Page 8 of Changing the Play

Darcy’s leaning forward, staring at all my things with wide eyes. “Wow,” he breathes. “This is… quite the collection of notes.” My stomach sinks. Yeah, so I was right. I’m definitely a lost cause. “I’m impressed. I love the organization. This is actually going to help us so much. It’s here, yeah? Now we just need to get it here.” He looks up at me, flashing me that smile again as he taps his temple, and my tension eases.

“You think?” I ask, proud of how even my voice sounds. I’m so damn nervous, though. I need this to work. I need to pass this class.

“Oh, Iknow. Most of the people I tutor are not this organized. You’ve got it, West. I promise. We need to find a way to help you remember. That’s all. May I?”

He gestures toward my notes, so I wave my hand in front of them. “Of course.”

He grabs my notebook first. He’s quiet while he flips through the pages. I let myself take him in while he does. His dark hair’s a little messy, hanging over his forehead. He’s got almost soft features, but his cheekbones are sharp and high. I’m not really sure what I was expecting, but I don’t think it was this. I think I was expecting a meek little nerd-looking guy. And sure, he’s got the wire-framed glasses thing, but he’s also almost as tall as I am and has what looks like a decent build. He’s not a linebacker by any means, but he’s not what I imagined.

The sound of him flipping a page in the notebook makes me jump a little bit. He looks up at me over the rim of his glasses, but goes right back to scanning the page. His eyes are moving at rapid speed. I’m not sure if he’s skimming or if he’s just a really fast reader.

He flips the page again, humming as he nods to himself. I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. After a few minutes, he places the notebook on the table and picks up my flashcards. “Color-coded.” He grins. “I love this. It’s really speaking to the nerd in me.”

I laugh. “Well, I figured I’d try anything once. It didn’t work, but I was willing to give it a shot.”

He cocks his head, studying me again. I have to physically resist the urge to squirm in my seat. I feel a bit like a bug he’s watching. It’s almost like he can see into my mind and figure out how my brainworks. It’s unnerving. He sits back, nibbling on his lower lip. Finally, he sighs. “Okay. You’re a football player.”

It’s not a question, and now I feel a little bad that I didn’t know who he was before this. “Yeah.”

“Position?”

“I’m the quarterback.”

He nods, thoughtful. “Okay… Hmm, I’m not a football guy, as I’m sure you can tell.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “But I’m assuming there’s a playbook or something?”

I nod. “There is.”

He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue like he’s really thinking things over, his eyebrows drawing together. Watching him process and think is… fascinating. “I’m assuming you know the plays? Like the coach says, do whatever thing he tells you to do, and you know instinctively what he wants you to do?”

“Yeah. I mean, I have to study them like anything else. But yes.”

“Color-coding is great. It’s a fantastic start. You have the building blocks right there. You’re clearly intelligent.” My entire body flushes warm at the compliment. “The problem isnotyour intellect. It’s that the subject matter isn’t tied to anything meaningful.”

I let those words sink in for a second. “And you think we can find a way to make them feel meaningful?”

“Explain how the playbook works to me. ”

Oh. I blink at him, a little caught off guard. “I thought you were supposed to be the teacher here?”

He laughs. “I am. But my knowledge of football is abysmal. I’m trying to get a feel for how you process information. I can’t do that without a complete picture of that brain of yours.”

“Well… it’s a set of plays.” I stop, my face heating as I laugh a little at myself because duh, but Darcy’s eyes are lit up and he nods at me, encouraging me to continue. “Okay, so it’s broken down into sections. Offense, defense, and special teams. Each play is drawn out to show what each player is supposed to be doing.”

Darcy tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “How do you remember them?”

“Repetition. Well, and context.”

“Context?”

“Yeah, it’s not isolated. You can’t just look at one section and it make sense. You have to understand when and why to use a certain play. Like if it’s third and long, we’re not running it up the middle.”

“So, that made no sense to me. But what I’m gathering is that it’s not about memorizing the play, so much as figuring out how they fit into the bigger picture. The strategy behind it.”

I nod, feeling a little more confident now that we’re talking about something I actually know. “We can’t just know the play at face value. We have to understand how it fits in within the context of the game, when to use it, and how to execute it.”

“I need to do a crap-load of football research,” he mumbles, almost to himself.

What? “Why?”

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