Left Out (22 page)

“So, Landon.” Jonathan turned to face him. “Forget what I said before. You block for five seconds and then stop. That's the length of an average play. Can you count that in your mind? Just one, two, three, four, five; then you get off the block. That'll fix it. Can you?”

“Sure,” Landon said.

Coach Furster opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out except, “He . . . uh . . . uh . . .”

“Coach, you line my man and Brett up next to each other?” Jonathan shook his head with the slow wag of a dog. It looked—and kind of sounded to Landon—like he whistled. “Man oh man. You got yourself a juggernaut. Yes sir, one of them unstoppable, rolling battering ram things that just crushes everything in its way. You tuck your runner up behind 'em? My man!”

“It's an idea.” Coach Furster seemed to slowly be regaining
his control of the situation. “Let's see how he does, though. Let's see about this five-second thing.”

Jonathan clapped his meaty hands. “I like it, Coach. That's just what Coach McAdoo would've said.”

Coach Furster lost his fight not to smile at the comparison, and the toot of his whistle was a little less strong than usual before he barked, “Okay, let's get it back in the huddle. Forty-eight sweep! Let me see it!”

Jonathan winked at Landon and shooed him toward the huddle.

It all happened so fast. Skip called the play in a mutter. Brett pointed at him and smiled from the other side of the huddle. They stepped to the line. Gunner Miller hunkered down in his stance with trembling legs, ready to explode, ready to take revenge. Part of Landon was scared. Part of him wanted to explain to Gunner that he only wanted a true place on the team, not to actually take his job. But part of Landon got mad, and he asked himself, why should he go through life being picked on and being left out? Why shouldn't
he
win the day? Win the battle? Win the war? Landon saw the other linemen drop, so he did too, more ready this time for action.

And in that instant, he felt it.

He went batty with anger.

Nasty.

Even though he couldn't really hear the cadence, Landon exploded at the first sign of movement, low and hard. This time there was no neutral, momentary stand-off. This time Landon plowed through Gunner so fast and hard he fell down. Landon went over him like a lawnmower, let go, and pitilessly
grabbed the next body he came upon, Timmy Nichols. Landon manhandled him, driving him three yards back before tossing him to the dirt.

He was huffing and puffing and he stopped and stood up straight, fearful that he might have gone over a five-second count. In truth, he hadn't counted at all. All he knew was that Layne Guerrero was wiggling his butt in the end zone. Landon turned.

Coach Furster looked amazed, but when Landon detected the small smile in the left corner of Jonathan Wagner's mouth, it filled him with joy and pride. Brett was slapping him on the back. Landon turned.

“Dude! You crushed them. Two pancakes in the same play? Ha-ha! I never had
two
pancakes!” Landon's cheeks burned. He shrugged and headed back toward where he knew the huddle would be, unable to keep a huge grin from blooming around his mouthpiece.

Practice went on just like that.

Get the play. Line up. Five seconds of nastiness. Do it again.

Landon kept expecting something bad to happen, some problem to pop up and ruin everything, but by the end of the evening Jonathan Wagner had taught them all four new running plays from an unbalanced line that put Landon and Brett right next to each other to open massive holes in the defense to run through. Landon could see that Coach Furster didn't really like the whole thing, until Jonathan showed them a counter-play that had the quarterback handing the ball off to the wide receiver on an end around to the weak side.

That was a play where Mike would shine.

“See?” Jonathan explained excitedly. “The defense is going to
have
to shift to this unbalanced line, and when they start getting chewed up by your two monster hogs, they'll
over
shift. Then you come back at them with this wide receiver end around, and they may just lay down on you and quit.”

They ran the play, and the grin on Coach Furster's face when his son scampered into the end zone could have lit a Christmas tree.

“We really are a passing team, though.” Coach Furster scratched his head.

Jonathan shook his head and frowned. “There's no such thing, Coach. You can ask Coach McAdoo or Eli Manning. You can ask Peyton Manning or Aaron Rodgers or Tom Brady. Even the so-called ‘passing' teams know you gotta run the ball to set up the pass. No one ever won a championship any other way.”

Landon looked back to Coach Furster to see his reaction.

What he saw, he never expected.

Surrender.

That was the best word Landon could think of, and he never thought he'd see it on Coach Furster's face. He never imagined Coach Furster was even capable of it, but in the presence of a man as big and powerful and immovable as Jonathan Wagner, Coach Furster was reduced to a regular dad, chewing on his knuckle.

As the team gathered around, no one could hear them talking, but Landon read the NFL player's and his coach's lips.

Coach Furster said, “I was thinking to myself that we needed to get back to basics. I mean, losing to Scarsdale?”

“It's a funny-shaped ball,” Jonathan said. “It doesn't always bounce your way, but you're right about basics. I think you've got something here, Coach. Something that could really give people headaches.”

Coach Furster held out a hand. “This has been an honor.”

“And a pleasure for me.” Jonathan shook the coach's hand.

“Hey, would you mind saying a few words to the team?” Coach Furster asked.

“Sure.” Jonathan Wagner turned to the team. He didn't speak until everyone was standing totally still. Only then did he look around like that ferocious lion again. “Guys, you've heard it before. There's no ‘I' in ‘team.' And that means if you want to be a champion, you have to realize it's about everyone around you. Look around.”

He waited until they really did look before he continued. “From the best player to the worst, you're a team, so act like one. Treat each other well and you won't just win, you'll
be winners
.”

Coach Furster waited to make sure Jonathan Wagner was finished before he turned to the players, who now stood waiting in anticipation for wind sprints, and shouted, “All right, men. It's not every day you get an NFL player showing up at your practice, so I'm gonna let Jonathan Wagner decide just how many sprints you guys will run. Let's go! On the line!”

Coach Furster blasted his whistle and everyone lined up shoulder-to-shoulder on the sideline.

Jonathan stepped forward and raised his voice. “I like what you guys are doing. I like the way you worked, and when the New York Giants work really hard and have a really good practice, sometimes,
sometimes
, Coach McAdoo says, ‘You did your running during practice men,
see you tomorrow
!'”

Everyone around Landon cheered. He looked to make sure that's what it was before joining in.

“You heard him!” Coach Furster shouted, waving them off the field.
“See you tomorrow!”

More cheering, and the team moved in a wave up the hill toward the parking lot. Landon saw Mike Furster and Skip Dreyfus without their helmets, each with a hand on the shoulder pads of a crestfallen Gunner Miller. Xander West walked backward, talking to them all. Landon was breathless at the sight, and he hesitated. He wanted to thank Jonathan Wagner, but he didn't want to be a pest and Coach Furster was now having his picture taken with the Giants player, so Landon turned and slogged up the hill.

When he got into the car, his father looked at him from his hunched-over position and asked, “What's everyone so excited about, buddy?”

Landon carefully removed his helmet and the skullcap and adjusted the hearing apparatus clinging to his head. He dumped the helmet into the backseat and sat looking down at his hands. Tears rushed into his eyes. He couldn't speak, but only shake his head.

“Hey, hey.” Landon's dad gave him a gentle shake until he looked up. “What's wrong, buddy? Hey, what happened? You can tell me.”

Landon sniffed and spoke in a choking voice. “
I
happened, Dad. I did it. I did it.”

Landon looked through the kaleidoscope of tears. “I'm a football player.”

That night at home and the next morning before school, Landon didn't boast about it. He didn't even tell Genevieve, not because she didn't deserve to know but because Landon wanted to caress the idea of who he now was in the privacy of his own thoughts.

As Landon dug into his oatmeal, Genevieve pounded her hand on the table between them to get his attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, great.” Landon did his best to look normal.

“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.

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.