“Guys, this is Landon.” Jonathan gave Landon a pat on the back. “I have no idea why he wanted to meet you, Eli, but I told him that if he asked for a picture with you, it would make your day.”
Eli held out a hand and Landon shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Manning.”
“Hey, Landon.” Eli spoke quietly, but Landon understood. “You know who Michael Bamiro is, right?”
“Hi, Mr. Bamiro.” Landon shook the giant man’s hand. “I play football too. I want to be a lineman like you and Mr. Wagner.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “He’s on my nephew’s team.”
“Very nice,” Bamiro said. “What high school you guys play for, Landon?”
Landon blinked and stuttered. “I, uh . . . we play for a seventh-grade youth team, sir.”
“Seventh?” Bamiro was surprised.
“Yes,” Landon said quickly. “I’m twelve.”
“You?” Bamiro laughed, flashing a set of bright white teeth. “I think you’re bigger than I was at twelve. You hear that, Eli? Maybe you can last long enough for Landon here to block for you.”
Eli grinned and pointed at Bamiro and Jonathan Wagner. “With you two knuckleheads in front of me, I’ll be lucky to make it through next season.”
The three players laughed at that together, and Landon blushed even harder when Brett stepped into their little circle. Landon had to wonder—as nice as Brett had been—if he wouldn’t expose Landon for being more of a water boy than a lineman, but Brett only smiled and asked if he could get a picture with Eli too.
Rashad Jennings, the Giants’ running back, suddenly appeared and threw his hands up in the air. “Manning, Bamiro, Wagner. Come on, guys. Let’s get this lovefest over with. Eli won’t be able to fit his head into that new Corvette he’s driving.”
“Well, it’s a convertible,” Eli said.
Rashad snapped his fingers. “Of course. Now we know why. You already can’t fit your head in, so you gotta keep the top down.”
The players all laughed again, and so did Landon and Brett.
They got a bunch of pictures with the players individually and all as one big group.
“Okay,” Jonathan Wagner said. “We good? ’Cause if we are, I say let’s eat. I promised my man some chili dogs.”
They all piled plates with food and sat down at one of the long tables on a brick terrace under some enormous shade trees. Landon’s eyes were busy, darting back and forth, trying to follow the banter between the players, who seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company despite the constant kidding.
With winks and slaps on the back, they made him feel part of it all.
Their plates were pretty much empty when Rashad Jennings pointed at the diving board and said, “I’m fixing to light that thing up now, boys.”
“Light it up?” Jonathan slapped Rashad on the back. “With a pencil dive or something?”
Everyone laughed.
Rashad kept his chin up. “How about a backflip?”
The players all hooted.
“Yeah!”
“Let’s see that!”
Jonathan Wagner held up both his arms. “Who needs something fancy like that when you have the world champion cannonballer right here?”
Landon bit his lip to keep from laughing, and he couldn’t help himself from shouting, “I bet I can beat you!”
“What?” Wagner tilted his head and knotted up his face. “Boy, you’re gonna be big one day, but I hit that water like a twenty-ton bomb.”
Landon shrugged. “I think I can beat you.”
The players went wild, hooting and laughing, pointing at Wagner and saying Landon called him out.
Wagner stood up and pretended to be angry, throwing his napkin down on the table and pointing at Landon, but he was unable to keep from smiling. “It’s on, my man. You and me. Cannonball championship of the world!”
Landon’s spirit soared.