Date: December 17, 1989 (Sunday Morning).
Location: Denny's, Irving, Texas.
Event: The Return to the Table.
Walking back into Denny's felt like stepping from a boardroom back into a family sitcom.
George Sr. stopped at the door. He took a deep breath, smoothing his windblown tie. He checked his inside jacket pocket three times to make sure the thick Highland Park folder was completely hidden.
"Do I look guilty?" he whispered.
"You look like a man who just got offered a mansion," I whispered back. "Stop sweating. You're a hero today. Act like it."
George forced a smile. He pushed the door open.
The smell of bacon and coffee hit us instantly. We walked back to the "Cooper Compound" of pushed-together tables.
They hadn't moved, but the scene was pure Cooper chaos.
Mary was laughing at something Serena said. Missy was stacking hash browns on Eric's plate to create a "potato tower."
Sheldon wasn't playing with his food. He was organizing the jelly packets. He had arranged them in a perfect grid on the table—Strawberry, Grape, Mixed Fruit—sorted by expiration date.
"This grape jelly expires in 1992," Sheldon announced as we approached, holding a packet up to the light. "Whereas the strawberry expires next month. The preservatives are clearly inferior."
"Well, look who's back," Meemaw said.
She didn't look up from her coffee. She was wearing her sunglasses inside, but I saw her head tilt just a fraction of an inch. She was tracking George like a radar dish.
"Did the newspaper want an autograph?" Meemaw asked. "Or did they just want to know why you're sweating like a sinner in church?"
"Very funny, Connie," George said, sliding into the booth next to Mary. He picked up his cold coffee and took a sip to hide his shaking hands.
"So?" Mary asked, wiping syrup off Sheldon's chin. "How did the interview go? Was it the Dallas Morning News?"
George choked on his coffee.
"Uh, yes," I jumped in quickly. "Big article. They wanted to know about the 'Miracle Season.' Dad gave some great quotes."
"I told them it was a team effort," George managed to say, his voice cracking slightly. "And that I have a very supportive wife."
Mary beamed. She squeezed his arm. "Oh, George. That's sweet. I can't wait to see it in print."
I looked at Meemaw.
She lowered her sunglasses. Just an inch. Her eyes locked onto George's jacket pocket. The bulge of the folder was barely visible, but she saw it. She looked at George. She looked at me. She didn't say a word. She just took a sip of her coffee and smirked.
She knew something was up. She didn't know what, but she smelled a secret.
"We should hit the road," George said, checking his watch. "The bus is leaving the motel in thirty minutes. We don't want to miss the parade."
***
The Journey
The drive back to Medford took four hours, but it felt like four years.
Most of the team slept on the bus. Tiny was snoring so loud it rattled the windows. Sheldon was reading a comic book Eric had lent him (*X-Men #142*), dissecting the time-travel logic errors.
But George and I were wide awake.
Every mile marker we passed felt like a countdown.
*Mile 50:* We're still champions.
*Mile 100:* We're still the good guys.
*Mile 150:* We're liars.
"You think he meant it?" George whispered to me somewhere near Tyler. "About the 5A thing? Being a 'King'?"
"He meant it," I said. "He's not a bad guy, Dad. He's just... intense. He loves that school. He wants it to be the best."
"That's what worries me," George said. He looked back at Mary, who was asleep two rows behind us, her head resting on Missy's shoulder. "Your mother is finally happy. She fits in. If I drag her to Dallas... to that pressure cooker..."
"If we stay," I said, "we're just waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know how this town is. They love you today. But if we go 6-4 next year? They'll be calling for your head again."
George nodded. He knew the cycle of small-town football better than anyone.
"Friday," George said. "Remington gave us until the end of the week. We let them have this. We let Mary have her parade. We tell them Friday."
The bus driver honked the horn.
"Hey Coach!" the driver yelled. "Wake up! Look at the city limits!"
***
The Hero's Welcome
We turned onto Main Street, and the bus slammed on its brakes.
We couldn't move. The street was blocked.
Not by traffic. By *people*.
It looked like the entire population of Medford—all 2,000 of them—was standing in the road.
There were banners strung between the lampposts: **WELCOME HOME STATE CHAMPS!**
There were streamers throwing toilet paper over the power lines.
The Medford High Marching Band was playing the fight song, drowning out the bus engine.
