Date: December 14-15, 1990 (Friday & Saturday).
Location: Highlander Stadium / Highland Park Middle School.
Event: The Semifinals & The Winter Court.
Part 1: The Blood Pressure Drill
Friday Night. The State Semifinals.
The temperature at Highlander Stadium had dropped to twenty-eight degrees. The field was hard as concrete, and we were in the absolute dogfight of our lives against Abilene High. They were a West Texas team, which meant they were massive, mean, and hit like runaway freight trains.
By the end of the third quarter, we were losing 14-10.
I jogged to the sideline after a brutal drive. My lungs were burning.
I looked at George Sr. He looked terrible. His face was flushed a dangerous shade of purple. He was sweating profusely despite the freezing temperature, pacing the sideline and screaming at the referees over a missed holding call. The stress of being one game away from the State Championship was pushing his heart to the limit.
Suddenly, Mary Cooper materialized out of the crowd of players.
She marched right up to the Head Coach in the middle of a live football game. She grabbed his left wrist, her thumb pressing directly against his radial artery to check his pulse rate.
"Mary, what are you doing?" George yelled. "I'm working!"
"You are freezing and your heart is beating like a rabbit, George," Mary stated firmly.
Eric van der Woodsen appeared right behind her, holding a steaming paper cup.
"Coach," Eric said smoothly. "I have prepared a specialized herbal tea blend with chamomile and valerian root. It is imperative that you drink it immediately to lower your cortisol levels and maintain play-calling function."
George glared at them, but he snatched the cup and took a long drink. The Health Conspiracy was operating in broad daylight, and it was working. His breathing started to stabilize.
I walked over to my dad.
"I got this, Dad," I said, my voice perfectly calm. "Abilene is bringing the house. Let them blitz. I'll slip the pocket and find Jimmy. Just breathe."
George nodded slowly. "Go win the game, Georgie."
Fourth quarter. One minute and thirty seconds left. We were on our own twenty-yard line. Eighty yards to go. No timeouts.
We lined up in the shotgun. Abilene showed blitz. They sent six men to end our season.
I caught the snap. The pocket collapsed instantly. Larry and Zach absorbed massive hits, but there were too many rushers. I instinctively stepped up and to my left, sliding completely against the grain of the offensive line.
An Abilene defensive end broke containment and sprinted directly at my chest.
While running full speed to my left, I snapped my hips open, dropped my arm completely parallel to the ground, and whipped a sidearm throw directly across my body. The ball zipped through the freezing air on an absolute frozen rope.
Jimmy Smith snapped his head around and caught the ball perfectly in stride at the fifty-yard line. Because Abilene had blitzed everyone, the deep field was empty.
Jimmy turned on the jets. He crossed the goal line untouched as the stadium clock hit zero.
Highland Park 16, Abilene 14.
We had survived. We were going to the Texas 5A State Championship.
Part 2: The Emergency
Saturday Morning. The Cooper Residence.
I woke up feeling like I had been thrown down a flight of concrete stairs. Every muscle in my body ached. But the house wasn't celebrating our massive victory. The house was in a state of absolute panic.
I limped out to the kitchen. Missy was sitting at the table, wearing her pajamas, crying onto a pile of cheap, homemade flyers.
"What's wrong with the gremlin?" I asked, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer.
"It's the Winter Princess election tonight," Mary sighed, pouring me a cup of coffee. "Chloe Hollingsworth's father catered the entire middle school dance. She has a chocolate fountain and imported truffles. Missy feels like she can't compete."
I looked at my little sister. She looked completely defeated.
"Middle schoolers are shallow, Georgie," Missy sniffled, wiping her nose. "They vote for whoever gives them free food. I'm going to get humiliated in front of the whole seventh grade."
I stood there holding my ice pack. I thought about the crushing pressure we had just survived the night before. I thought about how exhausted the entire football team was, staring down the barrel of a State Championship against Odessa Permian next week.
