Left Out by Tim Green Page A

casserole left.” His father looked at him but remained seated in front of the computer. “Or you could make yourself a cheese sandwich. There are tomatoes in the crisper.”
    The thought of the casserole he’d spilled onto the football field the day before turned his empty stomach. “I’ll make a sandwich.”
    Landon had everything out and had just finished construction of his sandwich, with thick wedges of cheddar and juicy, ripe tomato slices on fresh-cut Italian bread, when his father wandered into the kitchen. “What about the name Nodnal?”
    â€œNodnal?” Landon stopped with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Is that even a name?”
    â€œWell, we’re talking about the Middle Ages, so . . .” His father’s face went from thoughtful to happy. “It’s ‘Landon’ spelled backward.”
    Landon set the cheese sandwich down in front of him on the kitchen table. “Dad, no. Please.”
    â€œOh, okay. I’m just trying to be creative here.”
    Landon rolled his eyes and felt a tap on his shoulder. Genevieve and her friends had come in behind him.
    â€œCreative about what?” Genevieve asked.
    Landon glanced at Megan and blushed, horrified. “Nothing. Dad’s just writing his new book.”
    â€œHi, Landon.” Megan stood wrapped in a towel, her long hair dark and damp, her pale blue eyes aglow.
    Landon looked down at his sandwich before looking back at them with a wave. “Hi.”
    â€œYeah, hi,” said Katy, also waving, but all business.
    â€œDo you guys want a sandwich?” he asked, unable to think of anything else. He pointed at the supplies on the table.
    Katy laughed, but Megan shook her head and said, “No, thanks.”
    â€œC’mon guys.” Genevieve headed for her room.
    â€œHow was football, Landon?” Megan hung back and looked at him like she really cared. “What position are you gonna play?”
    Landon thought of Mike Furster’s words, “Left out.”
    He cleared his throat. “I won a race yesterday.”
    â€œReally? Wow,” Megan said. “That’s great.”
    â€œYeah, then I, like, collapsed and Skip helped me up.”
    Megan pinched her lips together but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Good. I’m glad he did. I told him we were friends. He already texted Genevieve that he was sorry for what happened at the diner.”
    â€œHe did?”
    â€œShe didn’t tell you?” Megan frowned. “I wonder why.”
    Landon just stared at Megan, unable to take his eyes off her face.
    Finally, she shrugged and said, “Okay, well . . . gotta change.”
    Then she was gone. Landon hadn’t even realized that his father had returned to his writing desk, but he found himself alone in the kitchen with his big, thick cheese sandwich. He picked up the sandwich and looked down. He poked at his bulging stomach and then got up and dumped his snack in the trash. It was only one sandwich, but it was a start.
    He’d seen Coach Furster tell the team that’s how he’d built his half-billion-dollar equity fund—one investor at a time, one deal at a time. He told them one mile at a time was how he qualified for the Ironman in Hawaii. Coach Furster then said you built a champion the same way, one practice at a time. And that’s what Landon intended to be.
    A champion.

23
    Sunday was a day off from football, but Landon’s mom had plenty for them all to do around the house.
    â€œOkay, guys. We’ve got to get settled in for real,” she said.
    Evidently that meant a lot of cleaning and moving and straightening and throwing things away followed by a mess of yard work that continued for Landon into Monday afternoon. By the time football practice came around that evening, Landon was already exhausted, but he was determined to get more involved. This time, after stretching and agilities and bag work, he