Left Out (15 page)

The trip to the city was fun. Landon had no idea something so simple and nice could cause yet another problem for him, but it did. A picture was taken after their dinner at Jekyll and Hyde by a man with a tightly trimmed beard on the Bow Bridge in Central Park. It was the five of them—Landon's family plus Megan—all crowded together, arms around one another, smiling, with the water and the incredible Central Park West skyline behind them. Genevieve had posted it on Instagram, a quaint family portrait plus a friend. #CentralPark.

By Monday evening, someone—and everyone seemed to know it was Katy Buford—had taken the image, cropped it so that Landon and Megan were standing together without anyone else in the picture, and added the caption,
Beauty and the Beast #Truelove?

They couldn't pin it on Katy directly because the post was
on a site called ChitChat Bronxville, a horrid little cesspool on the internet where people in the small town could spew nasty rumors about one another without having to leave their fingerprints behind. It was a site where the posts were anonymous.

The picture and ensuing nasty comments had also revived Landon's 3P nickname, along with lots of other speculation about what he and Megan were up to and how she really mustn't have minded him seeing her changing after all. Landon read over Genevieve's shoulder in a state of shock until their mother took the phone to see for herself.

Landon's mother sat at the head of the kitchen table. With the look of a person about to jump out of an airplane, she started to read. Her lips moved and a frown dragged the corners of her mouth down. She began to tremble with rage. “It's vicious. It should be illegal.”

Landon's father shrugged and made the mistake of observing, “It's free speech.”

His mother's eyes cut Landon's father to the quick.

“But it shouldn't be,” he added, hardly missing a beat.

“Well,” his mom said, snapping the phone off, “we won't read it and we won't think about it. We're not going to validate this disgusting site by acknowledging that it's even there. That's what everyone should do. Would you read some nasty comment on the inside of a bathroom stall and then post it to discuss with people? That's all this is.”

Landon had never seen Genevieve so defeated. She raised her head and spoke in a low voice Landon could barely make out. “Everyone else is seeing it and talking about it too. Everyone's saying to check out ChitChat Bronxville.”

“Was there a site like this in Cleveland?” their mother asked. “A ChitChat Cleveland?”

“Things always start in New York or LA and bleed toward the middle of the country,” Genevieve said. “So, no. I'd never heard of ChitChat until now, but Megan told me everyone here knows about it.”

“And how is
she?
” Their mom puckered her lips for a moment. “Megan?”

Genevieve shrugged. “Upset, Mom. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“What does that mean?” Their mom's back stiffened. “What good deed? Enjoying a getaway with us in the city? How is that a good deed?”

“Just . . .” Genevieve took a quick glance at Landon and then looked down at the kitchen table in front of her. She made a small, tight fist and banged it down. “Nothing.”

Like the poison of a snakebite, the realization that Megan being nice to him was nothing more than charity seeped deeper and deeper into Landon's bloodstream, filling his body, and paralyzing it with pain. He sat for a minute, and then he staggered up from his chair and headed for the stairs. He heard his mother call to him gently, but he kept going.

As he climbed, each step brought with it the shred of a memory from the past two days: the cinnamon smell of Megan's hair next to him in the carriage ride through Central Park, the touch of her warm fingertips on the back of his hand to draw his attention to the sunset from atop the Empire State Building, the sound of her shriek when a ghoul popped up behind her chair at the Jekyll and Hyde Club, the sparkle of fireworks in
those glassy blue eyes, the feel of her shoulder bones beneath his arm as he wrapped it around her for the picture that was causing all the problems.

And tomorrow?

Landon kicked his bedroom door shut and lay down.

Tomorrow was school, a disaster in and of itself. He'd asked himself before how anything could be worse than the first day of school at Bronxville. He knew now that it could be worse.

It would be so much worse.

Landon woke with a headache and butterflies in his stomach, but knew that with his mom, if there wasn't any vomit or temperature, you were going to school. His mom was a fanatic about school attendance.

“Ninety percent of success is just showing up,” she'd say.

