If Friday night was the car crash, Monday morning was the insurance claim.
My alarm went off at 6:30 AM. I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. My ribs felt like they had been used as a xylophone. My right knee was stiff. My elbow was scabbed over.
[System Status]
[Recovery: 85%]
[Muscle Soreness: High]
[Status: The Price of Glory]
I groaned, swinging my legs out of bed.
Sheldon was already dressed, sitting at his desk with a calculator and a stack of notebook paper.
"You are moving with the grace of a rusted hinge," Sheldon noted without turning around.
"Good morning to you too, Shelly," I winced, standing up. "What are you doing?"
"Calculating your Efficiency Rating based on the box score I retrieved from the newspaper," Sheldon said. "It is... acceptable."
"Just acceptable?"
"You had a turnover," Sheldon pointed out. "Statistically, turnovers are the leading cause of defeat. You were fortunate the opposing team was equally incompetent."
I smiled. Only Sheldon could look at a game-winning touchdown drive and call it "fortunate incompetence."
"I'll try to do better next time," I said, grabbing my towel.
***
The school bus was the first test.
Usually, I sat near the back, keeping my head down to avoid spitballs or flying objects. Today, as I walked down the aisle, the noise level dropped.
Kids looked at me. Not the "look at the weird kid" stare. It was the "that's the guy who scored the touchdown" stare.
"Nice game, Cooper," a kid named Steve (who had never spoken to me in his life) said as I passed.
"Thanks, Steve," I nodded.
I sat down. Kyle Benson was in the back row. He had his headphones on, staring out the window. He didn't look at me, but he didn't throw anything at me either. Progress.
***
The hallway was even weirder.
I walked to my locker. As I spun the combination, a shadow fell over me.
It was Tiny.
My left tackle was wearing his jersey (football players wore them on game days and Mondays). He leaned against the locker next to mine.
"Cooper," Tiny grunted.
"Tiny," I replied, opening my locker.
"My mom made brownies," Tiny said. He held out a plastic bag with a massive, foil-wrapped square inside. "She said the Quarterback needs to keep his weight up."
I took the brownie. It weighed about a pound.
"Tell your mom thanks," I said.
"Yeah, well," Tiny looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Don't get used to it. And if you get sacked this week, I'm eating the next batch."
He walked away.
I looked at the brownie. This wasn't just a snack. In the currency of Junior High, this was a peace treaty. The Offensive Line was officially fed.
[System Update]
[Team Chemistry: Stabilizing]
[Alliance Formed: The Trenches]
I took a bite. It was delicious.
***
Lunch was usually spent trying to eat fast before the food got cold. Today, I took my time.
I sat at my usual table. Tam and Sheldon were arguing about *Star Trek*.
"Captain Kirk is clearly the superior leader," Tam argued. "He takes risks."
"Spock is logical," Sheldon countered. "Risks are inefficient. Kirk relies on bravado and luck. Much like my brother."
They both looked at me.
"I heard that," I said, peeling a hard-boiled egg.
"It was intended for you to hear," Sheldon said. "Speaking of luck, I have prepared a proposal."
Sheldon slid a manila folder across the table. It was labeled **[Project: Vector]**.
"What is this?" I asked.
"I analyzed your throwing motion from the game," Sheldon said. "I noticed a discrepancy. When you throw to your left, your elbow drops 15 degrees. It reduces your velocity and accuracy."
I opened the folder. Inside was a drawing—stick figures, angles, and math equations I didn't understand. But the diagram was clear.
He was right. When I threw across my body (to the left), I was reverting to a baseball pitch. It put stress on my shoulder and made the ball wobble.
"You watched me that closely?" I asked.
"I have an eidetic memory, Georgie," Sheldon said. "And I was bored during the halftime show. The marching band was out of step."
I looked at the drawing again. This was gold. A specialized biomechanics coach would charge hundreds of dollars for this kind of analysis. I was getting it for the price of being related to a genius.
"This is amazing, Shelly," I said sincerely. "How do I fix it?"
"You need to rotate your hips sooner," Sheldon said, demonstrating with a celery stick. "Torque must originate from the core, not the shoulder. It is simple physics."
"Okay," I nodded. "Tonight in the garage. You coach me."
Sheldon looked horrified. "I do not 'coach.' I consult."
"Consult me, then. In exchange..." I looked at my lunch. I had the brownie Tiny gave me. "I'll give you half of this brownie."
Sheldon eyed the brownie. "Does it contain walnuts?"
"No."
"Does it have frosting?"
"Yes."
Sheldon snatched the brownie. "Deal. Consultation begins at 18:00 hours."
***
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
In History class, Mr. Givens actually called on me.
"George," he said. "Can you tell us who won the Battle of San Jacinto?"
Usually, I would have made a joke. But the "Adult Mind" kicked in.
"Sam Houston, sir," I said. "1836. Caught Santa Anna napping."
Mr. Givens blinked. The class blinked.
"Correct," Mr. Givens said, sounding suspicious. "Did you... read the chapter?"
"Yes, sir," I lied. (I just knew Texas history).
"Well," Mr. Givens adjusted his glasses. "Good job. Maybe the football hits rearranged some brain cells."
The class laughed. I smiled. Let them laugh.
I wasn't the class clown anymore. I wasn't the dumb older brother.
I walked out of school that day with a roadmap for my throwing mechanics, a loyal left tackle, and a team that was 1-0.
But as I walked to the bus, I saw the schedule pinned to the gym bulletin board.
**Next Week: vs. Odessa.**
My stomach dropped. Odessa. Even in Junior High, Odessa teams were legendary. They were the teams that *Friday Night Lights* was written about.
[System Quest Alert]
[Opponent: Odessa J.H.]
[Difficulty: Hard]
[Objective: Survive]
I gripped my backpack straps.
The celebration was over. It was time to get back to work.