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Chapter Text

"Excuse me," nine-year-old Sheldon walks up to the reception desk at the school library. He holds up a book titled How to Win Friends and Influence People. “Would this be the correct reading material one would check out to make new friends?”

The librarian looks bored and unappeased to work there, but she takes a moment to look between the young student and the book in his hand. “You don’t look like the type to schmooze at parties, kid.”

“I don’t know what ‘schmooze’ means, but if it’s related to a party, I would agree.”

The librarian nods her head and turns to the card catalogue behind her. It doesn’t take long to find what she’s looking for, because she’s read it a few times. She writes down the number on a piece of cardstock and hands it to the preteen.

“Here’s the book you should look for. It’s friend-making for introverts.”

Sheldon’s eyes shine at the suggestion and he accepts the card, thanking her.

At home, Sheldon cracks open the spine of The Social Skills Guidebook. The first part focuses on shyness, social anxiety, and low self-confidence. He latches onto each word with fervent determination. Socializing always makes him uncomfortable, even around the family at times because they simply do not understand him. The second part of the book goes into how to improve conversation skills. Sheldon, while talkative, finds it difficult to pick up on social cues and emotions. Sometimes, it’s even hard for him to express himself when he believes others should automatically understand what’s bothering or exciting him.

After a few hours, he finds the perfect way to make a friend: pen pals. It states that there are often small societies within local community centres and libraries that hold information of children across the country and some across the globe. Having a pen pal would accomplish Mary’s goal of him to gain a friend while being in Sheldon’s wheelhouse as he won’t be expected to spend physical time with said friend.

“Shelly! Missy! Dinner!”

Missy groans from across the room where she’d been organizing her Cabbage Patch dolls, while Sheldon simply closes his book. The twins wash up and sit at the table; Sheldon dons his mittens as the family members hold hands, and Mary recites her dinner prayer.

“So, Sheldon,” she speaks as she cuts her meatloaf, “have you made any new friends?”

“I’m working on it,” he responds while twirling his fork in the mashed potatoes. “I’ll need a ride to the library after school tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with the one inside your school?” George asks.

“It isn’t facilitated with the proper communities I require.” When he only stares blankly, Sheldon sighs and ‘translates’, “I need something there that the one at school doesn’t have.”

He nods, Mary moves the conversation to Missy’s day, and the family continues their meal.

After school the next day, George takes Sheldon to the local library as the football team doesn’t have practice. He waits up front, reading one of the magazines nearby while Sheldon searches for his community. Not finding what he’s looking for on a sign, he finally relents and asks a librarian.

“Oh, we don’t have people by means of community, hon’, but we do have a list of children on file. What you do is give me your age, and I’ll find you someone of the same age and give you their documented information. We will need a parent to sign, agreeing that you share your information as well.”

“My dad brought me here,” Sheldon answers. “He’ll sign. Where do I write?”

The librarian smiles gently and hands him a clipboard. The sheet only requires his name, gender, DOB, and address. Sheldon quickly fills out his information and walks to the front to meet his dad.

“You get what you came here for?”

“Almost. I just need your signature.”

“Like for a package?”

“No, so I can join their program.”

“Oh.”

He glances over the paper. Seeing nothing wrong with Sheldon joining a library program, he signs his name where his son indicates, and the boy brings the paper back to the librarian. She smiles again and gives him the promised information.

Leonard Hofstadter
Male
17 May 1980
102 Mars Way, Hoboken, NJ

Chapter Text

Young Leonard walks inside with the full intent of disappearing into his room for hours. He made a C on his surprise math exam, was bullied out of his lunch money, and a car splashed a muddy puddle on him during the walk home. That’s just today. He’s hungry, but he mostly just wants to flop on his bed and become a human burrito for the rest of his life. Or at least the rest of the week.

“There’s a letter for you in the kitchen,” Angela tells him on his way up the stairs.

“Me?”

She stares at him like he’s an idiot and keeps walking. Leonard barely registers his sister having a quick conversation with their mom, followed by the front door opening and closing. He slowly walks down the stairs and stops at the landing. His mother is on the sofa, analyzing the family finances, and Leonard tries to calculate the possibility statistics of knicking the letter and returning to his room without her notice when…

“Come on down, Leonard. The veil of stealth that shrouds your being is but a mere illusion. Your belief in your own clandestine prowess is gravely misplaced.”

