Even Principal Holly wagged a scolding finger as she passed him in the hall. “You’ve made our whole school look bad, Colt.”

  Every accusation stung. He kept his mouth shut, though. He tried to lie low by sitting by himself in the back of each class. But even the teachers wouldn’t leave him alone.

  In Biology, Mrs. Wyatt took the opportunity to explain how dangerous a blow to the head can be. “The kind of hard knock Colt gave the other player can result in a concussion,” she said, holding up a large drawing of the brain. “That can mean a short-term loss of brain function, and that’s not good.” Colt winced upon hearing the words. He hoped Tyrone Hill’s brain was working the way it should be.

  In Physics, Mr. Swarbrick calculated the force of the two helmets colliding. “Colt’s hit was almost a hundred times stronger than gravity!” he said, amazing even himself. When the bell rang Colt rushed to the front of the class and erased the numbers on the blackboard. He didn’t want any reminders of the awful tackle.

  In Language Arts, the Dragon Lady breathed a bit of fire his way. “I don’t know what kind of young man does what you did, but he must be someone of questionable character. Someone you can’t turn your back on. Someone you can’t trust. If I were Coach I’d kick you off the team for good. That’s what I’d do,” she snorted.

  Back at his locker Colt checked his phone for messages from Andrea. He didn’t really expect to get one now that she had broken up with him. Most days she’d send him a text just to say hi, or to plan where they’d meet for lunch. But she wouldn’t want to eat with him today, that’s for sure.

  By the time noon rolled around Colt didn’t think he had a friend left in the world. He grabbed his sandwich from his locker and headed to the cafeteria. With Andrea out of the picture he went to sit at the table where all the football players usually hung out. Jamal was already there sitting with Sanjay. They were laughing at a joke until Colt sat down. Then their faces soured like they were sucking on lemons.

  “You’re hurting the team,” Jamal said. “We always trusted you to do the right thing. But getting suspended for the championship? What were you thinking, man?”

  Sanjay agreed. “You could have hit him fair and square. We don’t need that kind of dirty play on our team. Everybody thinks we’re cheaters now.”

  Both players got up and moved to the end of the long table. They didn’t want to be seen talking to the troublemaker.

  Bulldog’s beefy frame plumped down. His bulging lunch bag was twice the size of anyone else’s. Before taking a bite out of his triple-decker ham and cheese sandwich, he turned to Colt. “When Coach said we should do anything to win, I don’t think he meant spearing another player in the head. I know he told us to go after the knees of the Hurricane quarterback in that earlier game, but this was different.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Colt shot back. “You don’t know everything about Coach.”

  Bulldog raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  Colt was desperate to tell his friend the truth, but knew he couldn’t. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.” He clenched his jaw.

  “We had a pact to play clean,” Bulldog said, shaking his head in disgust. “Now you’ve gone and broken that. You let me down, bro.”

  “I know I did,” Colt said. “One day I’ll tell you why. But not today.”

  “I’m glad they suspended you,” Bulldog said. “You don’t deserve to play in the final game.”

  A voice shot through the cafeteria. “You did the right thing, dude.”

  Who could possibly think what I did was right? He looked around and saw Gunner coming towards him with a tray full of french fries. Of course, it has to be Gunner.

  “Have a fry,” Gunner said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t know what the big deal is,” Gunner said. “So, you hit some guy on the other team with your helmet and now his head hurts. So what? At least we won the game. That’s the important thing.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Bulldog said. “You can’t go around hurting people on purpose. That’s just wrong. You’re no better than Colt.” The big linebacker picked up his lunch bag and slid down the bench to join Jamal and Sanjay.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Gunner asked. “Stay here with my buddy, Colt. We’re just about to plan our next headhunting mission.”

  Colt could understand why Bulldog thought he was just like Gunner. How he would do anything to win — even injure a player. After all, that was what people saw him do out on the field. But he was sick of people thinking that and wished it would all go away. He needed the truth to be told. There was just one problem. He couldn’t tell it.

  16

  Press Play

  “I don’t have time for this,” Coach complained.

  “Then you’re going to have to make time,” the league president said sternly.

  The president had made a surprise visit to Colt’s school. He sat in the small office of the Woodside Weekly newspaper. He had demanded three people attend the urgent meeting — Colt, Coach, and Andrea. Colt could understand why he and Coach had been asked, but wondered what Andrea had to do with it.

  Everyone crowded around a table. A large computer sat in front of them. The screen was black, but ready to be viewed.

  The atmosphere was tense. Coach wouldn’t look at the president or Andrea. He knew neither one liked him. Colt wouldn’t look at Coach or Andrea. He wanted to glance at Andrea more than anything, though. But he knew she must still be mad at him for getting suspended. He didn’t blame her. All four looked around the room pretending the others weren’t there.

  Coach was fidgety and broke the ice. “The championship game is tomorrow. I’ve got to get my team ready. I don’t have time to waste on dumb meetings like this.”

  “I can assure you this meeting is anything but dumb,” the president said.