So he did his thing in the bathroom, tugged on the khaki shorts and new strawberry-colored Izod shirt his mom had laid out for him, and clomped down the stairs. His dad sat bent over his computer in the great room. Landon waved as he passed into the kitchen, but his father was lost in his writing. Landon's mom was speaking to him, but he didn't hear a thing. He read her lips.

“Where are your ears, Landon?”

He shook his head, thought he might actually throw up from nerves, and returned to his bedroom for the ears. When
he got back, Genevieve was at the table, halfway through her pancakes, and looking worried herself.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” She put her fork down and cleared her plate. “Let's do this, okay?”

Landon forced a chuckle. “That's a little dramatic. We're not going into battle, Genevieve.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe
you're
not.”

Landon picked at his own pancakes, cleared his plate from the table, and went to say good-bye to his dad. Landon had to tap his father three times before his fingers stopped dancing on the keyboard. He looked up, blinking. “Oh, hey, buddy. Wow. In a zone. Ready for school?”

“I guess so.”

“Hey.” His dad put his hands on Landon's shoulders. He nodded toward his computer before looking deep into Landon's eyes. “Nodnal is fighting the dragon right now. That's the scene I'm on. His hair and eyebrows have been roasted off his head. He's bleeding from his nose and his sword is broken. The dragon is crashing down on top of him, and do you know what's gonna happen?”

Landon watched his father's eyebrow creep up into an arch on his forehead.

“He's gonna be crushed?” Landon didn't see how it could go any other way.

His father's lips quivered into a small smile. “No, Landon. Nodnal dives to the ground with his sword like this.”

Landon's dad gripped the handle of his pretend sword, one hand on top of the other like a baseball bat. “The broken sword
is straight up, like a post. The dragon comes down with all his weight and impales his heart, just a nick, on the jagged tip. On reflexes alone, the dragon jumps up and away, trips, falls flat on his back . . . and dies.”

Landon simply stared. After a few moments, he said, “This is real life, Dad.”

“I know it is.” His father mussed Landon's hair. “But happy endings abound. Where do you think happy endings came from, buddy? Real life. Go get yourself one.”

Landon's dad turned back toward his screen and went to work.

Landon walked out the door. Genevieve was waiting for him in the driveway. She wore a short Abercrombie dress with a matching dark blue ribbon to hold back her thick hair from her face.

Landon took a deep breath and let it loose. “Ready?”

“Not yet.” Genevieve shook her head. “Mom said for us to wait. She's going with us before she goes to the train station.”

“Oh, boy.”

Genevieve bit her lip. “Yup. She better not do anything crazy.”

Their mom came out of the garage, heading their way with her briefcase strap over her shoulder. Her mouth was stretched as thin as a paper cut. “Okay, kids. First day of school in Bronxville. Thought I'd have a little
chat
with the principal. Ready?”

The word “chat” told them that their mom was ready for a fight. Landon and Genevieve exchanged a look.

She was already past them, headed directly for the middle school.

Landon and Genevieve sat reluctantly with their mom, staring at Mr. Sanders, who sprouted hair from his head like weeds in a garden. As if to compensate for the hair, his suit was shiny-new, his black-and-blue-striped tie crisply knotted. The principal greeted Landon's mother like an old friend. He said that after all the calls and emails, he felt he knew her.

“Mrs. Dorch, at our last teachers' meeting we discussed Landon's hearing. I emphasized that he needs to read lips to fully understand, and everyone is on board. We want Landon to feel welcome.” The principal grinned widely and raised his eyebrows.

Landon's mother said, “Thank you, Mr. Sanders, but we're not here about that.”

Then she proceeded to explain the situation.

Now Mr. Sanders wore a look of serious concern. “I told
you on the phone, we have a no-tolerance bullying policy, Mrs. Dorch, and I meant it.”

His mom seemed to accept that just fine. “I run fifty offices across the globe. Trust me, I know that even the best leader cannot be responsible for every move her team makes. And I know there are outside forces . . . the internet. Social media.”

Mr. Sanders winced at the words. “But we try and educate our students. I assure you.”

“Right. But I'm here because this internet bullying is
real.
It's anonymous, but it's not imagined. It's not hypothetical. All you have to do is check out ChitChat Bronxville if you don't believe me. If you do believe me, don't check it out, because looking at those things validates them, don't you think?”

