David Baker: Landon's mother never tired of comparing him to his father.

"He's so, so calm. That's Landon, calm as a summer day," his mother would say, beaming at him and then back at whoever she was speaking to. But Landon knew better. Although he'd never thrown a punch in his life, he fantasized often about getting revenge on his school tormentors on a football field. And what was so pleasant about a summer day? Swimming was the only plus he could see. Give him a pool and a diving board, and he became an impressive human cannonball, but because of the extra weight he carried around and the fact that summer heat made his implants more noticeably uncomfortable, he liked fall better. The air was cool and crisp, and the surge of football gushed from the TV. Now at his new school, he'd be like one of the NFL stars he'd watched but could never think of being.

He stared at his mother's dark, curly hair as she guided their Prius carefully out of town, with two hands firmly on the wheel, eyes glued to the road, lips tight. In the passenger seat, his father sat hunched over and squished by the confines of the little car, the back of his head snug against the roof and hands folded in his lap. His father would sit that way for hours on end without a peep of discontent. In fact, he'd be wearing a simple smile as he soaked in the nearness of his family and agreed with Landon's mom on a barrage of ideas.

Landon leaned toward his sister, who was still looking back, saddened by the loss of so many friends. "It will be okay, Genevieve. You'll make new friends. I know you will." He gave her arm a squeeze. "It will be good. You'll make friends, and I'll play football. Yes!" he said with a grin. "That's what I really want to do."

In the mirror, he saw his mom's face tense up, and she shot a glance at Landon's father as if the whole thing was his fault.

"Are you happy now, Forest? Landon's looking forward to football. Football."

"Right," his dad said. "He's a big boy. He'll be fine, Jena. Watch, it will be good for him."

"I told him you never played."

His father laughed. "I told him they couldn't find a helmet big enough for me, and I wasn't all that keen on it anyway. So I played the tuba in the marching band. Talk about good times."

"A marching band." Landon's mom drifted into a blissful state as she obviously imagined the delights of the marching band.

"Well, I can't play music," Landon reminded them. "But I bet I can block and tackle."

Before his mother could reply, the dark sky opened up with a torrent of rain drops that hit the car like bullets. She re-doubled her grip on the wheel and set her body against the storm, leaning into it like a hunter. They were on the highway in the passing lane, and the tractor trailer raced up behind them blaring its horn.

Landon's mom made it into the right lane, and the ghostly shape of the truck cruised past like a sea monster, its tail lights barely visible through the backsplash. As they crawled along in silence, hazard lights blinking on and off, Landon grinned to himself about his victory in being able to play football. The idea of beginning practice in just two short weeks gave him goosebumps.

Over an hour later, they finally got clear of the storm, and his mother was able to increase their speed. Then she picked up right where they'd left off.

"What do you know about blocking and tackling, Landon?" she asked.

Landon took a breath and surprised everyone. "Keep your head up. Hit them hard. Drop your feet." Landon started stamping his feet on the floor in a quick, staccato rhythm, the way he'd seen it done on YouTube. He got carried away until his mother shouted, "Stop that, Landon! Just stop!"

They rode in silence again, before his mother reminded Landon of the deal. "All we have to do is make sure the doctor will allow it. Football is okay with me. I said that, but we will have to make sure the doctor is all right with it. We'll see him the week after next." Then she latched onto a new idea. "And what about a helmet? You might not be able to find one. Your head isn't as big as your father's, but the implants might be a problem, Landon. I didn't even think of that, and I'm sure you didn't either."

Landon nodded and grinned. Without speaking, he stroked his iPad a few times before handing it up to his father, who studied the page in front of him.

"Actually, he has thought of it, Jena. Here's an article right here about an Ohio kid named Adam Strecker ..."