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The final chords of "God's Country" faded into silence, leaving behind a charged atmosphere in the Cooper household.
The air still buzzed with pride—well, for most of them.
Across the living room, one child sat with his arms crossed, brows furrowed, eyes sharp behind thick glasses.
"So…" Sheldon's voice cut through the quiet. "Is anyone going to drive me to school?"
The warmth in the room cooled in an instant.
Missy groaned, tossing her head back. "Ugh, why do you always ruin the moment?!"
Mary, trying to stay calm, gave him a soft look. "Shelly, can't you just be happy your brother was on the radio today?"
"I'm not unhappy," Sheldon replied dryly, shaking his head. "But I've already heard that song. It's been stuck in my head since his last concert."
George Sr. blinked, unsure how to respond.
Missy, hands on her hips, didn't hesitate. "Then why are you so desperate to go to school?"
Sheldon turned toward her, dead serious.
"Because I can't lose to Brother. He's already taking real steps forward with his life. And I'm still stuck in a high school curriculum that insults my intelligence."
He turned to Mary, eyes fierce with determination.
"Mom, I think it's time. I need to go to university."
Mary sighed—heavily. Like she'd had this conversation a dozen times.
"You heard your brother earlier, didn't you? That's not my call to make," she said with a shrug, clearly passing the responsibility off.
Of course she was using Georgie as an excuse. It wasn't that she wanted to reject Sheldon outright—she just didn't want to look like the bad guy.
Sheldon let out a breath, absorbing both her words and Georgie's from earlier.
Then his gaze shifted.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Missy.
"I don't need to be like you…" she said smugly, grinning from ear to ear.
She paused for dramatic effect, her grin only growing wider.
"Because Brother loves me more than you do!"
She let out a victorious giggle as Sheldon's face went red with fury.
"Okay, that's enough," George Sr. said, grabbing his son by the arm. "Come on, Sheldon."
As they headed out, Missy cupped her hands around her mouth and called after them with mock sweetness.
"Loves me more than you!"
Mary quickly reached over and clamped a hand over Missy's mouth.
"You little rascal!" she muttered.
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George Sr. drove with one hand on the wheel, occasionally glancing sideways at his sulking son in the passenger seat.
Sheldon sat stiffly, arms crossed, brows furrowed, lips pursed like someone who'd just been denied access to a particle accelerator. His mood was unmistakably sour.
"You really gonna keep sulking like that?" George Sr. asked, his tone casual but a little awkward. "You know your sister's just messing with you."
"It's because… it's true," Sheldon muttered, barely above a whisper.
But George Sr. heard him.
He sighed, shaking his head. "That's not true, Sheldon. Your brother loves both you and Missy. You're his priority."
There was a pause, a quiet moment of reflection between the two. Then George Sr. added, with a mischievous smirk,
"Although… I'm pretty sure he liked me first—before your mom even."
Sheldon glanced at him, frowning. "I highly doubt that—"
"It's true, alright!" George Sr. cut in, mock-offended, puffing up his chest like he was proud of the fact.
A tiny crack formed on Sheldon's stern expression—a twitch at the corner of his lips. But it faded just as fast.
George Sr. let out a sigh, this time softer.
"Look, son," he said, eyes fixed on the road ahead, voice more grounded now. "Georgie may be doing big things now—radio, concerts, that whole cowboy dream—but none of that comes before you and Missy."
Sheldon didn't respond. He stared out the window, watching the world blur by in silence.
"Even Veronica's second place to you two," George Sr. added. "And you know how much that boy cares about her."
Another moment passed before Sheldon spoke, voice quieter this time.
"I know he loves us... but sometimes it feels like I'm always running behind. He has a dream, Missy has confidence, and I have… theories."
George Sr. gripped the wheel a little tighter.
"Don't ever think theories don't matter," he said. "You've got a brain like a supercomputer in a house full of farm radios. Just because your path looks different doesn't mean it's behind."
Sheldon turned toward him, slightly surprised by the clarity in his father's words.
George Sr. smirked again. "Besides, Georgie's been chasing his future. You? You've been dragging yours closer since you were in diapers."
And for the first time that morning, Sheldon's expression softened.
They pulled into the school parking lot, the engine sputtering softly as George Sr. parked the truck.
Both of them stepped out—Sheldon with his usual stiff posture, George Sr. stretching his back with a grunt like he'd just finished a construction shift.
"You know, Dad," Sheldon said, adjusting his backpack strap, "you were right earlier. I do have a superior brain. That fact alone already makes me feel significantly better."
He wore that smug little smile that could either impress a scientist or make a sibling want to throw a shoe.
George Sr. gave a proud nod. "That's good, son. Now go into that big brick building where they teach you... uh, stuff."
Sheldon paused mid-step and looked back at him, unamused.
"It's called school, Dad." His tone was flat. "You've dropped me off there five days a week for years."
George Sr. smirked, twitching his lips like he was holding back a chuckle. "I was just tryin' to keep it casual. Thought maybe we could bond over sarcasm."
"Well," Sheldon sniffed, adjusting his satchel, "I'll allow it… just this once."
George Sr. leaned on the truck window, calling out as Sheldon walked away. "And hey! Don't correct your teachers too much. Let the other kids have a chance to feel smart too!"
Sheldon turned on his heel just before entering the building and replied without missing a beat,
"No promises, but I'll pretend to consider it."