“I see what you're saying.” Mr. Sanders started clicking his pen.

“We can't prove any direct accusation because it is all anonymous, but we can bet this came from a student in their grade.” She looked at Landon and Genevieve. The smoldering anger in her eyes made Landon's mouth dry.

“Be alert, is all I'm asking, Mr. Sanders,” Landon's mom said. “Talk to my kids' teachers. Make them aware. Landon will never say a word, but Genevieve is apt to go ballistic.”

Mr. Sanders stopped clicking his pen. He glanced at Genevieve, who gave him a wan smile.

“Get what I'm saying?” Landon's mom asked.

Mr. Sanders cleared his throat and said, “We have another teacher meeting this afternoon. I promise we'll discuss this.”

“Great!” Landon's mom popped up. “I'm off to work. Thanks so much for your time, Mr. Sanders.”

Their mom gave them each a kiss on the cheek and then gave Mr. Sanders's hand a feisty little shake before disappearing out the door. Genevieve wasn't waiting around. She was in a different homeroom than Landon, one that was on the other side of the school. She was halfway out the door when Landon turned to the principal. “Sorry, Mr. Sanders.”

Mr. Sanders circled his desk and put a hand on Landon's shoulder. “Don't be sorry. I wish every mom cared that much about her kids. You can't begin to imagine . . .”

Landon nodded, even though he wasn't quite sure he understood. “See you.”

“See you, Landon. And Landon, don't worry about any of this.”

Landon nodded again and turned and left the office, plunging into the sea of hostility, hoping for even a scrap of something that could help him stay afloat.

Landon walked into Room 114, and there it was.

A life jacket.

Brett jumped out of his chair, slapped his hand into Landon's and pulled him into a teammate hug, thumping him on the back. “Landon, come sit here.” He motioned to the seat next to him. “I saved you a seat.”

Landon didn't need anything else. He didn't scan the room from the corners of his eyes. He didn't worry about people dipping their heads together to whisper. He was saved.

His friend was wearing a Rashad Jennings Giants jersey and matching gym shorts.

“Dude, put your stuff down and get your schedule.” Brett pointed at the desk where Landon rested his backpack. “Let's see how many classes we have together. Schedules are on Mrs. Rigling's desk.”

Landon retrieved his schedule and got a smiling wink from Mrs. Rigling. Things were looking up. He returned to his desk
and sat down. Brett grabbed the schedule from his hand and placed it down next to his own.

“Let's see. First, I got English. You got math. . . .”

Landon dared to look around. Half the kids were busy with their schedules. The other half he caught gawking at him like a zoo animal. He wasn't sure if it was because of Brett's warm welcome, the internet site, or his cochlear implants, but their eyes scattered when they saw him looking at them.

“. . . Fourth, you got earth science. I got . . . social studies. Darn.” Brett frowned and glanced at Landon. “Lunch? Nope. Hey, wait, we got gym together! That's a good thing.”

Landon felt a ray of thankfulness. Gym was always a nightmare: being picked last, no one wanting to be his partner, getting beaned as the easiest target the game of dodgeball had ever known.

“No for eight. No nine either.” Brett frowned and looked up. “Well, it's homeroom and gym, but you'll have some of the other guys on the team in your classes. You'll be okay.”

Both of them knew that wasn't true, but Landon kept up appearances, even when Mrs. Rigling arrived at his desk to deliver printed announcements with a secret smile. He knew this came from his mother. She'd made calls and emails to Mr. Sanders because he hadn't a prayer of understanding most of what was said on a loudspeaker. Still, he hated being singled out like that. When the announcements were over, Mrs. Rigling rapped a ruler lightly on her desk, stood, and went through the disciplinary code and the policy on late arrivals to homeroom, often looking straight at Landon.

“Also,” she said, “I'll have some of you for math class, and any
of you—whether you're in my math class or Mr. Mazella's—are welcome to ask me questions during homeroom period. I love math, and helping you learn it is why I'm here.”

When Mrs. Rigling sat down, Landon leaned close to Brett. “See you in gym.”

“You got it, my man.”

They bumped fists. The bell rang, and Landon took a deep breath as the day began.