"It's allergies."
He drank it anyway.
"For what?"
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
He looked away, toward the cinderblock wall. "I remember everything you say. It’s annoying."
I held up my empty hands. "I’m just looking for tape."
"You came," he said on night three.
"Most people aren't trying to pass their practical exam."
"It might."
"You passed. You told me yesterday."
I paused. "You remembered that?"
We fell into a rhythm. I’d re-wrap his knee, checking for swelling. He’d complain about the head coach's new offensive scheme. I’d tell him his patellar tracking was off by two millimeters. He’d tell me my ponytail was crooked.
He didn't move. But he didn't tell me to leave, either. Searching For- Sidelined The QB And Me In-