George Sr. laughed under his breath, shaking his head, "That boy's somethin' else…"
Just as George Sr. turned on his heel, ready to head toward his coach's office and start the day, he heard a rapid tap-tap-tap of short legs in a hurry behind him.
He turned and blinked.
There was Sheldon—charging toward him like a panicked penguin, clutching his backpack with wild eyes.
"What in the—? Didn't we just have a beautiful father-son moment back there?" George Sr. asked, genuinely confused.
Sheldon didn't answer. Instead, he flung open the truck door and climbed back in with the urgency of someone escaping a crime scene.
"Dad! Let's go back! I refuse to attend school today!"
George Sr. stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes darting around. A few students nearby sneezed. One kid coughed into his sleeve.
"Oh no…" George Sr. muttered, instantly putting the pieces together.
He stepped to the open truck door and looked at his son, who now had the seatbelt pulled so tight it was practically a seat harness.
"Sheldon… come on. It's just the flu season."
"Close the door!" Sheldon shrieked, pulling it halfway shut. "Do you want me to die?!"
George Sr. sighed like the weight of Texas had just landed on his shoulders.
"No one's gonna die, Sheldon. It's a flu. You've had one before. You lived."
Sheldon sat stubbornly in the truck, arms folded across his chest, lips tight in a pout, muttering complaints like a grumpy old man trapped in a child's body.
George Sr. stood by the open door, patience thinning but still holding it together.
"I thought what you said earlier came from a strong man," George Sr. said, his voice calm but firm. "You sounded like someone ready to face the world.
I'm a bit... disappointed now."
Sheldon glanced up sharply, then turned his eyes away.
"If that keeps me alive, then I'm okay with being a disappointment," he mumbled.
George Sr. stared at him—long and steady.
Not angry. Just… disappointed.
"Alright then," he said quietly, shaking his head. "But I'm not taking you home.
I'm not gonna reward fear. That's not how life works."
Then he stepped back, gently closing the truck door—not in frustration, but in resignation.
Without another word, he turned and started walking toward the school building, the weight of the moment hanging in the air behind him.
Inside the truck, Sheldon remained still.
He looked out the window, then caught a glimpse of his father's back moving farther away.
Something shifted inside him.
George Sr.'s voice echoed in his mind: "You've been dragging your future closer since you were in diapers."
Sheldon's hand hovered over the door handle.
He sighed. Deeply. Then pulled the door open with a soft creak, like he was forcing courage to spill out with it.
He stepped down onto the pavement—slowly, cautiously—but didn't stop.
George Sr. was just about to disappear into the building when he heard the small footsteps behind him.
He turned, and there was Sheldon.
Still frowning, still nervous, but upright.
Determined in his own Sheldon way.
"I'm going," Sheldon said flatly. "But this doesn't mean I'm wrong about airborne diseases."
George Sr. let out a small chuckle and walked back toward him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"No one said you were wrong, Shelly," he said. "But being brave doesn't mean you're not scared.
It means you show up anyway."
Sheldon blinked, absorbing the words. Then, without another word, he turned and headed toward the entrance.
George Sr. watched him go for a moment, pride softening the lines on his face.
"That's my boy."
{I've got fever after that, with a temperature of 102, and a head packed full of mucus, but i am proud of it and my dad proud of me too. Mostly, my brother is proud of me.} - Adult Sheldon.
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*Georgie Pov
After the radio broadcast—where I talked about the song that got people whispering in stadiums—I headed back to the studio for a meeting with Rosie.
She was already there, seated at the long table with a cup of black coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. Her assistant intern handed me a printed copy of the upcoming schedule.
"We got an interview lined up with KILT FM on Wednesday, a live bar set at The Dusty Spur this Friday, a possible Saturday showcase in Austin, and a phone call with a Capitol A&R rep next Monday. If that goes well, they wanna fly you to Nashville."
I blinked.
It was all typed neat in block letters, but it felt like I was staring at a list of things meant for a grown man with no bedtime—definitely not a high school senior from Medford.
I looked up, cleared my throat. "Y'all remember I'm still in high school, right?"
Rosie finally glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. "You're also the boy who had half of Houston on their feet at the stadium a few days ago."
"Yeah," I said with a grin. "But Houston doesn't give out algebra homework."
Fenley chuckled. Rosie didn't.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "So, talk to me. What's too much for you?"
I rubbed the back of my neck. "I can manage one gig a week—two max, if it's local. I can do phone interviews in the evening, but nothin' that cuts into school hours. And maybe give me Sundays to breathe?"
Rosie let out a slow sigh. "You're not famous yet, and you're already asking for time off. I didn't peg you for that type."
Her words hit harder than I expected. I didn't answer right away—I just looked at her.
I knew it was sarcasm. I knew she didn't mean it cruel. But still… it landed.
And yeah, it worked a little.
She wasn't wrong.
I wasn't a big name. I hadn't earned headlines or platinum records yet. I'd signed up for one year to prove myself—to see if I had what it took.
But right now… I didn't know if I was chasing the dream or letting it swallow me.
Was this what it took? Giving up weekends, sleep, the little moments that made life feel… mine?
I looked down at the schedule again—block letters staring back like a silent challenge.
Am I ready to give up this much of myself just to maybe become somebody?.