  “Didn’t we clear up this whole headhunting issue at your office last week?” Coach asked.

  “We did. But things have changed,” the president said.

  “You suspended Colt for his hit on the Panther running back. What else could be different?”

  “We’ve received new evidence.”

  “Like some cop show on TV?” Coach asked.

  “Sort of,” the president said. “And just like a detective show we want to find out who’s guilty.”

  Coach leaned in. “So, what’s the new evidence about?”

  “We believe someone ordered the hit,” the president said.

  “No one told Colt to hit forty-four,” Coach said. “He did it all by himself. Like I said last week, it was the reckless act of a stupid teenager.”

  “We disagree,” the president said. “We now think someone told him to do it.”

  Coach raised his eyebrows. “Who?”

  “You.”

  “Me? I never even talked to him before the hit.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Coach,” Andrea spoke up. The small reporter had been quiet as a mouse. Now she roared like a lion.

  “Who invited her, anyway?” Coach said, scowling at Andrea.

  “I did,” the president said. “Someone sent Miss Wong a very interesting video. And she did the right thing by bringing it to my attention.”

  “A video of what?” Coach demanded.

  Andrea’s expression turned furious. “Of you telling Colt to hit Tyrone Hill in the head. That’s what!”

  “I don’t believe it,” Coach said. He pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his thick arms.

  “Then maybe you’ll believe this,” Andrea said.

  She clicked the mouse and the computer flashed to life. The screen was all set to show a video. She pressed play. It looked like someone had used a smartphone to take a video from the bleachers next to the Warriors’ bench. The picture was a little shaky, but there was a clear view of Coach. He was standing on the sideline during the game against the Panthers. It showed him hitting Colt three times on the helmet with his hand. Then he pointed across the field at the Panther running back. Coach’s voice could even be heard saying, “Number forty-four.” The last image was of Coach pushing Colt onto the field just before the spearing play. The whole video was no more than twenty seconds long, but it seemed to Colt like it played for ages.

  From the corner of his eye Colt watched his dad view the video. At first, it was clear he was angry finding out that someone had secretly taken a video of him. But then something changed. Like a switch was flipped. When he saw himself hitting Colt on the head his jaw dropped. Lines of pain crept across his forehead. Then when he watched himself point at number forty-four his body recoiled back into the chair. He even shut his eyes for a split second. It was like he couldn’t believe it was really him in the video.

  The room was dead quiet after the video froze on the final shot.

  The president pressed his lips together and glared at Coach. “I only have one question. And I only want one answer. Is that you telling Colt to hit the Panther player in the head? Yes or no?”

  Coach spoke slowly. He seemed to be in shock from seeing himself in the video. “I can’t believe that’s me. I don’t even remember talking to Colt. I would never hit my son like that.”

  “Well, I’m afraid it was you,” the president said grimly. He looked Coach square in the eyes. “Yes or no.”

  Coach nodded sadly. “It must be.”

  The president turned his attention to Colt. “Is that true Colt? Did your coach order you to hit Tyrone Hill in the head?”

  Colt sat silently. He took a long look at his coach. The man who had told him what to do. The man who had been telling him what to do since he was a little boy. He didn’t see a coach filled with anger. A coach who would do anything to win like ordering a vicious hit. All he saw was his dad. A dad who couldn’t even remember what he had done.

  “It’s okay to answer,” the president said. “You’re safe here. I just want to know the truth.”

  Colt took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to hit him, sir. It’s not how I play.” He locked eyes with Andrea. He wanted her to know that it wasn’t his choice to headhunt the Panther player. That she could believe in him again. “But I had to follow my dad’s orders.”

  Coach slumped in his chair. He looked tired. His face was no longer clenched. His eyes no longer fiery. The trial was over. He had been found guilty.

  Colt’s dad started to stand up. “Are we done here?”

  “Not yet.” The president tightened his tie before making his final decision. “I have a few things to say. I know there’s a lot of pressure to win. But winning should never come at the cost of injuring another player. Doctors are finding out that blows to the head can cause problems years after the hit.”

  Andrea nodded. “That’s why I’m reporting on concussions in high school football. Players just like Tyrone Hill are ending up in hospitals all across the country. It’s just lucky Colt didn’t hurt his head in the game. Otherwise he might have a concussion, too.”

  “We need more stories like that,” the president said. “Coaches, players, and fans need to know the dangers. Even Hall of Fame running back Tony Dorsett from the Dallas Cowboys has been diagnosed with a brain injury. He’s in bad shape from all the head hits he got while playing.”

  Coach’s brow furrowed with concern. He leaned forward. “TD has a brain injury? I was one of those guys who hit him in the head. Man, we had some battles. But to think I helped cause his brain injury makes me feel awful. He was one of the best.” Then he glanced around the table at Andrea and the president. “I guess there’s nothing left to say. It’s all right there on the video. Give it to me straight.”

  “After reviewing the facts, I’m reversing my decision from last week,” the president said. “Coach, you’re officially suspended for ordering the hit. But Colt, you’re cleared to play in the championship game.”

