After practice he climbed into the Prius without speaking. And even though the drive wasn’t more than a few blocks, Landon left a puddle of sweat in the front seat when he got out.
“Landon.” His father pointed to the puddle. “Get a towel, please.”
“Sorry. We ran super hard.” Landon grabbed a rag from the bucket in the garage that his father used when he washed the car, and he mopped up the sweat.
“I know.” His father watched him closely and gave a nod of approval before they headed into the house. “I saw you. You worked really hard, and you’ll get there someday.”
His father’s words somehow made Landon feel worse.
Inside, Landon headed upstairs to take a shower. Minutes later, from his bedroom window, dripping and wrapped in a towel, he saw his sister and her two new best friends splashing about in the pool in the evening shadows. Already there was a star in the sky, but he could still make out Megan’s skinny figure as she bounced high and did a flip off the diving board. Katy and Genevieve shrieked and clapped from the shallow end. Landon turned away from the window. It felt wrong to spy on them.
When he came back down in clean shorts and a T-shirt, his father was busy in the dusky shadows of the living room, writing feverishly at his desk. Landon wandered over and stood until his father looked up.
“Where’s Mom?” Landon asked.
“Oh.” His father scratched his neck. “This is a big job she’s got now, Landon. Really big. So it’s hard for her not to work, even on a Saturday. I think it’ll be a while before she gets settled into more regular hours.”
“Like days?” Landon asked.
“Maybe weeks. Maybe months.” His father glanced at the glowing computer screen, the bluish light spilling over his face. “I’m not sure, really, but my book is coming along well. I’m calling it Dragon Hunt. Um . . . my main character is kind of modeled after you.”
“Me?” Landon looked suspiciously at the screen. “Why?”
“Well, a good main character has to overcome obstacles, and you want him to be a nice person, and that sounds like you to me.” Landon’s father smiled and pointed at him before glancing toward the screen. “I thought I’d maybe name him ‘Landon’ too.”
Landon felt a chill. If his father did ever get his book published, the last thing Landon needed was another thing people could make fun of—Landon, the oversized guard of Dorchester. “No, that’s okay. I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?” Landon’s dad laughed and offered a puzzled smile. “Why wouldn’t you want a character named after you?”
“I just . . . I don’t know, Dad. Do I have to have a reason?” Landon backed away toward the kitchen. “Can I get something to eat?”
“Sure, there’s plenty of 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?”
“Nodnal?” Landon stopped with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Is that even a name?”
“Well, 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.”
“Oh, 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.
“Creative about what?” Genevieve asked.
Landon glanced at Megan and blushed, horrified. “Nothing. Dad’s just writing his new book.”
“Hi, 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.”
“Yeah, hi,” said Katy, also waving, but all business.
“Do 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.”
“C’mon guys.” Genevieve headed for her room.
“How 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.”
“Really? Wow,” Megan said. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, 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.”
“He did?”
“She 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.