He frowns at her words but graces her with his presence only to walk up to the kitchen island counter. There’s a sealed university application for Angela, two soliciting magazines, and a single letter for him. He takes it in his hands, and his eyes widen when he reads who sent it.

Sheldon Cooper

5501 Grant Ave

Medford, TX

“Who would write to me from Texas?” He mumbles aloud.

“One would find it most reasonable to engage in the act of unsealing the very letter in question, for it is through this action that the pathway to addressing your inquiries shall be illuminated,” his mom responds as she walks past him into her study.

“Right…”

Leonard brings the letter up to his room and locks the door. Rather than open it immediately, however, he begins to pace. Part of him believes this is some stupid form of bullying or intimidation, and he wants to just toss the letter in the trash. Part of him thinks maybe this is just some distant family member asking for him to donate them some cash or a wedding gift, possibly. He doesn’t receive letters unless they’re for his birthday, but that’s months away. Finally, he decides that not knowing is very much worse than any piece of knowing. He sits at his desk and opens the letter.

d.Sep 16

To Leonard,

As you can see on the envelope, my name is Sheldon Cooper, and I live in Medford, Texas. I’m here because my mother and I have agreed that I will attempt to make a friend, and this was the most favorable solution regarding my introverted social life. School is difficult. Not my grades, but simply my classmates. They never take me seriously, and I’m unsure where I stand among my teachers.

I have an older brother who attends school with me, but he doesn’t make things better. He feels as though I embarrass him, so he’s asked me not to directly talk to him from eight in the morning through three in the afternoon. I also have a younger sister, but she’s still in grade school. We don’t have too much in common. Perhaps you and I will. My father had a heart attack and went to the hospital last night. I wore my brother’s football helmet when we stole Meemaw's car and snuck out to drive to the hospital. He’s home now.

Tell me about you,

Sheldon

Leonard smiles as he rereads the letter. Someone else his age signed up for the pen pals program and is actually taking it seriously. He might make a friend yet. Adjusting his glasses, he takes out a piece of his own stationery, clicks his calligraphy pen, and starts writing a response.

Chapter Text

"Mom," Missy complains from across the table, "Sheldon's making faces at me!"

As it's quite a rare occasion, Mary looks over to see what's happening. When she sees her youngest son's face going pink, she quickly realizes that he's quietly choking and calls on her husband to help. In no time, George has lifted Sheldon upside-down, ignoring Missy's panicked shouts of "Sheldon's gonna die!". Georgie walks into the kitchen to see his dad performing the Heimlich by shaking rather than pressing. Georgie decides to ignore everyone and make himself a piece of jam and toast. He makes eye contact with Sheldon as he licks jelly off the knife and puts it back in the jar. Mary worries about George "breaking Shelly's little ribs" while Missy cries out about her twin brother's impending death... until a Jimmy Dean sausage flies from Sheldon's mouth, landing on the kitchen table.

"Cool," Georgie huffs.

Mary ignores him, crouching at Sheldon's side as the boy gasps raspily. "Honey. Are you okay? Can you breathe? Say something!"

"You have to throw away that jelly."

"Mom, would you write a note for me?" Sheldon asks from the backseat as Mary drives the twins to their separate schools.

"Sure."

"You have the coolest excuse," Missy grins wickedly. "You almost died. Did you see Jesus?"

"I saw Count Chocula." He glances at his mom in the rearview mirror. "But feel free to mention my brush with death in the note."

Mary frowns. "All right, that's enough talk about death and dying."

Sheldon is unable to eat solid foods throughout the day. He sticks to drinking his chocolate milk. When he gets home later, he nearly sneaks away to his room when his dad calls for him. Scared that a faculty member has caught him skipping out on lunch, he racks his mind for an excuse. Turns out, he doesn't need one.

"You got a letter."

