Date: February 20, 1990 (Tuesday).
Location: The Cooper Residence.
Event: The Stoichiometry Crisis.
04:30 PM. The Living Room.
The "Highland Park High" doesn't last forever. Eventually, you have to open a textbook.
The living room looked like a disaster zone.
Larry Allen (Left Tackle) was sprawled on the floor, taking up the space of a small sofa.
Zach Thomas (Linebacker) was sitting rigidly at the coffee table, staring at a notebook like it was a playbook.
Jimmy Smith (Receiver) was spinning a pencil, looking hopeless.
And I... I was staring at a chemistry book.
Stoichiometry.
Balance the equation: C3H8 + O2 → CO2 + H2O.
In my past life, I hadn't done chemistry in forty years.
In this life, I hadn't listened in class because I was too busy analyzing defensive coverages.
"Georgie," Jimmy groaned. "You said you knew this."
"I'm thinking," I lied. I rubbed my temples. "It's... it's about ratios."
"That's not an answer," Zach said. "That's a noun."
I looked at Serena. She was sitting in the armchair, painting her nails.
"Serena?" I asked. "You go to a private school. Help us."
She looked up and blew on her nails.
"Don't look at me," she laughed. "I got a C-minus on the quiz. I thought a 'Mole' was an animal until yesterday. My strategy is to marry rich."
"You're already rich," I pointed out.
"See?" she grinned. "It's working."
We were screwed. The "No Pass, No Play" deadline was Friday. If Larry failed Chemistry, he couldn't play in the Spring Game.
Meemaw walked through the room carrying a laundry basket. She stopped and looked at the pitiful scene.
"You boys look like you're trying to defuse a bomb," she cackled.
"It's chemistry, Meemaw," I said. "It's hard."
"I failed chemistry three times," Meemaw said proudly. "The only chemical reaction I know is Gin plus Tonic equals Happiness. Good luck."
She walked away. Thanks, Meemaw.
I looked at the recruits. They were looking at me. I was the Leader. I was the Quarterback. I was supposed to have the answers.
I sighed. I had to make the call.
"Missy!" I yelled. "Go get him."
Missy and Eric van der Woodsen popped their heads out of the kitchen. They were eating Popsicles.
"Get who?" Missy asked, purple dye on her lip.
"The Weapon," I said. "Get Sheldon."
***
04:45 PM. The Negotiation.
Sheldon walked into the living room. He was wearing his bowtie. He looked at the three giant football players and me.
He sniffed the air.
"The scent of desperation is palpable," Sheldon announced.
"We need help, Shelly," I said. "Chemistry. We don't get it."
Sheldon walked over to the textbook. He glanced at the equation.
"Propane combustion," he said instantly. "It is trivial. A child could solve it."
"We aren't children," Larry said, his deep voice rumbling the floorboards. "We are large mammals."
Sheldon looked at Larry. Larry's bicep was bigger than Sheldon's head.
Sheldon took a respectful step back.
"I can tutor you," Sheldon said. "But my consulting fees have increased."
"I'll buy you a train set," I offered.
"I have trains," Sheldon scoffed. "I want... authority."
"What does that mean?" Zach asked suspiciously.
"For the duration of this session," Sheldon said, standing on the coffee table to look them in the eye, "I am the Coach. You will address me as 'Professor Cooper.' And you," he pointed at me, "will admit that I am the superior genetic sibling."
"Fine," I grunted. "You're the smart one. Just teach us the math."
"Excellent," Sheldon rubbed his hands together. "Eric, fetch my whiteboard. Missy, bring me a pointer."
"Yes, sir!" Eric saluted, enjoying the chaos.
***
05:30 PM. The Lesson.
It was the weirdest sight in Texas football history.
A ten-year-old boy was screaming at three future NFL Hall of Famers about atomic mass.
"NO, LARRY!" Sheldon shouted, slapping the whiteboard with a ruler. "Carbon has a mass of 12.01! Not 12! Precision matters! Do you want the bridge to collapse? Do you?"
Larry Allen, a man who could bench press a Toyota, looked terrified.
"No, Professor," Larry whispered. "I don't want the bridge to collapse."
"Then carry the decimal!" Sheldon commanded.
I sat in the back, trying to keep up.
Serena was watching from the sofa, trying not to laugh.
Missy and Eric were eating popcorn, treating this like a TV show.
"He's gonna make Larry cry," Eric whispered to Missy.
"I hope so," Missy giggled. "It's funny."
"Focus!" Sheldon snapped, spinning around to face Jimmy. "Jimmy, if you have one mole of Oxygen gas, what is the volume at STP?"
Jimmy panicked. He looked at me. I shrugged.
Jimmy looked at Sheldon.
"Uh... 22.4 liters?" Jimmy guessed.
Sheldon froze. A smile—a terrifying, Grinch-like smile—spread across his face.
"Correct," Sheldon whispered. "Finally. A synapse fires."
"I did it!" Jimmy cheered, high-fiving Zach.
"Do not celebrate mediocrity!" Sheldon yelled. "Next problem!"
***
06:30 PM. The Feed.
The session ended when Mary walked in carrying two massive casserole dishes.
"Alright, Professor," Mary said, putting the food on the table. "Class dismissed. These boys need to eat."
The change was instant.
Larry Allen stopped looking scared and started looking hungry.
"King Ranch Chicken?" Larry asked, sniffing the air.
"And Tater Tot Casserole," Mary smiled. "Wash up, boys."
We gathered around the dining table. It was squeezed tight.
Sheldon sat at the head of the table (his new spot).
I sat next to Serena.
"You survived," Serena whispered, passing me a roll.
"Barely," I said. "My brain hurts."
"At least you passed," she said. "I'm still gonna copy off you."
"I'm copying off Sheldon," I admitted.
Across the table, Larry was piling food onto his plate.
"Ms. Mary," Larry said seriously. "Your boy is mean. But he knows his stuff."
"He's a handful," Mary agreed, patting Sheldon's head. "But we keep him around."
Sheldon preened. "I am the keystone of this family unit."
"You're a nerd," Missy said, stealing a tater tot from his plate.
"Mother!" Sheldon screeched. "Missy stole a tot! That violates the property rights treaty of 1989!"
"Eat your chicken, Sheldon," George Sr. grunted from the other end of the table.
I looked around.
The Recruits. The Family. The Van der Woodsens.
We were eating casseroles and arguing about tater tots.
We weren't the "State Champions" right now. We were just a bunch of kids trying to pass Sophomore year.
I looked at Serena. She was laughing at Eric, who had spilled gravy on his shirt.
She fit.
"Hey," I nudged her.
"Yeah?"
"Next time," I said. "You have to help with the math. Sheldon is letting the power go to his head."
"No way," she smiled. "I'm just the trophy girlfriend. I don't do math."
"Trophy girlfriend, huh?"
"Keep winning, Cooper," she winked. "And maybe."
[Quest Update: The Knowledge Gap]
* Academics: Sheldon's Tutoring Unlocked (Cost: Dignity).
* Recruits: Integrated into Family Dinner.
* Serena: "Average Student" Status Confirmed.
* Meemaw: Still useless at Chemistry.