  17

  I Spy

  “Check this out,” Andrea said, pointing at her laptop screen. “It’s a story about that old NFL player, Tony Dorsett.”

  Colt slid closer on the couch and listened as Andrea read.

  “It says Dorsett suffers from terrible headaches.”

  “Sometimes my dad has to go home from school they’re so bad.”

  “And Dorsett has trouble remembering things, too.”

  Colt nodded. “Like when my dad forgot his way to the league meeting.”

  “Yeah, and sometimes it gets worse,” Andrea said. “Sometimes Dorsett totally forgets where he is or what he’s doing.”

  “Like ordering a terrible hit in a football game,” Colt murmured.

  Andrea squeezed Colt’s hand and read on. “It says Dorsett gets frustrated a lot. And then he gets mad and loses his temper. But he can’t help it.”

  “Sounds like my dad, all right. It’s the way he’s been acting all season, on the field and here at home.”

  Andrea read the end of the story. “Doctors say it can happen when you’ve had too many hits to the head. More and more retired football players are suffering from it all the time. They’re working on new ways to treat it.”

  “I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out sooner,” Colt said, shaking his head.

  Andrea shot him a look. “Are you a doctor?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a reporter always digging up the facts like me?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder you couldn’t tell.”

  “Still, I should have known something was wrong. He’s my dad.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Colt.”

  Colt’s mom came into the living room from the kitchen where she had been cooking dinner.

  “Is Dad home yet, Mom?”

  “Not yet. I’m starting to get a bit worried. Especially after the day he’s had. He phoned after your meeting and told me the news. He sounded upset with himself, which is unusual for your father. He always tries to be the big, tough football player. But today there was something different in his voice. He seemed quieter.”

  “I hope he’s all right,” Colt said. He wondered if his dad might be getting lost driving home.

  “I think I’d better be going,” Andrea said. “I’m sure Coach doesn’t want to see me. He sure doesn’t like me much.”

  “I don’t think he’s liked anyone this season,” Colt said. “Me included. But we’re starting to understand why.”

  Colt heard Coach come in from the garage.

  “I’m home!”

  “That’s a relief,” his mom sighed.

  When Coach walked in Andrea scooted right by him. “See you tomorrow, Colt.”

  “There’s no need to hurry home on my account, Andrea. In fact, you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

  Colt and Andrea both looked at Coach with surprise.

  “I know I’ve been tough on you, Andrea,” Coach said. “I should have been nicer. Your stories on head hits and concussions are just what the school needs. Keep up the good work.”

  Andrea grinned as she waved goodbye. “I will, Coach. And thanks. But I do need to get home. See you later, Colt.”

  Colt’s mom brought over a steaming bowl of spaghetti and set it on the table. All three sat down and started to dig in.

  Coach looked up from his plate. “Andrea’s not the only one I haven’t been nice to.” He shifted his gaze between Colt and his mom. “I know I’ve been tough to live with. And tough to play for. Some days my head hurt so much I would go into a daze. I’d just get mad at anyone who got in my way . . . Colt . . . Bulldog . . . Keegan. I didn’t know why. I thought it was just the stress of trying to win. But I found out today it’s something more. When the league president said other NFL players had brain injuries from being hit in the head, I knew the same thing was happening to me.”

  “That must have been a scary feeling, Sam.”

  “It was, but not as scary as what I saw on the video.”

  His mom tilted her head and asked, “There was a video?”

  “Yeah, someone in the stands took a video of me telling Colt to spear the Panther player. When I saw myself hitting Colt in the head I couldn’t believe it. It was terrible, like a bad dream. I can’t even remember doing it. I should probably thank the person who took the video. They made me realize how out of control I’ve become.”

  Colt’s mom took her smartphone out of her purse and laid it on the table. “Then you can thank me.”

  Colt was so shocked he dropped his fork on the plate.

  “Very funny,” his dad said.

  “It’s no joke, Sam,” his mom said, shaking her head. “I felt like a secret agent taking the video, but it was the only way I could show you how mean you’d become this season. You weren’t the Sam Taylor I married years ago. All the headaches, the angry outbursts, the forgetting. I was worried about your health.”

  His dad gently reached across the table. “I’m ready to do what you’ve been suggesting all along.”

  His mom’s small fingers disappeared into his large hand. “I’ll make an appointment with the doctor.”

  “It can be any time since I’m not coaching now.”

  His mom frowned. “You must be disappointed to be missing the big championship tomorrow.”

  His dad nodded. “It’s all I’ve thought about since the season started.”

  “I know it is, Sam.”

  “But I don’t deserve to coach the game. Not after what I did to Colt.”

  Colt spoke up right away. “You didn’t know what you were doing, Dad. You don’t even remember talking to me.”

  “That’s no excuse. To smack you on the helmet. To send you out there to hurt another player. That’s terrible. I sure hope Tyrone is all right. And to risk my own son getting hurt? If you had been injured I never would have forgiven myself. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done. I still can’t believe I did it. And for you to follow my orders . . . well I can’t believe that either.”