Megan smiled. “Partners?”
Landon felt his soul float to the ceiling. “Sure.”
Lunch was lonely, but Megan’s invitation carried him through the rest of the day. In gym class they played badminton. Landon was pretty bad, but it didn’t matter one bit. Brett picked him for a partner. They won every game. Landon couldn’t help chuckling when Mike slammed his racket on the gym floor and got detention.
After school Brett and Landon watched Genevieve’s and Megan’s soccer practice. When the girls were finished, the four friends walked to the diner. They were halfway up the block when Skip and his goons came out and saw them coming down the sidewalk. The three boys did an about-face and went the other way.
“Now that’s what I call respect,” Genevieve said.
Everyone but Landon grinned. “I don’t trust him,” he said. He knew Skip and his cronies weren’t done with him. Then again, Landon couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to tangle with Brett.
They ate french fries and milkshakes at the diner and then headed home. There was no football practice on Mondays, so Landon got all his homework done and still had time to watch some Monday Night Football.
Tuesday, Landon’s stomach churned all day. Football practice was looming. The more the day wore on, the tighter his stomach twisted. He could only finish two of his four sandwiches at lunch, and he hurried home at the end of the day to sit in the bathroom for a while before trying to read in his favorite chair. When Landon’s dad came up for air from his computer and asked Landon if he wanted a snack before practice, Landon took a pass.
“Ah, building up that intensity, are you?” Landon’s dad looked like he hadn’t taken a shower since the night before. His hair went in crazy directions atop his head, and he wore only one slipper on his feet, pajama bottoms, and a dress shirt buttoned in the wrong holes.
“Just nervous.” Landon tried not to stare at the crooked shirt.
“Well, it’ll all work out.” His father beamed, rubbing the scruff on his chin and pointing at the computer across the room. “Your alter ego slayed the dragon today. What do you think of that?”
“Nodnal?” Landon raised an eyebrow, the wild hair and crazy clothes making sense now. “You’re at the end? Dad, it’s only been a couple weeks. . . .”
“Yes, Nodnal and I are close to the end, but it’s not quite the end yet. I’ve been writing like mad. Lots left to happen still, but he’s got people’s attention. The first dragon is always the hardest.” Landon’s dad stopped talking, but Landon kept looking at him, waiting for him to go on.
His father scratched his belly under the cockeyed shirt. “You get that, right?”
Landon sighed. “I get it. Everything’s not a story, though, Dad.”
His father scowled. “No, no. That’s not true, Landon. Everything is a story, and we are the authors of our own lives.”
Landon looked out the window at the trees swaying in a stiff wind. Random leaves had gone from green to yellow.
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t know if we’re writing it, or someone else.”
“Why would you say that?” his father asked with a sad face.
Landon stared at him and swallowed. “Sometimes . . . most of the time, I feel like I’m in a crowded room with my hands tied behind my back. I start one way and someone pushes me back. Then another person spins me around and I trip and fall. I get up and start going again and someone else gives me a shove.
“If I was writing my own story . . . it wouldn’t go like this.”