Danny was in full-on concussion protocol.
That pretty much meant doing nothing all week. On Monday, he was allowed to jog around the track for a couple miles while the team practiced on the field. It was painful to watch.
The android—Okay fine, Alice—was getting all the snaps with the first team. The coaches looked at her like they’d just discovered fire or nachos or something. They couldn’t keep their eyes off her.
And neither could Danny.
She was, he admitted, incredible. The passes were always spot on—and perfect spirals. She seemed to have mastered every play in the book. He’d studied the playbook for four years and spent hours with handmade flashcards learning every single play, along with variations and changes for each one. He’d studied so much, he actually dreamed about X’s and O’s for a couple weeks, and he could see them imprinted across his eyes when he tried to sleep.
Alice, however, had learned the plays in three days. All of them.
When Danny took a water break, some of the other players came over to say that they couldn’t wait for him to get back to playing. Others kept avoiding his gaze because they were thinking the same thing he was: he might have lost his starting job.
Every time he ran past where Garcia was practicing with the other kickers, Danny kept his headphones up high and his head down. He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.
The next day, he was allowed to lift some weights. He could still run, but he chose to stay in the weight room this time. He had no desire to go out to the field and watch another practice with some android leading his squad.
On Wednesday, the trainer officially told him that he was out for the next game. Typical concussion stuff, he was told.
“Then I’m back Monday,” Danny said. It was half a question and half a declaration.
The trainer shrugged. “Should be.”
Coach Williams hadn’t said anything to Danny yet about the game on Friday or plans moving ahead. All Danny could do was assume the worst.
On Friday night, they played another home game against the Delhi Mustangs.
Danny stood on the sidelines in street clothes and his team jacket. He held the clipboard and recorded the plays as they happened. He shouted encouragement to the other players as best he could. He was one of the team captains and needed to do that much—no matter what he was feeling inside.
He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Alice.
He came up to Ox during the game in the sidelines. “Can you believe this?” he asked.
“Not now, dude,” Ox panted.
Danny scowled at the lack of response. He turned to look up at the scoreboard, praying that the time finally read 00.00.
Ox seemed to notice Danny’s frustration and grunted. “It’s one game,” he said, “but I don’t like it either.”
Danny looked over at him. “It kind of feels like cheating,” Ox continued. He took a long swig from his water bottle. “Maybe it is. I don’t know. I don’t care if she’s good enough to get drafted into the pros, though. I’d rather it be you out there.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Next week,” Ox said. “You’ll be back out there next week.”
“And,” Danny could barely say the words, “if I’m not?”
A whistle blew. Ox pulled his helmet on. “Gotta go,” he said.
Danny watched his friend run back onto the field with the defense. He then looked at the scoreboard again. There was still a full quarter left.
The Flash and their android QB were already up 48–13.
Hanson started throwing the ball behind the benches. Coach Williams was going to give him another chance.
Good, Danny thought. First, the kid deserved it. Second, it meant the coach was open to second chances. Maybe Danny hadn’t lost his place after all. Coach had said the android just wanted to practice. Which meant—
“Hello, Danny.”
Danny froze, recognizing the voice. He turned around slowly.
Alice stood beside him with her helmet off. She had smudges of black eye grease under her eyes like he often did, and her hair was pulled back in a tight, short ponytail. He stared into her weird gleaming purple eyes. Besides the eyes, she looked perfectly human. Other than the fact that she had barely even broken a sweat after playing for so long. She wasn’t even struggling to catch her breath.
“Uh, hey,” he said.
“How is your head?” she asked.
“Fine.” He looked back at the game. He could feel her still staring at him. He was being studied, and it sent chills all over his skin. His real skin.
“Why do they call you Noodle?” she asked.
“It’s just a nickname,” he said, glancing back at her.
She nodded, but her face scrunched up. He wondered if she’d ever heard of a nickname before. “Why did you get this nickname?”
“I don’t know,” he lied.
She nodded again, then said, “I want to ask you a favor.”
Danny’s eyebrows rose, but he kept his eyes on the game. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
“Would you watch game film with me so that—”
“Would I what?” Danny stopped her.
“I don’t have much experience yet, and I am still learning about presenting information to the team in the huddle,” she said. “If we were to watch it together and discuss, I think it would be helpful.”
“For who?” Danny asked.
“Both of us.”
He didn’t even pretend to think it over. “No thanks.”
She stared back at him with the same puzzled eyes.
“Here.” He handed her the clipboard. “You want to learn how to do something new? Do this.”
Danny marched off the sidelines back to the locker room.
If the others wanted to wait for the stupid game to be over, that was their business.