Left Out (5 page)

Landon leaned toward Megan's face, intent on her lips. The diner around them created a buzzing hum that made hearing even more difficult for him. Crowded places were always a nightmare.

“Well,” she said, still bright, “my boyfriend is the quarterback.”

“Your . . . wait, what?”

“My boyfriend.”

Landon didn't think things could get worse. Then they did.

“His name is Skip,” Megan said.

Landon knew of only one Skip, the redheaded boy from their first lunch at the deli, and something told him that was exactly who Megan was talking about.

“He's super nice.” Megan spoke very directly to Landon, and he now noticed that her voice was funny, loud and slow,
like he was four years old instead of twelve. “He's tall and he's cute and he can help you fit in.” Megan reached out and patted Landon's arm and then sat back, proud of her ability to communicate with him.

“You talk like you think I'm stupid.” Landon's mood plummeted.

Genevieve poked his arm. “Landon, be nice.”

Landon glared at his sister. “I can hear, you know.” He pointed to his cochlears.

The waitress appeared, and Genevieve took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. “Let's order! I'll have prosciutto on toast with a side salad and balsamic vinaigrette, please. Landon, how about you?”

“Pastrami.” Landon folded his arms across his chest and slumped in his chair. His brain felt like mud, wet and gooey, a real mess. Katy looked at him like he was some kind of toad. When he felt a tap on his arm, he turned to see Megan, not sulking back or mad or babying him, but with a bright smile.

“I'm sorry, Landon,” she said. “I never knew a deaf person before. I'll get it right. Just be patient with me, okay?”

Landon's mouth fell open. He wanted to cry, but knew he had to choke back his emotions. He hadn't really known how he wanted people to treat him before, only that they all either treated him with syrupy kindness that felt fake or, worse, with cruelty for being so big and clumsy and hard to understand and deaf.

Now, here was this beautiful girl who made his heart whirr, and she'd done what he wanted everyone to do: be honest and understanding, offering kindness without pity.

“Yes,” he said, “I can be patient. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she said to him before turning to the waitress. “I'll have a grilled cheese with fries, extra pickles, and can you bring my friend another Coke, please?”

Megan nodded at Landon's nearly empty drink, and it was only then he realized she was talking about
him.

Landon took a breath and held it, savoring the fizz and the flavor, not of the Coke, but of maybe, finally, having a friend.

Landon stayed busy with his sandwich and then explained to Megan that he could hear, just not like most people. He pointed to the metal disc attached to the back of the right side of his head. “I had surgery. There's an implant under here. A wire goes from the implant into my inner ear, where they put a computer chip. The disc transmits sound impulses to my inner ear.”

Landon pointed behind his ear. “You might think this is a big hearing aid. Actually, it's the processor and also the battery, and it picks up sound waves and sends them to the metal disc, which sends them to my inner ear. I've got the same things on the left side. My mom just calls the whole setup my ‘ears.'”

Megan nodded, clearly interested. But Katy just looked on, more in bewilderment than anything, like she couldn't believe Megan was bothering with him.

“So, I hear,” Landon explained to Megan, “but it's not like what you hear. Nothing is ever really clear, and I need to see people's faces.”

“Like lipreading?” Megan asked.

“Yeah, but really the whole face is important,” Landon said. “I put it all together, what I hear and what I see, and I guess I can understand people pretty well, but . . .”

Megan tilted her head. “What?”

“With my family, I tap them to get them to look at me so I can see them. It's a habit,” he said.

“So?”

Landon shrugged. “Other people don't always like it.”

Megan shrugged back. “Too bad for them.” She popped the last of her fries into her mouth. “Hey, are we going swimming or what?”

Genevieve paid with the credit card, and when the other girls tried to give her money she told them they could take her out next time. Landon just watched and felt like a goof, but that didn't stop him from feeling proud of her and mystified at this new world they lived in: his little sister buying lunches on a credit card, ordering iced tea and prosciutto like grownups. On their way out of the diner, Landon tapped Genevieve on the shoulder and spoke low. “You're awesome, you know that?”

