"Okay," Troy said, nodding his head and clasping her hand. "Deal."

Gramps smacked his hands together and rubbed them as if he were trying to get warm. "Nice, now let's get serious about this breakfast. These eggs remind me of Waffle House back in Avondale, before it was a chain."

Troy smiled and dug in. They ate for a bit, recounting the highlights of the championship game, Troy's touchdown passes, especially the final, ugly lob to Nathan, who had been wide open in the end zone on a trick play.

"Gramps," Troy said, "how come you didn't stick around?"

Gramps wiped his mouth and swished his hand through the air. "I saw you surrounded by all those cameras and all; I'm too old for a mess like that. I knew I'd see you this morning and congratulate you proper. You, my friend, played like a champion, and you are a champion. To the bone."

Gramps raised his orange juice glass.

Troy blushed and looked at his plate. "Thanks, Gramps."

"Did you see the agents, Dad?" Troy's mom asked.

"The who?" Gramps asked, his forehead rumpling beneath his bald dome.

"Agents," Troy's mom said. "They practically swarmed us after the interviews."

"I was gone by then," he said. "What did 'agents' want?"

"To represent me, Gramps," Troy said, suddenly excited at the recollection of the men in suits handing him and his mom their cards. "One of them, some Nash guy, he said I could get between one and two million."

"Two million what?" Gramps asked.

"Dollars, Gramps," Troy said. "We could all be rich."

Gramps's face fell. "Rich? I don't know about that. A couple of people I know who got rich don't do so well with it. It's overrated."

Troy stared at Gramps.

"Dad," Troy's mom said.