? You might not be able to find one. Your head isn't as big as your father's, but the implants might be a problem, Landon. I didn't even think of that, and I'm sure you didn't either.”

Landon nodded and grinned. Without speaking, he stroked his iPad a few times before handing it up to his father, who studied the page in front of him. “Actually, he has thought of it, Gina. Here's an article right here about an Ohio kid named Adam Strecker. They've got helmets for kids with implants. Football helmets. Look . . .”

His father held up the iPad for her to see, but she swatted it away. “I'm driving, Forrest.”

Landon took the iPad back. He'd scored points and taken a big lead against his mother, but he knew it wasn't over. She would fight to the end. That was her nature. But Landon knew he could fight too, just as hard.

He tabbed open his book and pretended to read as if he hadn't a care in the world. He did have cares, though. Even though he'd spent his life pretending nothing bothered him, many things did. It bothered him that because of how he talked people thought he was special needs. It bothered him when people snickered at his clumsy size or whispered and pointed at the discs magnetically attached to his head. It bothered him that he had no friends, and it bothered him that there'd been no group outside of his family where he'd ever fit in.

That could all change now. The hope sent a shiver up his spine. He stared at the words on the screen without reading them. In his mind he was dressed in shoulder pads and a helmet, and he was marching out onto the field with his teammates, a band of brothers. They were tall and proud and ready for anything. When they all put their hands in for a common cheer, Landon's would be right there, one of the many.

That's all he wanted: to be, at long last, one of the many.

They'd stopped halfway to New York to sleep in a motel but were on the road again early the next day. That afternoon they drove through town and pulled up through a pair of gates and along a long driveway past a big front lawn bathed in sunshine. The house, huge and impressive sitting among a host of trees, had thick brown beams, white plaster, and a heavy slate stone roof.

“Wow.” Genevieve pushed her face to the glass. “Are we rich?”

“No,” their mother said in her fussy way. “We are comfortable. I wouldn't say rich.”

“Okay.” Genevieve's green eyes were alight as if she didn't believe it. “But we have a pool, right? You said there's a pool.”

“It's out back!” Their mother couldn't hide her pride at bringing her family to such a great spot. She stopped the car
outside the triple garage door on the side of the house. The moving van was already there, backed up and unloading furniture.

“When you said ‘Bronx' I didn't think it would be like this,” Landon's sister said. “All these trees.”

“It's Bronx
ville
,” their father said, slipping out of the car and stretching as he assessed their new home.

“The Bronxville Broncos won the New York State Championship,” Landon said, referring to the high school football team. He'd play with them when he was old enough.

“I need to keep an eye on these movers,” their mother said. “Forrest, can you take the kids and get some lunch and some groceries?”

“What about you?” Landon's father asked.

“Bring back a salad, spinach if they have it. I'll take care of things here.” Their mother walked away, already organizing the movers.

“Well . . .” Their dad looked at the Prius as if it were a dangerous dog, and Landon knew he didn't relish the thought of wedging himself back inside. “Let's take a walk. Good? We're not far from the center of town, and my legs could use it.”

Landon tucked his iPad under one arm, tugged on his Cleveland Browns cap, and set off with his father and sister. They lived on Crow's Nest Road, which fed right into Pondfield, the main street of Bronxville. The sun warmed the tree-lined street, but it wasn't too hot. The big houses stood mostly silent. Only an occasional car cruised by. It was as if they had Bronxville mostly to themselves and the pleasant summer day was a greeting to them, a new beginning.

“Library.” His dad pointed to a large brick building facing the street, and Landon felt a surge of pleasure because, even though he liked reading on the iPad, he preferred the feel and smell of a real book. The air on the sidewalk in the shadows of the maple trees lining the road was cool and heavy with fresh-cut grass. They only had to cross the street before his father pointed again. “There's the middle school.”

That gave Landon the opposite sensation. His hands clenched and his throat went dry. He looked at Genevieve. She had small features and a sharp nose like his mom. She narrowed her green eyes the way a mountain climber might size up Mount Everest.

They continued on toward the center of town before Genevieve pointed out Womrath Book Shop. “A library
and
bookstore, Landon. This place is going to be heaven for you.”

“And there's a famous deli across the street, Lange's.” Their father consulted his phone “Five stars on TripAdvisor.”

They crossed the street and made their way to the deli. Three bikes leaned against a lamppost on the sidewalk outside. They made Landon nervous because with bikes usually came boys. Sure enough, they walked in and Landon saw the three boys sitting near the back in a corner. Two had dark hair. One, with a pug face, wore his hair parted on the side and swept over the top, flopping down so it nearly covered one eye. The other's short hair, pointy stiff with gel, framed the elfin face of a TV character. The third had red hair in a buzz cut. He had freckles and big teeth. When they spotted Landon's father, they immediately began to chatter and point. They were too far for Landon to hear, but he read the pug-faced boy's lips as he
laughed and said, “Hey, it's the Giant. Where's Jack?”