We needed a distraction. We needed to blow off some steam. And Missy needed to win her crown.
I walked over to the wall phone and dialed a number.
"Larry," I said when the giant picked up. "Call Zach and Jimmy. Call the starting secondary. Tell everyone to meet me at the Goodwill thrift store on Main Street in exactly one hour. Bring ten dollars."
"Coach called a practice?" Larry asked, sounding confused and sleepy.
"No," I smiled. "We have a middle school dance to crash."
Missy looked up from her flyers, her tear-filled eyes suddenly going very wide.
Part 3: The Thrift Store Suit Up
At noon, the entire Highland Park varsity starting lineup was crammed into the aisles of the local Goodwill.
It was a comedic disaster.
"Georgie, this jacket cuts off the circulation to my arms," Larry Allen rumbled. He was wearing a violently yellow, plaid blazer that was at least three sizes too small. If he flexed his biceps, the seams would literally detonate.
"It looks sharp, Larry," I lied, adjusting a ridiculously oversized pair of fake aviator sunglasses on my own face. I was wearing a powder-blue suit with a pink t-shirt underneath, looking like an extra from Miami Vice.
Zach Thomas had found a jet-black suit that actually fit him, but he had paired it with a clip-on bow tie and combat boots. He looked like an unhinged hitman.
Jimmy Smith, naturally, had managed to find a vintage, velvet maroon tuxedo jacket that somehow made him look incredibly cool.
"Alright, listen up," I said, clapping my hands to get the team's attention. A few elderly shoppers stared at us in terror. "Tonight, we are the Secret Service. We are the Hype Squad. Missy Cooper is the President of the United States. Nobody looks at her without our permission. We do not let Chloe Hollingsworth's chocolate fountain win this election."
"What are the rules of engagement, Quarterback?" Zach Thomas asked, cracking his knuckles.
"No physical violence against middle schoolers, Zach," I clarified quickly. "We kill them with sheer, overwhelming coolness. We are going to be the cheesiest, loudest, most obnoxious entourage in Texas history."
The boys grinned. The tension of the playoffs evaporated entirely. For the first time in months, they weren't gridiron warriors carrying the weight of a town's expectations. They were just high school teenagers getting ready to do something incredibly stupid for their buddy's little sister.
Part 4: The Invasion
Saturday Night. Highland Park Middle School Gymnasium.
The gym was decorated with cheap paper snowflakes. In the center of the room, Chloe Hollingsworth was standing next to a massive buffet table filled with shrimp cocktail and chocolate truffles. She was wearing an incredibly expensive dress, acting like the undisputed queen of the seventh grade.
At exactly 6:30 PM, the heavy double doors of the gymnasium swung open.
The DJ's terrible pop music was completely drowned out by the sheer spectacle of what was happening.
Missy Cooper walked in. She was wearing a beautiful dark blue dress. She looked confident, poised, and absolutely radiant.
But it was the human tunnel she walked through that stopped the entire dance in its tracks.
Twelve massive varsity football players, wearing cheap sunglasses and the most offensive, brightly colored thrift-store suits imaginable, marched into the room in perfect, two-column formation.
Larry Allen and Zach Thomas took the lead, pressing two fingers to their ears as if they had Secret Service earpieces in.
"Code Blue," Zach grunted loudly to nobody, scanning the terrified middle schoolers. "The Eagle has landed. Secure the perimeter."
I walked directly behind Missy, wearing my powder-blue Miami Vice suit. Jimmy Smith was beside me in his velvet tuxedo.
Missy didn't walk to the buffet. She walked to an empty table in the corner.
The second she sat down, the entire football team formed a defensive perimeter around the table. We stood with our hands clasped in front of us, wearing our sunglasses indoors, looking like the most ridiculous mafia family in existence.
The seventh-graders were mesmerized. They all watched Friday night football. They knew we had just won the State Semifinal. They were in the presence of absolute local royalty.
Chloe Hollingsworth's catered buffet was suddenly a ghost town.
