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with Coach Furster and Coach West.
    When the lineman began getting into stances and firing out into the blocking dummies held by their teammates, Landon stood up.
    He felt silly just sitting and was pretty certain he could do what they were doing. There was one guy without a partner, a kid not as big as Landon but with even more girth around the belly and big Band-Aids on each knee. Landon grabbed thedummy he’d been sitting on and dragged it over to him.
    â€œHey,” Landon said cheerfully. The kid looked at him like he was nuts, but Landon pressed on. “I can be your partner. Here, you go first.”
    Landon hefted the bag between the two of them, grabbed the handles on both sides, and leaned into it just the way the others were doing. The kid got down, and on the coach’s cadence, he fired out into the dummy, jarring Landon, who fought to keep his feet.
    â€œHey! Hey!” Coach West was shouting, and he flew over to Landon’s new partner and got right in his face. “Did anyone tell you to pair off with this kid, Timmy?”
    The boy named Timmy shook his head with a terrified look.
    A whistle shrieked and all motions stopped. Coach Furster marched over in a cloud of cologne. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Landon, what are you doing, buddy?”
    â€œI just . . .” Landon hefted the bag. “I can do this, Coach. It’s easy.”
    The word “easy” set Coach Furster off. He was suddenly furious. “Easy, Landon? Glad you think it’s easy. Okay, let’s give you a shot and see how easy it is. Ready?”
    Coach Furster jammed the whistle in the corner of his mouth and snatched the dummy from Landon, spinning it around without any regard for the fine gold watch on his wrist. “Down!”
    Landon looked all around. The kids were all smirking, and some were giggling.
    â€œI said, ‘Down!’ Come on, you been watching.” CoachFurster’s face was turning red. “You know what to do. Down!”
    A light went off in Landon’s head and he put his hand down in the grass, just one, palm flat in a three-point stance.
    â€œSet . . . Hut!”
    Landon stumbled into the dummy with his shoulder and started pumping his feet up and down the way he’d seen the others do, pushing with all his might. Coach Furster dragged the dummy backward and Landon felt it slipping away. He churned his feet, grabbed for the handles on the bag but missed, caught the coach’s fine watch, let go with a gasp, tripped, and fell flat on his face. Landon could taste the grass and feel the vibration of laughter all around him. He didn’t have to see it.
    He didn’t have to hear it.
    In his ears rang his mother’s words: “Be careful what you wish for, Landon, because you just might get it.”

17
    â€œHow was practice?” Landon’s mom looked up from her cup of tea as he and his dad walked in through the garage door. Her eyes were red-rimmed and drooping with exhaustion. She had her shoes off and her feet up on an ottoman, stretching her toes. Beside her, a briefcase bulged with papers, and her dress was wrinkled.
    Landon didn’t want to alarm her, or anyone. “Fine.”
    â€œJust fine?” She arched an eyebrow and studied his face.
    His father stepped into the scene from the kitchen. “He has lots to learn, is all. They don’t give the babies rattles in this town; they give them footballs.”
    Landon shook his head. “We had to run about a million sprints at the end of practice. I’m tired.”
    He thought she might have said, “Me too,” as he walked on past, heading for the stairs and a shower.
    It was under the safety of the pounding water, without his ears and in the silence of his own world, that he let himself sob. Football practice was nothing like he had expected. Instead of being glorious and uplifting, it had confused and belittled him. He felt like an orange with all its juice squeezed