Chapter 25
After everything with Dr. Linda, I knew it was ti. So, I made it official: I was skipping to ninth grade, the start of high school. No more sixth grade, no more noisy brats.
To celebrate, we had dinner out—soplace fancy enough that Alan needed to put on an actual blazer. He kept fidgeting with the sleeves like they were attacking him.
"You know," he said between bites of overcooked salmon, "Dr. Freeman said you were intellectually ready to go straight to college if you wanted. She signed off on that in her report."
Across the table, Evelyn nodded approvingly. "Harvard would love to have you. You could skip all the aningless teenage drama."
I almost laughed into my water. "I'm not going to college yet."
Alan looked surprised. "Why not?"
"Because I don't want to be that kid who rushes through life just because he can. Besides, I told Dr. Freeman—I want a successful life, not just a fast one."
I leaned back in my chair, watching Evelyn raise one perfectly plucked eyebrow.
"Also," I continued, "I'm not going to lie—elite colleges demand effort. Real effort. I might be smart, but even I'd have to work like crazy to keep up. I'm not going to blow my one shot at enjoying high school just to jump ahead and burn out."
Evelyn gave a thoughtful nod. "Smart. But don't wait too long. The world doesn't slow down for anyone, darling."
Charlie, sitting at the end of the table with a martini in hand, raised his glass. "Let's be honest here—Jake's already richer than Alan ever was. He could stop now and still be ahead of most people in this family."
Evelyn chuckled. "Charlie, don't insult my genius grandson with such a low bar."
Alan huffed. "Thanks, Mom. Always good to feel appreciated."
Judith, who had been quiet until then, set down her wine glass and looked at . Her voice softened. "Just promise one thing, Jake. Don't let all this pressure steal your childhood. I know you're capable—but you're still a kid. Don't forget to be one."
I nodded. "I won't, Mom."
Just then, Alan's phone started vibrating on the table. He picked it up and answered, his expression shifting to curiosity.
"Yes, this is Alan... Oh, hi, Dean Spencer. Yes, we just finished discussing Jake's school placent over dinner. Uh-huh..."
There was a pause. Alan raised his eyebrows.
"You said what? Two other kids Jake's age will be in college?" he repeated.
The table grew quiet.
Alan continued, "Really? Both are twelve? Wow. Well, that's... that's impressive. You think Jake should et them?"
He glanced at . "Apparently the Dean thinks eting a couple of prodigies might give you a new perspective. Maybe even change your mind."
I leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "Who are they?"
Alan listened for a second longer, then looked at and smiled faintly. "Sheldon Cooper and Paige Swanson."
My eyes widened. Sheldon Cooper? The na instantly triggered sothing. I rembered The Big Bang Theory, and vaguely Young Sheldon, even though I never actually watched the prequel.
Of course it would be him. The genius. The future Nobel prize. The weirdo.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "All right. I'll et them." I was trying to rember who the hell Paige is. I don't rember her in The Big Bang Theory.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Really? Thought you weren't looking to be swayed."
"I'm not," I said. "But it's always good to know what you're turning down."
Grandma smiled approvingly. "That's very mature of you. Which makes it even weirder that he's related to Alan."
Alan sighed. "Can we not?"
———
The next day, Dad drove across Los Angeles to a quiet suburban neighborhood. The address belonged to Mary and George Cooper—Sheldon's parents.
We were greeted at the door by a polite, smiling woman who introduced herself in a thick Texas accent. "Hi, y'all must be the Harpers. Co on in. Sheldon's upstairs in his room with Paige."
Alan raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.
Mary led to the stairs. "Just head on up. Second door on the right."
I walked up, curious. When I reached the door, it was open just enough to hear voices.
"Statistically, the likelihood of a ten-year-old successfully managing a quantum entanglent equation is less than 0.02%," said a familiar nasally voice.
"You're forgetting the sub-variable shift on the third coefficient," Paige replied.
I pushed the door open gently.
Sheldon was scribbling furiously on a whiteboard covered in equations. Paige was sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a quantum physics textbook like it was light reading.
Both looked up as I entered.
"Well," Paige said, smirking. "Took you long enough."
Sheldon frowned. "You're late. But since punctuality isn't a consistent trait among California natives, I've decided not to hold it against you—this ti."
I raised an eyebrow. "Nice to see you too, Sheldon." I smirked. "Hey, I'm Jake Harper," I said, offering a handshake.
"Paige Swanson," she replied with a smile, shaking my hand.
Sheldon pointed at the board. "You may take a seat—preferably not near the window, as light reflection interferes with my calculations. We're currently debating the application of quantum coherence to next-gen computing systems."
I glanced at the whiteboard. Equations danced across it like alien hieroglyphics. My eyes started to twist just trying to follow the flow. Oh... that's what true genius looks like—understanding just enough to know how much I didn't know.
Then Sheldon suddenly straightened. "Now that you're here, I can give you the official tour."
He walked to the far corner of the room, pointing like a docent at a museum exhibit.
"Over here, we have my desk. This is my computer. That's my mouse. This is my printer. This is the paper that goes in the printer. This is a box of extra paper."
I exchanged a glance with Paige, who looked like she was holding back a laugh.
"And this," Sheldon said with a proud flourish, pointing to a photo in a small fra on the desk, "is my signed picture of Professor Proton. Limited edition. Laminated for preservation."
I approached him and gave a light slap on the shoulder—despite being the sa age, I was a lot taller. "You are the most intelligent dumbass I've ever t," I said in a condescending tone.
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