Sheldon froze at my words, blinking rapidly.
"Excuse me," he said, genuinely offended. "There is a fundamental contradiction in the phrase 'most intelligent dumbass.' It's a paradox. You cannot logically be both simultaneously."
I turned toward Paige and shrugged. "See? Most intelligent dumbass."
Paige burst into laughter, nearly tipping over from where she sat on the floor.
Sheldon folded his arms. "Mockery is the lowest form of argument. I expected more from a fellow academic."
"Yeah," I said, grinning. "But it's also the most fun."
Paige added, still chuckling, "You'll get used to him. He takes everything literally. Including sarcasm, which is a daily challenge."
"I understand sarcasm," Sheldon interjected defensively. "I just find it a crude and unnecessary form of communication."
"Which," I said, "makes you even more fun to mess with."
Despite his indignation, Sheldon couldn't help the curious twitch of his mouth—like he was trying not to smile.
"So," I said, leaning back in the chair again, "what's next on the genius agenda?"
Sheldon lit up immediately. "Do you know how to play chess?"
We brought out a board, and within minutes, we were locked into a game. Paige sat off to the side, watching.
The match moved fast—Sheldon playing with confident speed, barely hesitating before each move. But he played like a kid. Smart, definitely. Calculating, sure. But overly aggressive. Predictable. He was used to playing people who got overwhelmed by his knowledge, not people who could actually read the board.
Chess isn't just about raw IQ. Intelligence helps, no doubt, especially at the highest level. But strategy, patience, timing, and positioning—those matter just as much. Maybe more.
I remembered playing in college tournaments back in my past life. I wasn't a grandmaster or anything, but I knew how to beat a 12-year-old genius who thought three moves ahead and assumed no one else could do the same.
Ten minutes later, I moved my queen into position.
"Checkmate," I said casually.
Sheldon's head jerked back like I had slapped him. "What?"
Paige looked up from her tablet and smirked. "Told you not to underestimate the new guy."
Sheldon leaned over the board, studying it intensely, and then sat back with a huff.
"I was distracted," he muttered.
"Of course you were," I said with a grin.
Paige laughed again. "You're never going to live this down."
"I demand a rematch," Sheldon said.
"Anytime," I replied, then added, "But maybe play with Paige this round. I'll go say hello to the rest of the family."
I left the room and headed to the backyard, where I saw a boy with curly hair and a casual stance, and a girl—maybe fourteen—sitting on a bench. Standing next to her was a girl who looked the same age as me.
"Hi guys, I'm Jake Harper," I said, introducing myself.
"Hey," said George Cooper, glancing over. "Shouldn't you be inside with the little geniuses?"
I shrugged. "Nah, I'm good."
"Erica Swanson," said the older girl, offering a polite nod. "Paige's sister."
"Missy Cooper," added the other girl. "Sheldon's twin."
"Really?" I asked, raising a brow. "Are you sure he's from this planet?" I whispered, leaning closer to her.
Missy burst out laughing—a bright, melodic sound that felt instantly rewarding.
"Trust me," she said. "We ask ourselves the same thing every day."
Missy tilted her head and asked, "Why do grown-ups always do this? They love sticking random kids together and expecting them to just become friends."
"I know. I hate that," Erica agreed, her tone dry.
"Fresh Prince was right—'Parents just don't understand,'" George chimed in.
"I loved that song," said Erica with a smile.
"I had a cassette of it. But I recorded it off the radio," Missy said. "You can hear Sheldon in the background, talking about Sir Isaac Neutron."
Erica rolled her eyes. "My sister always talks about him, I don't know why. I think he's dead."
My eye twitched. 'Isaac Neutron?' I thought.
A few minutes later, George pulled out something from his backpack.
"Wanna blow up an old TV I found in the garage?" he asked casually.
Missy lit up. "Absolutely."
They invited me to join, and I figured—why not?
We trekked around to the side yard where an ancient, dusty television stood next to a small firecracker setup.
George frowned. "We forgot the matches."
"I'll go get some," Missy said.
"I'll come with you," I added, figuring someone should be responsible.
We walked back toward the house. As we rounded the side near the patio, we caught sight of Erica and George kissing.
Missy stopped mid-step. Her eyes widened, and then she turned slowly toward me with a raised eyebrow. Maybe expecting we do the same thing?!
I looked at her, then at the scene again. My brain froze for a second.
'What the hell are these kids learning nowadays?' I thought, then flinted her forehead gently and muttered, "You're only twelve."
Missy gave me a smirk, brushing her bangs back as if unbothered. "Yeah, and clearly the world's not waiting."
I rolled my eyes. "Can we just get the matches?"
We grabbed the box from the kitchen drawer and made our way back, trying to unsee what we'd seen.
George and Erica had, thankfully, moved apart by the time we returned. George was fiddling with the firecracker again, trying to look very focused.
"Got the matches," Missy said flatly.
"Awesome," George said a little too quickly.
We all took a few steps back as he lit the fuse. There was a quick spark... and then a loud POP! as the old TV erupted in a small explosion of sparks and plastic, sending the screen shattering inward.
Missy clapped. "That was awesome."
"Totally worth the risk of getting grounded," George added, brushing some dust off his shirt.
I stood there with my hands in my pockets, letting the smoke drift past me.
It was kind of chaotic. A little dangerous. Definitely not how I pictured spending the afternoon with child prodigies.
(An older Sheldon Cooper voice narrates over a flashback sequence:
"And that... that was the moment I met the richest person on the planet."
Cue a dramatic pause, as if expecting reverence.
"He wasn't particularly brilliant. In fact, he isn't now either."
Sheldon gives his famous short, nasal laugh.
"But then he looked me right in the eyes and said: 'I could buy you a hadron collider, bro."
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my moral compass was compromised in exchange for subatomic particles.")