Date: August 10, 1990 (Friday).
Location: The Cooper Residence / Highlander Stadium.
Event: The End of Summer / Start of Hell Week.
Part 1: The Departure (June Rewind)
They say houseguests are like fish; after three days, they start to smell. The Gellers made it four days, which was a diplomatic miracle.
On the morning of their departure back in June, the driveway looked like a scene from *Gone with the Wind*, if Rhett Butler drove a station wagon.
"Thank you for the hospitality, Mary," Judy Geller said, wearing huge sunglasses to hide her eyes. She hugged my mom, but I noticed she held her breath, as if "New Money" might be contagious. "The... pizza was memorable."
"We loved having you," Mary lied beautifully, smoothing her dress. "Give our best to Long Island."
Jack Geller shook George Sr.'s hand vigorously. "George, the cigars were top-notch. And that turkey bacon? Surprisingly edible. I might get Judy to buy some."
"Don't push your luck, Jack," George grunted, clapping him on the back.
I stood by the trunk of their rental car with the "Kids."
Ross was shaking Sheldon's hand. It was a historic peace treaty, mostly because Sheldon had worn him down.
"I still maintain that the asteroid theory is reductive," Ross said, adjusting his blazer.
"And I still maintain that your profession is glorified gardening," Sheldon replied. "But your organizational skills regarding the bookshelf were... adequate."
"I'll take it," Ross sighed. He looked at me. "Goodbye, Georgie. Try not to sustain too much brain damage this season. Though, given your choice of sport, I assume the damage is pre-existing."
"Bye, Ross," I grinned. "Try not to get eaten by a raptor."
Then there was Monica.
She hugged Larry Allen first. It was a long hug. Larry looked like he was going to cry.
"You keep baking," Larry told her seriously. "Don't let them tell you to stop. You got magic hands."
"I won't," Monica promised. She turned to me. "Thanks, Georgie. For... everything. For making me feel like I belonged."
"You're family, Mon," I said. "Keep your head up. And send cookies."
They piled into the car. We waved until they turned the corner.
As the taillights disappeared, the entire Cooper family let out a collective breath.
"Well," Meemaw said, lighting a cigarette on the porch. "We survived. Nobody died. And we didn't lose the war. I'm going to the casino."
***
Part 2: The Dog Days (July Time Jump)
July in Texas isn't a month; it's a survival test.
The temperature hovered around 102 degrees for thirty straight days. The asphalt radiated heat like a griddle.
While other kids were at the lake or sleeping in, the "Inner Circle" was at work.
It was a strange dynamic. I was the Quarterback, yes. I had a State Championship ring, yes. But that ring said **Medford High School**. It was a 3A ring.
Here in Highland Park? In the land of 5A giants? That ring was cute. It was like winning a spelling bee in a village and then moving to Harvard.
I had to prove myself all over again.
**George Sr.** had lost twelve pounds. He was grumpy about it ("Rabbit food," he called the salads), but his color was better. He wasn't wheezing when he walked up the stairs.
**Mary** was thriving. The success of the Geller visit had boosted her confidence. She was now hosting the Rotary Club meetings at our house, reigning as the undisputed Queen of Highland Park.
And me?
I was in the weight room.
Every morning at 6:00 AM. Me. Larry. Zach. Jimmy.
"One more!" Zach Thomas screamed, spotting me on the bench press. "Come on, Medford! Show me that country strength!"
I gritted my teeth and pushed the bar up. 245 pounds.
It clanged into the rack.
"Easy," I panted, sitting up.
Larry Allen sat on the next bench. He was curling dumbbells that weighed more than Sheldon.
"You know what the Seniors are saying?" Larry asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Let me guess," I said. "That I'm a transfer kid? That I'm the Coach's son?"
"That you're a one-hit wonder," Larry said bluntly. "They say 3A ball is easy. They say you haven't seen a real defense yet."
I grabbed my towel.
He was right. Last year, as a Freshman, I had flashed potential. But we hadn't won the title. We had lost in the playoffs.
To the Seniors, I was just a hype train.
"Let them talk," I said, standing up. "Hell Week starts Friday. We'll see who talks then."
***
Part 3: Hell Week Begins (August 10)
August 10th marked the official start of "Two-A-Days."
In Texas football culture, this is known as **Hell Week**.
Two practices a day. One at dawn, one at dusk. Full pads. No mercy.
I stood in the locker room of Highlander Stadium. It smelled of floor wax, Deep Heat, and anxiety.
The roster had changed.
I looked around.
The Seniors owned the center of the room. **Derek** (Senior Center) and **Brad** (Senior Safety) were holding court. They were the Captains. They wore the 'C' on their jerseys.
I was just a Sophomore. I didn't have a 'C'. I sat in the corner with Larry and Zach.
"Listen up!" Coach Cooper's voice boomed as he walked in. The room went silent.
My dad looked good. He had a towel around his neck and a clipboard in his hand. He commanded the room differently now. Less yelling, more intensity.
"Welcome to Hell Week," George Sr. said. "I see a lot of talent in this room. I see expensive cleats. I see fancy haircuts."
He paused, walking down the line of lockers.
"But talent don't mean a damn thing in the fourth quarter. Last year, we got bounced in the Quarterfinals. We were soft. We thought our name was enough."
He stopped in front of me. He didn't look at me like a son. He looked at me like a player.
"We got some guys here who won rings at other schools," he said, referencing Medford. "That's nice. Put it in a scrapbook. It doesn't help us beat Carter. It doesn't help us beat Plano."
