Left Out Read Online Free Page B

chart. “Clean bill of health and ready to go. Just get that helmet before tackling.”
    â€œBut . . . ,” his mom got ready to protest. “Wouldn’t something like soccer be safer?”
    The doctor snorted. “Soccer? Mrs. Dorch, look at your son. He’s built for football, not soccer. Anyway I’d have my kid in football with all that padding and a helmet any day before I’d have him running around full speed knocking heads or having a ball kicked in his face. Like I said, nothing is without risk, though.”
    â€œIt’s just that you hear so much about football . . .” Landon’s mom was losing steam.
    The doctor ignored her, stepped back, and surveyed Landon. “One thing’s for sure: he could use the exercise.”
    Landon looked down at his gut and blushed. He was working on it, cutting back on the SmartChips, no matter how healthy they were, and on the second and third servings at meals despite his mother’s urgings to eat more.
    â€œGood luck in football, Landon. And remember that helmet!”
    That night Landon waited until dinner had been cleaned up and his mom was locked in her home office, busily working away on her laptop, before he tiptoed past the doorway two down from his bedroom and sought out his dad. His father didn’t need to lock himself away to do his work. His desk sat downstairs not far from Landon’s chair, in the middle of the living room in front of the big window overlooking the backyard. His father kept the surface of the massive claw-foot desk clear except for the iMac he wrote on as well as two leather books held proudly upright by marble busts of William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens.
    Landon’s father declared that he liked to be in the centerof their home because it let him draw from the lifeblood of their lives for his own work. Landon wasn’t exactly sure what lifeblood was, but he presumed it had something to do with the heart. He wondered also at the strategy since it hadn’t earned his father anything for the first two books but a box full of rejection letters that he saved as a source of motivation.
    He passed Genevieve’s room. Ten days in and Genevieve already had friends like Megan Nickell. With a father who was president of the country club and a mother who was a partner at Latham & Watkins, SmartChips’s law firm, Megan easily won the approval of Landon’s mom. Genevieve was with Megan right now for a sleepover. The house was quiet. He could feel the cool air flowing through the vents—the weather outside had taken a hot turn. Landon’s father sat slumped in front of his iMac, fingers on the keyboard, but idle.
    â€œDad?” Landon tapped him on shoulder to get his attention.
    His dad turned and smiled like someone had sprung the lid on a treasure chest. “Hey, buddy. What are you doing? Finish your book?”
    â€œNo, but I wanted to talk to you.”
    â€œYou got it. Want some ice cream?”
    â€œHäagen-Dazs?”
    His father wore a look of mock concern. “Is there another kind?”
    Landon laughed and followed his dad into the kitchen area, which was separated from the living room only by the rectangular table where they ate. His father yanked open the freezer door and studied the shelves. “Hmm. When you don’t knowwhich one, choose both.”
    He removed a quart of butter pecan as well as one of vanilla, tucked them under his arm, and then grabbed two large spoons from the drawer. “I’d say let’s sit out by the pool, but this stuff would be nothing but drool in five minutes flat.”
    They sat at the kitchen table, scooping out large hunks of ice cream and passing the quart containers back and forth in an easy rhythm until Landon held up both hands.
    â€œGotta go easy,” he said. “Football.”
    â€œAh, yes. The discipline of the Spartan.” His father held up a giant scoop of butter pecan and inserted it