Landon knew he should turn away, knew he shouldn't look, shouldn't read their lips and see their words. Nothing good ever came from three boys laughing and gawking, but he felt drawn to it the way he might poke at a bruise to test how much it really hurt. He peeked around the edge of his father, who stood oblivious, looking up at the menu board.

“Dude,” the spiky-haired boy said, pointing, “look. It's
got a baby giant from outer space
.” The boy made antennae with his fingers and clamped them on his ears. All three of them laughed, and Landon looked away now because they were staring at him. He tugged his cap down, horrified at what they might say if they could see the discs. All they were reacting to now were the battery packs and processors that fit over and behind his ears like giant hearing aids. If they saw the magnetic discs, which looked like fat quarters on the sides of his head, they'd go wild. They wouldn't even have to know that the discs covered implanted discs attached to wires that were tucked beneath his
brain
to get excited. He'd heard it before.

“Hey, Frank!” someone would say.

The first time it happened, Landon shook his head and pointed to himself. “My name is Landon.”

“Franken
stein,
dude. Frank-n-stein!” And they'd point to their own heads with fingers in the spots where the moveable magnetic discs connected to the disc implants beneath his scalp. Sometimes they'd stick out their tongues, cross their eyes, or both.

Landon was nervous when a waitress took them to their table near the boys. He sat in the chair with his back to the
three boys and focused on the menu. There were lots of choices. His father ordered a tuna melt, and Landon asked for the same. Genevieve got turkey on a croissant with brown mustard and Swiss cheese. She didn't eat like a kid, and it was just another way that she seemed more advanced than Landon, even though she was a year younger.

Landon couldn't understand the chatter behind him now. The sounds he heard with the implants weren't sharp enough for him to understand what was being said without the ability to also see a person's lips. He could read lips fairly well, but the best way for him to understand what was being said was to hear the fuzzy sounds and see the lips at the same time.

Landon tried not to stare at his sister, but he couldn't help feeling concerned each time she glanced past him to where he knew the boys were sitting. Then she put her croissant down without taking a last bite. Her face turned dark. Her eyes moved in a way that told Landon the boys were headed toward their table. Landon tapped Genevieve's arm, trying to get her to look at him. If he could draw her into a conversation, she might not do anything bad, but she swatted his hand away without moving her eyes.

The three boys moved past the table in a tight group. Landon heard one of them say something, but he had no idea what because the diner wasn't quiet and the boy didn't speak loudly. It must have been bad, though, because Genevieve sprang from her chair and darted at the biggest one of them like a terrier on a rat.

Genevieve gave the redhead a shove, pushing him back so that he stumbled into another table, upsetting the drinks of the four ladies who sat there. Landon heard a muffled shriek. Both he and his father jumped up. His father grabbed Genevieve by the shoulders, holding her back.

“What's your problem?” The redhead glared and clenched his fists. He stood nearly as tall as Landon, though half as wide.

“My problem is
you!
” Genevieve struggled to get free. “And you!” She kicked out at the pug-faced boy's shin. Thankfully she missed, but the three boys backed away toward the door.

“Come on, Skip.” The spiky-haired one tugged the redhead's arm. He turned to the pug-faced kid with the floppy hair and said, “Xander, let's just go.”

The entire diner stared in disbelief as Genevieve's eyes brimmed with tears.

“Genevieve, you can't act like this,” their father scolded as he guided her back to her seat. He kept his voice even and calm, though, and then he turned to the ladies at the table of spilled drinks where a waitress was already at work with a towel. He produced his wallet and removed some bills. “I'm very sorry. I'll pay for those drink refills and any cleaning.”

Landon took a quick look around. Everyone was staring and whispering. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to die. He shook his head and tapped Genevieve to get her attention. “You know I don't want people staring,” he scolded.

“You can't let people disrespect you—here or when you're on the football field, Landon,” Genevieve said. “You need to learn that.”

“This isn't the football field. This is the diner.”

Genevieve gave him a fiery look that quickly melted, and he was afraid she would burst into tears, but she bit her lip and put her hand on top of his and said, “I'm sorry, Landon. I just can't stand . . .”

“Don't worry so much about me, Genevieve,” Landon said. “I'm gonna be fine here. This is a football town. When they see me play, no one's gonna laugh. I promise.”

“You don't—”

Landon cut her off with his hand. “You have to
ignore
people like that, Genevieve.”

Her eyes burned again and her nostrils flared. “Maybe you can ignore them, Landon. You didn't hear what they said, but I
did
.”

Landon's mouth turned sour. He glared at his sister, removed his hat, and disconnected his electronic ears, the processors, the
magnetic discs, and the wires that connected the two parts. The components dangled in his hand for a moment like small sea creatures, and he showed them to her before he stuffed them into his pockets and put the cap back on his head. Genevieve had humiliated them all. They'd just moved here and Genevieve was already getting in trouble. Whatever those boys had said, she should have ignored it, just like he did.

Removing the external equipment for his implants was the most powerful statement Landon could make. He was cutting off his sister, cutting off the entire world. Now, none of it mattered, and as long as he refused to read their lips, no one could bother him.