Sheldon's eyes widen, excited to hear from his pen pal. Almost dying from a sausage can put things into perspective. He accepts the letter with a soft 'thank you' and continues up to his room. Sitting at his desk, he sets the envelope off to the side while he sets up shop for his homework. Algebra, biology, and English. He tries to read about mitochondria, but Leonard's name dances in his head. He cracks open his algebra book to hide the envelope from his peripheral vision, but he still knows it's there. He completely covers it with his toy tricorder, but what he envisions as Leonard's voice encourages him to read it. Batting the imaginary voice away does nothing, and he feels useless, so he finally grabs the envelope. He looks it over, his eyes catching on the snow geese pictured on the state stamp. The stamp he'd given Leonard had turkeys on it, and he pauses to wonder why states like to show off their birds so much. To quote Ernest Rutherford, "All science is either physics or stamp collecting". Since he's unable to start his own lab due to age restrictions, he carefully peels off the stamp, shuddering at the birds, and secures it firmly in a special book that he keeps beneath his bed.

That sorted, he grabs a penknife that he took from Meemaw's house for this very occasion. Having a pen pal makes him feel important, and the penknife makes people feel special - as Meemaw once said. He uses to to carefully slice open the envelope, careful not to let his fingers go near the edge. Meticulously, he slides the letter out and holds it like it's the One Ring and he's Gollum.

"My precious..." he smiles to himself, feeling the distinct softness of the paper. "From the desk of Leonard Hofstadter."

Impressed that his pen pal has his own stationery, Sheldon finally unfolds the letter and begins to read.

d.Sep 21

To Sheldon,

I can't believe you casually dropped that about your dad. Did it happen suddenly like the xenopolycythemia that McCoy developed in For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky? Or does he have an existing heart condition? I mean, I'm thankful that he's back home, but that was such a sudden shift from talking about your siblings. Speaking of which, I know about them. My dad is spending more time at home, but he stays away from my mom since I have a baby brother. My dad takes care of him. It's almost like my mom ignores him most of the time. She's more focused on her therapy patients and working out at the gym to lose the baby fat.

My older sister is a pain too. She's not too much older than me and she goes to school with me, too. Have you ever watched a Muppet movie? My sister has a crush on the one called Beaker. And yet she calls me nerdy like it's an insult. I think she should major in astrophysics when she starts university since she's always lost in space. Speaking of space and shows, what do you think about Professor Proton? Get your goggles, put your lab coat on... huh?

Well, I'm here when if you want to talk.

Leonard

Sheldon smiles more genuinely, rather interested. But first, "Here he comes, Professor Proton!"

He sighs to himself after singing the last bit of the theme song where Leonard left off. He plans to write back, but there's one thing that nags him in the back of his mind. Luckily, his sister is well-versed in the media. Sheldon leaves his letter and homework on his desk and ventures out to find Missy. He quickly finds Georgie flipping through magazines in his bedroom and then Missy flipping through channels while dangling upside-down on the living room couch.

"I need your help."

"Yeah, you do," she huffs without looking at him. "I'm not gonna mother bird your food for you."

"I wouldn't want you to," he frowns, keeping himself from gagging at the mental image. "I require your assistance to a creature in the media."

"Media?" She repeats. "Like a TV show?"

He half-shrugs. "It involves a Muppet movie."

"The Muppets?" She grins, turning over to sit crosslegged. "Which one?"

"I don't believe there's a preference. I simply require more knowledge on The Muppets as a whole, and also on a particular character called Beaker."

She jumps off the couch to browse her cabinet of videotapes while providing Sheldon with a monologue about the character. "Beaker is, like, the coolest Muppet ever! He's this funny dude with big eyes and crazy orange hair. He's super into science and always doing these wacky experiments. He doesn't really talk, but he makes the funniest faces and does all these wild gestures. It's like he's telling a story just with his expressions! Even when things go boom and explode, he never gives up. He's always trying new stuff and learning cool things. Beaker is, like, a super fun and energetic Muppet who shows us that science can be silly and exciting at the same time!"

"I thought you didn't like science."

"I like it when Beaker does it," she retorts. "I found it."

Brandishing The Muppets Take Manhattan, Missy settles in on the couch. Sheldon sits more stiffly next to her and begins watching the film with his sister explaining the plot of the movie and each of the characters' roles. When the screen shows Beaker for the first time, she pauses the tape. Sheldon gawks at the character in question and then stands abruptly.

