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football hit him in the head and he collapsed on the grass.

11
    Landon’s father was a ghost above him, a blurry and sobbing figure coming into focus. Landon read his lips. “Landon? Landon? Oh, God . . .”
    His father’s fingers scampered over his face and the right earpiece and the magnetic disc that had been knocked loose. “Landon? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .”
    Landon opened his mouth to say he was just fine. Nothing came out, or maybe it did. His father’s panic and the bad sound and being on the grass disoriented him. One ear wasn’t working, but otherwise, he was more embarrassed than hurt. He tried to get up.
    His father’s hands now pressed him down. “Are you okay? I don’t know if you should move.”
    Landon shook his head and kept trying to sit up. “Dad, let me up. I’m fine .”
    â€œOkay. Okay.” His father nodded, and with his knees buried in the grass, he gently helped Landon into a sitting position.
    Landon felt for the apparatus on the right side of his head. The cochlear was crooked behind his ear. His father gently removed everything, checked it over with a frown, and then dangled the equipment in front of him. “It looks okay. Just unseated it.”
    Landon took it and put it back on.
    â€œIs it okay?” His father’s eyes were wet, his lips pulled into the frown of a sad clown.
    Landon got everything reconnected and listened. “Say something.”
    His father looked confused. “Uh . . . one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—”
    Landon cut off his counting with a nod and a smile. “Got it. All good, Dad.”
    His father scooped him up like a hundred-and-seventy-pound doll. He hugged him and spun him around before placing him down. “Oh, thank God. I thought I’d hurt you.”
    Landon laughed. “I’m okay. You threw it and I wasn’t looking.”
    â€œI know. I know. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” His father shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking. I mean, I was thinking—about the book—I mean, I can’t use time travel, right? And then I remembered I was supposed to be throwing to you and my arm just launched it and . . .”
    â€œI’m okay. I’m okay.” Landon couldn’t stand when his parents fussed over him.
    â€œReally okay?” his father asked.
    â€œGood thing you don’t have a very good throwing arm.” Landon smiled and his father mussed his hair.
    â€œAnd . . .” His father looked around. “. . . I don’t see any reason why we need to say anything to . . . Well, this is one of those little things you just forget about because they’re so unimportant.”
    â€œAbsolutely.” Landon didn’t want to give his mother another reason to freak out about football. He hadn’t even gotten the pads on yet. When his father’s eyes widened, he turned to see Genevieve staring at them with her hands on her hips. Her frizzy red hair was gathered in a kind of crazed ponytail.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œPlaying football,” Landon said.
    â€œAre you okay?” Genevieve eyed them suspiciously.
    â€œGreat,” his father said. Then his eyes narrowed and he pointed at Genevieve’s hand. “And what is that, young lady?”
    Genevieve didn’t try to hide her nails; instead she splayed the fingers on her free hand to show off the purple paint. “Polish.”
    â€œI don’t think so.” Their father shook his head. “You do something like that and I’ll catch the blame.”
    Genevieve pointed to her face. “No lipstick. No eyeliner. That’s what you can tell Mom. I will too.”
    Genevieve had the strong-minded look of their mother, and she jutted out her chin. “I can get by without makeup, but you don’t show up at the deli or the park without nail polish. Not in this town anyway.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘this