Date: January 13, 1990 (Saturday).
Location: The Cooper Residence.
Event: The Integration Weekend.
**09:00 AM. The Living Room.**
Football practice had been brutal all week. The "New Standard" was high, and the bodies were sore. But Saturday wasn't for hitting. Saturday was for surviving the other war: **Highland Park High School.**
The house was full. It smelled like bacon, coffee, and teenage sweat.
**Meemaw** was sitting in her recliner, watching cartoons. **Larry Allen** sat on the floor next to her.
It was a ridiculous sight. Larry was a mountain; Meemaw was a pebble.
"You watching *Road Runner*?" Larry asked, eating a biscuit in one bite.
"I like the Coyote," Meemaw said. "He's persistent. And he uses explosives. My kind of guy."
Larry chuckled. It was a deep, seismic rumble. "I like the bird. He's fast."
"You need another biscuit, big man?" Meemaw asked, not looking away from the screen.
"Yes, ma'am," Larry said.
Meemaw didn't get up. She just pointed her cane at the kitchen. "Missy! Refill the tank!"
**Missy** walked out of the kitchen with a plate.
A week ago, she would have been scared of Larry. But since "The Walk" at the middle school, she treated him like a large, dangerous pet.
"Here you go, Larry," Missy said, handing him the plate. "Jimmy says you're gonna get fat."
"Jimmy is skinny," Larry grunted. "Fat moves people. Skinny gets moved."
Missy sat down on the arm of the sofa. "Hey Larry, can you teach me how to crack my knuckles like you did at school? It scared Courtney really bad."
Larry smiled. "It's all about the air pockets. Give me your hand."
I watched from the stairs.
The integration was happening faster than I expected. They weren't just teammates anymore. They were furniture.
***
**10:30 AM. The Kitchen.**
I walked into the kitchen to find **Mary** and **Zach Thomas**.
This was a stranger pairing.
Zach was intense. He treated breakfast like a tactical operation. He was staring at his scrambled eggs like they were offensive linemen.
"You okay, sugar?" Mary asked, pouring him more orange juice.
"My mom usually makes them with cheese," Zach said quietly. He didn't mean it as a complaint. He was just homesick.
Mary stopped pouring.
She knew the deal. Remington had set up the apartments, but the parents were still back in their old towns, finishing out jobs, selling houses. They wouldn't be here until summer.
These boys were alone.
Mary grabbed the block of cheddar from the fridge and a grater.
She walked over to the table and grated a mountain of cheese directly onto Zach's plate.
"Better?" Mary asked.
Zach looked up. His hard, linebacker eyes softened just a fraction.
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."
"You call your mama today?" Mary asked.
"Tonight," Zach said. "Phone rates are cheaper after seven."
"You use our phone," Mary ordered. "We have a plan. Call her now. Tell her you're eating."
Zach hesitated. "Coach might not like me running up the bill."
Mary leaned in, putting her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm not the Coach. I'm the Mom. And the Mom outranks the Coach. Go call her."
Zach stood up. "Yes, ma'am."
He walked to the wall phone.
Mary watched him go. She looked at me.
"That boy carries the weight of the world, Georgie," she whispered. "You look out for him."
"I am, Mom," I said. "He's the linebacker. He looks out for us."
***
**01:00 PM. The Dining Room (The War Room).**
The fun was over.
It was time for the **Academic Threat**.
Highland Park wasn't just good at football. It was an academic pressure cooker. "No Pass, No Play" was the law in Texas. If you failed one class, you were ineligible for six weeks.
And the progress reports had just come out.
* **Larry Allen:** Failing English (D-).
* **Zach Thomas:** Passing, but barely (C- in History).
* **Jimmy Smith:** Failing Algebra (F).
We sat at the long dining table. Books were everywhere.
**Sheldon** stood at the head of the table in front of a whiteboard he had dragged in from the garage.
"The concept is simple," Sheldon lectured, pointing to a quadratic equation. "X represents the variable. You simply isolate it using the inverse operations. It is intuitive."
Jimmy Smith stared at the board. He looked like he was in physical pain.
"Man, I don't care about X," Jimmy said. "Why are there letters in math? Math is numbers."
"Algebra is the language of the universe!" Sheldon yelled.
"It's the language of nerds," Jimmy shot back.
"Okay," I said, stepping in. "Sheldon, sit down. You're making it worse."
"I am casting pearls before swine!" Sheldon huffed, grabbing his comic book and retreating to the corner.