"What? That's it?" Missy complains.

"You may watch by yourself now. I've gathered all the information I need at this time."

He retreats to his room, not reacting to the "whatever" thrown after him.

Leonard tries not to look too anxious about going through the mail on the table. He's only received one letter, but he's also only written one back. What if this pen pal gets a whiff below the surface and decides he doesn't care to learn more? Angela has teased him, telling him that this might not even be a kid, that he could be talking to some middle-aged pervert for all he knows. The thought hurts him, but he refuses to believe it. The library-community-centre compound surely has precautions in place to assure the kids of the ages. He's confident that Sheldon is who he says he is. He almost chokes on air when he sees the familiar scrawl having written the Texan address. He laughs to himself when he grabs the envelope at the corner, thumb covering the strange turkey image, and he manages to make it upstairs without running into the family. Before he walks into his room, however, his name is called.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I thought that was you. Here, can you rock Mikey for a few minutes? He's spit up more on me than his bib, and I need to shower."

Grimacing slightly, Leonard agrees. He accepts a towel to place over his front and sits in the rocker with Mikey in his lap. His baby brother leans against him and Leonard hums shortly.

"You don't know how good you've got it. You cry and make messes, and Dad still loves you for it. Angie doesn't talk down to you, and you barely ever deal with Mom. Know what, Mikey? I've made a new friend. His name's Sheldon. Do you want to hear about him?"

Mikey blows a spit bubble, and Leonard takes it as confirmation. Carefully, around the baby, he opens the envelope and begins reading.

d.Sep 27

Hello, Leonard

To start this letter, I would like to tell you that I enjoy saying your name. You no doubt are aware that you share the name of the aforementioned Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy as well as Leonard Nimoy. When he portrayed Mr. Spock, he became an idol of mine. Although, it might be more accurate to state that Mr. Spock is my idol. I oftentimes wish I could be an emotionless Vulcan. Professor Proton is another idol. I needed to sing the rest of the lyrics when you left off in the middle. I try to watch each episode, though it is difficult to do so when Missy wants to watch a rerun of Scooby-Doo or Yogi Bear. You can't learn anything while watching those asinine cartoons. Scooby-Doo teaches people that breaking and entering is okay if the place is supposedly haunted because there's some crook in a mask that will make things worse. And Yogi Bear de-educates English speakers while encouraging people to go around parks and steal food without consequences.

Fun Fact: I almost died this morning. As Missy has been telling me that I don't know how to 'act my age', I decided to forgo my normal twenty chews per bite, as prescribed by the American Medical Association. To further complicate matters, in any real-life crisis, my family's default mode is mindless panic. Or heartless apathy. It's interesting the things you think about when life is ebbing from your body. For instance, linoleum. What is it, really? Plastic? And if so, how is it different from Formica? And what about Count Chocula? How is he a count? Did the title come with land? They say, in the final moments, your life passes before your eyes. All I saw was my brother licking jelly off the knife and putting it back in the jar.

Was that a better segue? Adding the "fun fact" before my anecdote?

As a consequence to my near-death experience, I have begun a boycott on solid foods. My mother has blended some foods for me. I can also eat applesauce. On another topic, Missy has showed me my first and final voyage into the Muppets universe. I do not understand either of our sisters. Beaker, the Muppet character, can be characterized as an intellectually challenged and inept individual within the context of scientific pursuits. His limited cognitive abilities and deficient problem-solving skills are evident in his persistent failures and catastrophic experimental outcomes. Beaker's lack of verbal acuity, as seen through his minimal linguistic contributions, further underscores his intellectual limitations. It becomes apparent that his presence primarily serves as a source of comic relief, with his exaggerated facial expressions and exaggerated gestures emphasizing his bumbling nature. While his unwavering dedication to scientific exploration is commendable, it is overshadowed by his consistent inability to demonstrate competence in his chosen field. Consequently, Beaker's portrayal perpetuates the stereotype of the absent-minded and incapable scientist, potentially reinforcing misconceptions regarding the rigor and proficiency required in scientific endeavors.