“You are, too.” She hugged his middle and stood on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

Landon walked behind Genevieve and Katy, right alongside Megan.

Landon learned that Katy's father was the richest man in Bronxville, and he supposed that was why Genevieve tolerated
her eye-rolling and rude attitude. Megan was confident. She described her father, the president of the country club, as a “climber”—which made Landon think of his mother, although he didn't say so.

Megan was careful to look at him when she spoke, and they talked about
Bridge to Terabithia
, which was her favorite book. Landon mostly listened and felt a little foolish when he told her it was too sad for his taste.

Megan looked disappointed. “Lots of the best books are sad.”

Landon wiped the beads of sweat from his upper lip, aware that his bulk was making him feel hotter still. “I know. But life is sad. Why should books be sad, too? I want books to be happy. I like heroes, and adventures.”

She brightened. “Do you like
Ella Enchanted
?” Then she scowled. “Did you read
Ella Enchanted
?”

“I did.” Landon nodded hard and fast.

Katy laughed, and it seemed to Landon from the flick of her eyes that she was laughing
at
him, but he ignored her and continued. “See? That's a happy ending. How about the Chronicles of Narnia? Have you read those?”

Megan shook her head. “No.”

“Oh, well, you have to.” Landon trudged on, feeling the solid sidewalk beneath his feet and standing tall so that he easily looked over the top of his sister's head as they walked past the gate posts into their driveway. Now that he saw the house through the eyes of the richest girl in town, it seemed more like a cottage than a mansion, and Landon was sharply aware of the untrimmed hedges and a shutter that needed fixing on one of the upper windows.

As they reached the side door, he wondered if he should have even admitted to reading
Ella Enchanted,
because he doubted that was the kind of book a real football player would read. He felt certain Megan's boyfriend, Skip, wouldn't read such a thing. In a storm of self-doubt and discomfort, he went upstairs to his room to get changed into his bathing suit.

When he arrived at the pool, the girls had already put out their towels on the lounge chairs. Landon claimed a chair, and then he pulled Genevieve aside. “Should I wear my shirt or take it off?”

Genevieve studied his face. “Why would you leave it on?”

Landon lifted his shirt and pointed to the pale roll of blubber spilling over the band of his red bathing suit. “This.”

Genevieve frowned and swatted the air. “No one cares, Landon. You're not posing for a magazine.” She said louder, “How about a cannonball contest?”

Landon raised his eyebrows.

Katy frowned.

Megan studied Landon's face and seemed to read his mind. “That's a great idea. I love cannonballs.”

Landon grinned and disconnected his “ears” without hesitation, wrapping them in his towel and setting them on the table next to his chair beneath a wide green umbrella. He was bursting with pride as he stepped up to the board. He remembered his manners and invited the girls to go first. When they said no, he dove right in, showering them in a geyser of water. They all declared him the clear winner. After that, he sprang off the end of the diving board—time after time—sending up fountains of spray that reached for the sky and waves that had
the girls giddy, laughing and rocking like ships in a storm on inflatable rafts.

He didn't have to hear to know they were bubbling with joy, even Katy. It was one of those summer days that were never meant to end. He'd even forgotten about football, until his father called them in for an early dinner. Landon saw the joy drain from everyone's faces. He dried his head and then reattached his ears, nerves already back on edge.

“Your friends are welcome to stay, Genevieve.” Their father stood in the kitchen doorway with an apron on and a spatula in his hand.

The girls seemed shaken by his presence. They toweled off and said they had to get home.

“But thank you, Mr. Dorch.” Megan gave a happy wave as she and Katy made a fast exit through the gate that led to a path through the bushes to the driveway.

Dripping on the red brick terrace surrounding the pool, Landon said, “That was fun, Genevieve.”

“You were great.” Genevieve reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Landon, they really like you.”

Landon blushed. “Well, I think it's you they like and they were just being nice.”

She shook her head. “No, Landon, they liked
you.
Especially Megan.”

Landon felt a jolt of pleasure at the sound of her name, and he stared at the gate through which she'd departed. “But she has a boyfriend. It's gotta be that Skip kid you shoved.”