I looked at the table.
The recruits were frustrated. They were embarrassed. On the field, they were gods. Here, they felt stupid.
"Look," I said. "Forget the universe. Think about football."
I looked at Jimmy.
"Algebra isn't letters. It's coverage shells. X is the Safety. If the Safety drops back (subtracts), the zone opens up (add yardage). You solve for the open man."
Jimmy blinked. "So... I'm isolating the Safety?"
"Exactly," I said. "Balance the equation. Balance the defense."
I looked at Larry.
"English. Subject and Predicate. The Subject is the Offensive Line. The Predicate is the Block. Without the Block, the sentence doesn't go anywhere. It's a sack."
Larry nodded slowly. "The sentence needs a block."
"Right."
The back door opened. **Serena** walked in.
She was wearing her reading glasses and carrying a stack of highlighters.
"I heard there was a crisis," Serena said.
"We're drowning," Zach admitted. "History. The Industrial Revolution."
Serena sat down next to Zach.
"Okay," she said, opening the book. "The Industrial Revolution is just like Highland Park. A bunch of rich people built factories, made a lot of money, and everyone else got tired. Let's make a timeline."
She didn't lecture. She didn't talk down to them. She just worked.
I watched her.
She was patient. She was kind.
She was helping me save the season.
***
**04:00 PM. The Back Porch.**
The study session broke up.
Larry and Missy were outside throwing a tennis ball for the neighbor's dog (which wandered into our yard constantly).
Zach was on the phone with his mom again.
Sheldon and Jimmy were actually playing a video game (*Tecmo Bowl*). Jimmy was winning, and Sheldon was calculating the probability of a comeback.
I walked out to the back porch.
Serena was sitting on the railing, looking out at the pool. She looked tired.
"You saved us in there," I said, handing her a Dr Pepper.
"Jimmy actually isn't bad at math," Serena smiled, taking the can. "He just panics. He thinks he's supposed to fail."
"Yeah," I said. "That's the problem. Everyone told them they were just 'athletes.' Nobody told them they were smart."
"Except you," she said.
She turned to look at me.
"You translate for them, Georgie. You make it make sense. My dad... he used to just hire tutors to do my homework. He never explained it."
"That doesn't help you learn," I said.
"No," she said softly. "It just teaches you that money solves problems."
She took a sip of the soda.
"You're different than the guys here. Preston... Braden... they act like they know everything. You act like you're figuring it out, but you already know the answer."
I froze.
She was observant. Dangerous.
My "adult" brain was slipping through the cracks.
"I just listen," I lied.
"Maybe," she said. She moved a little closer. The air was cold, but she didn't shiver. "Or maybe you're just an old soul."
She reached out and fixed the collar of my flannel shirt. Her hand brushed my neck.
It wasn't the 'friendly' touch from before. It was deliberate.
"We should get back inside," she whispered. "Before Larry eats the furniture."
"Yeah," I said. "Probably."
We didn't move.
For ten seconds, we just stood there. The noise of the house—Meemaw laughing, Sheldon arguing, Larry barking like a dog—faded away.
It was just us.
Then, the sliding door crashed open.
"GEORGIE!" Missy screamed. "LARRY IS STUCK IN THE TIRE SWING!"
The moment broke.
Serena laughed. A real, bright laugh.
"Go," she said, pushing me gently. "Duty calls, Captain."
***
**08:00 PM. The Departure.**
Meemaw drove the recruits back to the apartments.
The house was finally quiet.
I sat at the kitchen table with George Sr. He was reviewing the practice tapes.
"How'd they do?" George asked without looking up.
"Jimmy gets math if you explain it like coverage," I said. "Larry is... trying. Zach will be fine."
"Good," George said. "Because I need them eligible. We have the Spring Scrimmage in three weeks."
"Against who?"
"Us," George grinned. "Red vs. White. But I invited the boosters. I want them to see what they paid for."
I nodded.
The academic threat was managed. The integration was working.
But as I walked up to my room, I wasn't thinking about football.
I was thinking about Serena van der Woodsen.
And I was thinking about how hard it was going to be to keep pretending I was just a 14-year-old kid when she looked at me like that.
**[Quest Update: The Family]**
* **Recruits:** Academic Crisis Managed (barely).
* **Mary:** Maternal Bond Established (Cheese Grater Diplomacy).
* **Meemaw:** The Manager.
* **Missy:** The Mascot.
* **Serena:** Romance Level Up (The "Old Soul" Observation).