Left Out Read Online Free PDF Page B

barged into people’s lives like a long-lost relative and found them happy to see her.
    Landon tried to read a book, but he kept thinking about football. He put on his new cleats and took them off several times, worrying that they might give him blisters if they weren’t broken in.
    The morning was dragging on. He knew he shouldn’t—because he could see his dad working feverishly—but he couldn’t help it. He grabbed the football off his shelf, wandered into his father’s space, and tapped his shoulder.
    His father jumped. “Whaaa?”
    Landon stepped back. He was used to startling people; it was just part of who he was. He needed to see them to know what they were saying. “Dad?”
    â€œLandon. Son. I was far away.”
    â€œSorry, Dad. Would you throw the football with me?” Landon turned the ball in his hands. “I feel like I need some practice. Even though I’m a lineman, I mean, everybody throws the ball around.”
    â€œMe? Throw? Uh . . .” His father gave the computer a sad look like it was a friend he’d hate to leave, but then he brightened. “Sure!” Standing and stretching he said, “I can throw you the football and you can help me with a problem.”
    â€œOkay.” Landon followed his father through the kitchen and out the French doors to the pool area. They went through the gate and stood facing each other on the lawn. Overhead the sun shone brightly between fat white clouds and the tall treesthat seemed to whisper. Landon tilted his head up at them and wondered how what he heard sounded different than what his father heard. He fluttered his fingers and pointed up at them.
    His father smiled and fluttered his own fingers. “Yes, that’s right. They’re swishing.” Seeing Landon’s puzzlement, he added, “They sound like waves hitting the shore, but softer swishing.”
    Landon echoed, “Swishing,” trying to fix the sound he heard and the word in his mind. Then he signaled his father to stay put. “You stand here.”
    Landon backed up, cocked his arm, and fired a wobbling pass. As the ball approached, his father brought his two hands together in a clapping motion, winced, and turned his head. The ball punched him in the gut and dropped to the grass. His father stared at it as if it were a bomb that might go off.
    Then his father nodded and scooped it up. “Okay. I can get this,” he shouted.
    Landon thought about the band and the big tuba his father played. That must have taken some skill. Just a different kind of skill.
    Landon jiggled his hands to create a target, and his father reared back with the ball. It flew sideways like a dizzy spaceship. Landon snatched at it, nearly catching hold before it plopped down in front of him.
    His father shrugged. “We’ll get it,” he yelled. “This is why you practice, right? We’re doing good.”
    They heaved the ball back and forth, sometimes getting hold of it, most times not.
    â€œSo,” his father said after a halfway decent pass, “here’s my big problem. Ready?”
    Landon caught the ball, smiled, and nodded that he was ready.

10
    His father’s large face was flushed and he nodded merrily at Landon. “Okay, so—and this is really exciting, Landon—I was doing some research on names because my main character has an uncle on the planet Zovan and I wanted a name that also meant ‘powerful,’ and I dig and I dig and I find ‘Bretwalda,’ which is what they called the most powerful Saxon kings.”
    His father gave him a questioning look to see if he was following.
    â€œUh, okay, I get that.” Landon heaved the ball, happy that his throw wasn’t quite so wobbly. He wasn’t sure where his dad was going with all this, but he was glad they were throwing around the football.
    His father kind of swatted at the ball and ducked at the same time, and then he