My book's segment on pen pals has a list of topics to write about when one is stuck. Pets and childhood books are beneath those I've already mentioned. I do not have any pets, but if I could have one, I would prefer a cat.  Felines, renowned for their felicitous nature, epitomize the epitome of ideal companionship in the realm of domesticated animals. Cats exhibit a plethora of attributes that render them superlative pets, catalyzing their status as beloved household members across diverse cultures.  First and foremost, cats possess an innate aptitude for self-sufficiency, owing to their evolutionary heritage as solitary hunters. This independence is reflected in their fastidious grooming habits, exceptional agility, and self-regulating nature, which alleviate the burden of constant supervision and engender a sense of autonomy within their living environment.  Furthermore, cats exhibit an uncanny ability to forge meaningful emotional connections with their human counterparts. Through subtle cues, such as purring, gentle headbutts, and soft kneading, they adeptly convey affection and establish a profound sense of intimacy. This emotional reciprocity not only satiates the innate human desire for companionship but also contributes to enhanced mental well-being and stress reduction, as numerous studies have attested.

Cats exhibit an intrinsic proclivity for cleanliness, as evidenced by their fastidious litter box habits and meticulous grooming rituals. This natural fastidiousness imbues a sense of cleanliness and order within the household, contributing to a harmonious coexistence between feline and human inhabitants.  Moreover, cats have been scientifically proven to bestow numerous health benefits upon their human guardians. The act of stroking a cat's velvety coat has been shown to lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety levels, and elicit a calming effect, thus promoting cardiovascular health and overall well-being. Furthermore, feline companionship has been associated with decreased risk of heart disease and stroke, underscoring the potential salutary impact of their presence on human health outcomes.  Lastly, cats' intrinsic adaptability and relatively low maintenance requirements render them suitable companions for individuals with varying lifestyles and living situations. Their capacity to thrive in both confined urban dwellings and spacious abodes, coupled with their moderate exercise needs, makes them amenable to diverse living arrangements.  In conclusion, the multifaceted allure of cats as pets stems from their innate independence, capacity for emotional connection, cleanliness, therapeutic benefits, and adaptability. These qualities, elucidated through empirical research and anecdotal evidence, position cats as exceptional domestic companions, enriching the lives of their human guardians in immeasurable ways.

As for the topic of 'favorite childhood book', mine is Curious George. George is so relatable. He messes up all the time, just like we do, but he never gives up. He's always trying new things and learning from his mistakes. And the best part is that he's a monkey. I love monkeys. And trains. And Curious George Takes a Train. Do you have any pets? And what is your favorite childhood book?

I await your response,

Sheldon

"Wow," Leonard breathes after finishing the letter. "He's really into this. He took some time to tell me a lot. Think I should tell him about Boots, Mikey?"

He glances down, only to see that his brother is sound asleep. His dad makes a soft sound, covering a yawn.

"Go to sleep, Dad. I can keep watch over him. You need some rest."

Arthur opens and shuts his mouth, smiling at his sons. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," he assures him, "and then, we can talk about this Sheldon kid."

He walks down the hall, and Leonard resumes his rocking, thinking about how he should respond.

Chapter Text

Alfred, his dad, had driven the conversation in several different directions once he spoke all he knew about Sheldon. Leonard hadn't gotten much sleep, so he'd fallen asleep on the bus ride to school and gotten marker drawn on his forehead as a consequence. Someone had gone through the trouble of Scotch-taping his glasses so they'd appear fogged up. He didn't even realize until he stumbled down the bus steps, narrowly avoiding a faceplant into the accordion doors. Nobody tried to help him up, the other kids were busy laughing at his predicament, and the bus driver simply sat annoyed as though this were a deliberate prank that Leonard would pull to make everyone late. He's often among the first crowd to leave, wanting to escape this metal torture chamber, but once he'd gathered his belongings, the driver had pulled him by his backpack to sit in the Hot Seat while the other kids had departed. For a week. He's got the Hot Seat for an entire week.

For the week, instead of working on his homework, he works on drafts of his letter. Alfred gave him pointers, and he's copied down the important nuggets of the last conversation: he likes the name 'Leonard', he wants to be an emotionless Vulcan or Professor Proton, he almost died and is boycotting solid foods, hates The Muppets, has no pets but loves cats and monkeys, also loves trains.