"Open the door!" Tiny screamed, waking up from his nap.
The bus doors hissed open.
The noise was deafening. People weren't just cheering; they were screaming. Old men were crying. Little kids were holding up signs that said **GEORGIE FOR PRESIDENT** and **COOPER IS GOD**.
We stepped off the bus.
Mayor Harrison was there, wearing a sash. Principal Petersen was there, holding a giant key made of cardboard painted gold.
"George!" Principal Petersen yelled, grabbing my dad and hugging him. "You did it! You actually did it! You put Medford on the map!"
Mary stepped off the bus behind us. She looked at the crowd. She looked at the signs. She put a hand to her mouth.
"Oh my," Mary whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "George, look. They love you."
For years, this town had tolerated George. They blamed him when the team lost. They gossiped about his weight. They judged his family.
But today? Today, George Cooper was Caesar returning to Rome.
A woman ran up and kissed him on the cheek. A man shook his hand so hard I thought it would detach. The Stevens family—Kyle's parents, who had tried to get George fired in Chapter 35—were front and center, clapping the loudest.
"I always knew he had a vision!" Mr. Stevens shouted to anyone who would listen.
George looked at me. He looked torn. He was soaking up the love, but I could see the guilt eating him alive. He tapped his chest pocket. The Highland Park contract was burning a hole in his heart.
***
The Diner Party
The "Parade" ended at the only place that mattered: **The Diner.**
The owner had put a sign in the window: **FREE FOOD FOR CHAMPIONS. FOREVER.**
We packed inside. It was chaos. Burgers were flying out of the kitchen. Milkshakes were flowing like water.
I sat in a booth with Tiny, Bullard, and Veronica (who had been waiting for us). Serena and Eric squeezed in, looking wide-eyed at the small-town madness.
"This is insane," Serena said, dipping a fry in a milkshake. "In New York, if you win a championship, you get a paragraph in the Times. Maybe. Here... you guys are like rock stars."
"Better," Tiny said, his mouth full of cheeseburger. "Rock stars don't get free pie."
Veronica slid her notebook over to me.
"Congratulations, Georgie," she said. She was smiling, a real, genuine smile. "I did the math. With the bonus points from the win, your semester GPA is officially a 3.1. You're passing everything."
"I'm a genius," I grinned.
"Don't push it," she said. "But... you did good. The whole town feels different. Lighter."
I looked around the diner. She was right. The bitter, dusty edge of Medford was gone. People were laughing. The divide between the "Rich" side and the "Poor" side had evaporated. Everyone was just Gold and White.
Meemaw walked by our booth. She leaned in close to my ear.
"You and your daddy have a secret," Meemaw whispered. It wasn't a question.
I froze.
"I don't know what it is yet," Meemaw said, her voice low. "But if it hurts my daughter, I will put you in a headlock. Enjoy your pie, Moonpie."
She patted my cheek and walked away to get a refill.
***
The Call
George stepped away from the crowd to the payphone in the back hallway near the restrooms. He dialed the number on the card Remington had given him.
I followed him and leaned against the wall.
"Mr. Remington?" George said into the receiver. "It's Coach Cooper."
He listened for a moment.
"No, sir, we haven't decided yet," George said respectfuly. "But I just wanted to say thank you. For the offer. And for understanding the history of the game."
George paused, listening. A small smile appeared on his face.
"Yes, sir. They did throw a parade. It's... it's quite a sight."
Remington must have said something funny, because George chuckled.
"Alright. Friday. We'll have an answer by Friday. Thank you, Silas."
He hung up the phone. He looked at me. He looked calmer.
"He's not a villain, Georgie," George said softly. "He just told me to enjoy the pie. He said, 'Savor it, Coach. Moments like this are rare. We can talk business when the confetti is swept up.'"
"That was nice of him," I said.
"Yeah," George said. He patted the contract in his pocket. "But he also said, 'Remember, parades end. Legacies last forever.' He knows what he's doing."
George walked back into the noise and the joy of the diner. He hugged Mary. He shook hands with the Mayor.
For tonight, we were Medford.
But come Friday... we had a choice to make.
[Quest Update: The Secret]
* Status: The Town is celebrating.
* The Conflict: George & Georgie vs. The Truth.
* Deadline: Friday (The "Bomb Drop").