He turned back to the center.
"Positions are open. I don't care if you're a Senior or a Freshman. The best man plays. You want the spot? You take it."
"HELMETS ON!" Derek shouted. "Let's go!"
We ran out of the tunnel into the blinding morning sun.
The heat hit us like a hammer.
For the next three hours, I didn't try to lead. I didn't try to give speeches.
I just worked.
Sprints? I finished first.
Drills? I threw perfect spirals before the receiver even broke his route.
When the Seniors dragged, I sped up.
By the end of practice, Derek (the Senior Captain) was hands-on-knees, gasping for air.
I was standing tall, spinning the ball.
Derek looked at me. He nodded.
It wasn't a friendship bracelet. But it was respect.
I wasn't the Captain. But I was the Quarterback.
***
Part 4: The Threat
Practice ended at 11:00 AM. We were drenched, exhausted, and barely standing.
George Sr. blew the whistle.
"Bring it in!"
The team gathered at the fifty-yard line.
"Good effort," George said. "Better than last year. But good isn't enough. Not with this schedule."
He held up a piece of paper.
"The UIL released the finalized District alignments and the non-conference schedule this morning."
A ripple of nervous energy went through the group.
"We open with Jesuit," George read. "Standard rivalry game. Then we got Carter. They're angry about the recruiting rumors."
Groans from the offensive line. Carter High hit like trucks.
"But here's the kicker," George said, his eyes scanning the paper. "Week 4. We got a call from West Texas. They had an opening in their schedule. They wanted to test themselves against the 'Highland Park Money Machine'."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"We're playing **Odessa Permian**."
Silence.
Absolute, terrified silence.
In 1990, Odessa Permian wasn't just a high school team. They were the "Mojo." They were the team from *Friday Night Lights*. They were 5A royalty. They played in Ratliff Stadium, which held 20,000 people. They didn't lose at home.
To a Highland Park kid, Permian was like fighting the Soviet Union.
"Permian?" Brad (the Senior Safety) whispered. "Coach, they're 5A state champs. They'll kill us."
"At their house," George added grimly. "Ratliff Stadium. Friday Night."
"Why?" Derek asked. "Why would we schedule that?"
"Because," George said, looking around the circle. "Everyone in this state thinks we're soft rich kids. They think we buy our trophies. Permian thinks we're a joke. They scheduled us for their Homecoming game because they think we're an easy win."
I felt a fire light up in my chest.
They scheduled us for Homecoming? That was the ultimate insult. That meant they viewed us as the "cupcake" team.
"I don't know about you," George Sr. said, his voice dropping to a growl. "But I don't like being called a cupcake."
He looked at me.
"Georgie," he barked. "You played in the 3A title game. Is Permian unbeatable?"
All eyes turned to me. The Senior Captains. The Recruits. The Freshmen.
I remembered the show. I remembered the book. Permian was tough, disciplined, and scary.
But they were high school kids. Just like us.
"No, sir," I said loud enough for the back row to hear. "They bleed like everyone else."
"There you go," George nodded. "We're going to the desert. And we're gonna show them what Scots look like."
He folded the paper.
"Afternoon session starts at 4:00. Dismissed."
***
Part 5: The Sunset
That evening, after the second practice, I sat on the hood of my truck in the parking lot. My body ached in a hundred places. My hands were blistered.
I watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the Texas sky in purple and orange.
Serena pulled up in her convertible. She looked fresh, cool, and beautiful—a stark contrast to the sweat and dirt covering me.
She hopped out and leaned against my truck.
"You smell like a locker room," she noted, wrinkling her nose.
"Smell of ambition," I groaned, cracking my neck.
"My dad heard about the Permian game," Serena said. "He's already organizing a charter flight for the boosters. He says it's 'David vs. Goliath'."
"We're Goliath's bank account," I corrected. "But on the field? Yeah. We're David."
"You scared?" she asked softly.
I looked at the stadium lights.
Was I scared?
In my old life, I was terrified of my rent being late. I was terrified of being alone.
Here? I was about to play the most famous high school football team in history, led by a father who was supposed to be dead in four years, with a girl I didn't deserve holding my hand.
"No," I said honestly. "I'm not scared. I'm ready."
"Good," Serena smiled. She reached into her bag and tossed me a bottle of Gatorade. "Because Eric bought a case of this stuff. He says it's what the German Olympic team drinks. It tastes like battery acid."
I cracked it open and took a sip. It was terrible.
"Tastes like victory," I said.
I looked at the "Quest Log" floating in my vision.
**[Volume 3 Complete]**
**[System Notification: Volume 4 Initiated]**
**[Volume 4: The Sophomore War]**
**[New Quest Generated: Kill the Mojo]**
* **Objective:** Defeat Odessa Permian at Ratliff Stadium.
* **Context:** Highland Park has never beaten Permian. You are the underdog.
* **Reward:** National Ranking & "Legend" Status.
I closed the notification.
The Gellers were gone. The summer was over.
It was time to go to work.
"Let's go," I said, hopping off the hood. "I gotta study the playbook. Permian runs a Wishbone offense. It's tricky."
"You're a nerd," Serena laughed, opening her door.
"I'm a quarterback," I corrected. "Same thing, just better hair."
Sophomore Year.
**Game On.**
***
**AUTHOR'S NOTES
Please votes stones if you like that chapteri would like reach top 15 again
**Thank you for reading Volume 3! See you in Volume 4!**