Genevieve bit her lip. “It is him, but sometimes people make mistakes. Maybe he'll turn out all right. Maybe when she tells
him we're all friends, he'll be nice to you. Heck, you're going to be teammates. That counts for a lot, right?”

Landon studied her face. He wanted her to be right, but when he remembered the shove she'd given Skip, knocking him back into that table full of women and spilling their drinks and embarrassing him in front of everyone, he said, “I don't know, Genevieve. Does it?”

They both knew that as soon as dinner was over, he was going to find out.

A handful of signs taped to broomsticks and stuck into orange highway cones directed Landon and his father to the
Westchester Youth Football League
weigh-ins. They could have just as easily followed the crowd of parents and their sons ranging in age from four to fourteen.

People were putting baked goods on the check-in table as if they were making an offering to the gods of football. Landon's mom had had to work late, so his father set the oatmeal cookies made with honey down beside a plate of brownies. Landon's father also had the list of things she wanted him to tell the officials, including the doctor's clearance. Under an overhang outside the middle school gym, they got in line in front of the seventh-grade team check-in table. Landon mostly kept his eyes ahead, but stole secret glances all around and tugged his Browns cap down snug on his head. The man behind the desk
wore stylish metal-framed glasses. When he saw Landon he reared back. “Whoa! Heh, heh. Guys, this is the seventh-grade line. Eighth is over there.”

“No,” Landon's dad said, getting out his checkbook. “He's in seventh grade.”

The man with glasses turned and nudged the tall man sitting next to him. “Bob, we got a bison here, for sure a Double X.”

“What's your name?” the man with glasses asked.

“He's Landon Dorch,” Landon's father answered for him. “What's that mean? Double X?”

“Dorch, I got it.” The man with the glasses drew a line through Landon's name on his list of registrants from the league's website. “Uh, it means he can only play right tackle on offense and left end on defense. No big deal. A kid his size is a hog anyway, right?”

Landon's father frowned and he straightened his back. “Hog?”

The man with the glasses laughed in a friendly way. “A lineman. A hog. It's a good thing. A football term. We love a kid as big as yours. Coach Bell was a hog, right, Coach?” He turned to the man standing at the scale with a clipboard. Beside him was a boy nearly as big as Landon, but harder looking, like a big sack of rocks.

“Yes, and so is my boy.” Coach Bell clapped the big bruiser on the shoulder. “You and Brett will be on the line together.”

“Hi, I'm Brett.” Brett Bell stepped forward without hesitation and gave Landon a firm handshake and a smile. “See you out there.”

Landon watched Brett march off toward the exit before turning toward the coach. Coach Bell was about six feet tall and
easily three hundred pounds. He wore a bright green T-shirt, a Bronxville Football cap, and a whistle around his neck.

“Coach Bell was a Division III All-American at Union, and his wife's little brother plays for the Giants. You know, Jonathan Wagner? He's the right tackle.” The man with glasses gazed at Coach Bell with respect. “Here, let's get Landon on that scale, and Mr. Dorch, you'll need to sign up for at least two volunteer jobs with Bob, but we'd be happy if you took three or four, depending on your work schedule.”

“Let's get Landon weighed,” Coach Bell said.

“Should I take off my shoes?” Landon asked Coach Bell, awed by the coach's All-American status and relationship to a real NFL player.

At the sound of Landon's garbled voice, all three men from the league looked at each other with alarm. The man with the glasses turned to Landon's dad and spoke in a low voice so that it was hard for Landon to make out what he was saying. But if Landon read his lips right, he said, “Uh, Mr. Dorch. Is your son . . . uh, does he have a problem we should know about?”

Landon's dad gave Landon a nervous glance, then shook his head at the man with glasses. “Landon has a slight difficulty speaking, but he's a B-plus student. He has cochlear implants to help him hear, so we've got a special helmet on order and a doctor's clearance for him to play.”

“Wait a minute,” the man said. “I need more than that.”

Standing by the scale, Landon swallowed hard and bit his lip. This wasn't how he wanted to begin his football career.