"Georgie," Larry whispered, leaning down. His yellow plaid blazer creaked ominously. "Can I eat the shrimp over there? I'm starving."
"Go secure the shrimp, Agent Allen," I ordered.
Larry walked over to the massive catered table. The middle schoolers parted like the Red Sea. Larry casually picked up an entire tray of expensive shrimp cocktail, gave Chloe Hollingsworth a polite nod, and carried the entire tray back to our VIP table for the team to eat. Chloe looked like she was going to cry.
"Alright," I said, looking at Jimmy Smith. "It's time for the nuclear option."
Part 5: The Electric Slide
Jimmy Smith nodded. He adjusted his velvet lapels and walked over to the DJ booth. He politely tapped the high school DJ on the shoulder.
"Put on the Electric Slide, man," Jimmy said.
The DJ scrambled to change the record. The classic, cheesy bassline of "Electric Boogie" pumped through the gym speakers.
I held my hand out to my sister. "May I have this dance, Madam President?"
Missy beamed, taking my hand. I led her to the absolute center of the dance floor.
"Squad, form up!" I yelled.
The entire Highland Park starting lineup ran onto the dance floor. We didn't try to look tough. We lined up in perfect rows behind Missy.
And then, led by Jimmy Smith and myself, twelve massive, bruised, terrifying football players did the Electric Slide in perfect, cheesy synchronization.
It was an absolute spectacle. Larry Allen was grape-vining to the left, his giant yellow suit threatening to explode. Zach Thomas was aggressively sliding to the right, looking like he was trying to tackle the music itself. I was spinning Missy around, laughing so hard my bruised ribs ached.
The entire middle school lost their minds.
The seventh-grade boys, who were usually too scared to dance, ran onto the floor to join the varsity team. The girls were screaming and laughing. We had turned a stuffy, wealthy Country Club election into an absolute, ridiculous house party.
Up in the chaperones' section, George Sr. and Mary had arrived to take pictures.
George Sr. was leaning against the bleachers, watching his star offensive lineman do the Electric Slide in a thrift-store blazer. He was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.
"I think your blood pressure is doing just fine today, George," Mary smiled, wrapping her arm around his waist.
"They're good boys, Mary," George wheezed, wiping his eyes. "They're a bunch of idiots, but they're good boys."
At the end of the night, the school principal tapped the microphone on the stage.
"Alright, students," the principal announced over the feedback. "The votes have been tallied. Your 7th Grade Winter Princess is... Missy Cooper!"
The gym exploded.
Larry Allen and Zach Thomas didn't politely clap. They ran over, hoisted Missy completely off the ground, and put her on their massive shoulders. They paraded her around the gym floor while the rest of the team chanted her name.
Missy was wearing her cheap plastic tiara, looking down at the entire school from eight feet in the air. She looked over at Chloe Hollingsworth, who was eating a piece of chocolate in defeat. Missy didn't gloat; she just gave a perfectly regal, Serena-style wave.
I stood near the punch bowl, taking my fake aviator sunglasses off, breathing heavily from the dancing.
Eric van der Woodsen walked up beside me, making a note on his legal pad.
"A masterstroke in psychological warfare, Georgie," Eric observed. "You completely dismantled the opponent's financial advantage through sheer, unadulterated charisma. And highly questionable tailoring."
"We just needed to smile, Eric," I said, watching Larry and Zach carry my sister like a conquering hero. "We've been so focused on winning State, we forgot we're allowed to have fun."
I looked at my team. They were laughing, joking, and eating shrimp. The bruises from the Abilene game were still there, but the crushing, suffocating weight of the playoffs was gone.
We had blown off the steam. We had won the Winter Court.
Now, there was only one game left.
[Quest Update: The Secret Service]
* Mission Status: Absolute Success.
* Team Morale: 200% (Maximum Fun Achieved).
* Missy Cooper Status: 7th Grade Winter Princess.
* Next Objective: Odessa Permian. Texas Stadium. The State Finals.
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