Thanks for liking

I never thought about

Sheldon is a good

Leonard scribbles out his attempts. He can't start with the name thing. He rereads the notes and tries again.

Vulcans aren't really emotionless, you know that, right?

That sounds too patronizing.

Maybe you just don't like to show your emotions.

Leonard shakes his head, squeakily mumbling under his breath, "I can't write that. I don't know him."

My mom made spaghetti for dinner last night and it smelled so good. I wanted to sneak a bite even though I'm still a little nervous after what happened.

Leonard pauses. He's not boycotting foods like Sheldon, so what does he know? By the time the bus arrives at his stop on Friday, though, the line still makes it in the notebook. He readjusts his broken glasses and walks down to his house, his mind swirling on how to word his next letter.

Sheldon runs home in fear, trying to use his small stature to his advantage and hide behind cars and fire hydrants. Ever since agreeing to generate wins for the Medford football team, kids crowd him in the halls. People want to sit next to him and slather him in attention. It's all too overwhelming. He can't even read a book in the library without people gathering around him, as though they can soak up his intellect just by being in the same vicinity as him. With his mind lost in the memories of the past week, he doesn't realize he's no longer covered until his neighbor is holding Matilda, the malicious milksop, at Sheldon's eye level. The scrawnier boy screams and runs inside. Intending to hide in his room, both parents call out to him. George wants to run some statistics by him, but Mary holds out an envelope. Sheldon gratefully takes the envelope and runs to the garage rather than risk running into his dad on the way to his bedroom.

Stressed out, he closes the door and connects the switches to his oversized train tracks sitting at his chest level. Laser-focused on his trains. He sets up a Lego tunnel and places a ping-pong ball into a holder on one of the trains. Taking a deep, controlling breath, he watches as the train heads toward the tunnel, his finger hovering over a button on his remote.

He quietly recites Newton's first law of motion to calm himself. "An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force."

Seconds before the train hits the tunnel, Sheldon presses a button that launches the ping-pong ball into the air. It flies over the tunnel and then lands right back on the spring launcher as the train leaves the tunnel. He giggles at how well it worked. There's something about linear kinetic energy and gravitational potential that helps him see things in perspective. He lets the trains continue on their own, knowing that the mere sound of the trains running on the tracks will likely deter his family from bothering him. At least until supper. With his privacy secured, Sheldon finally looks at the envelope. The stamp is the same image as last time, so he doesn't bother with them. He doesn't have his penknife in here, so he compromises with a common blade screwdriver. The back tears slightly, but the letter remains undamaged.

d.Oct 4

Hi, Sheldon

It was great to read your last letter. You really got into depth in your monologue on cats. I saved up my allowance a while back and adopted a cat of my own from the local shelter. He's got beautiful black and white fur - it's like he's wearing a tuxedo. And get this, his white paws even look like he's wearing little boots! That's how he got his name. Boots. I gave you a copy of his photo so you can see my furry friend.

 

Sheldon pauses his reading and looks inside the envelope. Sure enough, there's a photo of a cat, almost preening for the camera. Sheldon roots through a workbench until he finds a pen so he can write 'Boots Hofstadter, Oct 1989' on the back. He'll add it to the shoebox in his closet where his letters currently sit.

What do you think of him? I could talk about Boots forever. He's honestly the best cat ever. He just learned how to jump really high the other day. We were playing and I started waving his feather toy above my head, and out of nowhere he leapt up and actually knocked it out of my hand! I was really surprised cause usually he's pretty lazy that late in the day. Boots also loves to sunbathe in the window. In the afternoon, you can find him all curled up in a patch of sunlight, just snoozing away with his paws in the air. It's seriously the cutest thing. I'll try to get a picture of him doing it next time. And one more funny thing - Boots hates taking baths! The other day, I was giving him a little wipe down and he started kicking his paws and trying to bite the washcloth. I mean, he was yowling like I was trying to murder him or something. He's definitely not a fan of water, that's for sure. Do you think you could save up your own allowance to get your own furry friend?

I like trains, too! Every October, my dad takes me, my sister Angie, and now my little brother Mikey up to Phillipsburg for the Great Pumpkin Train ride. It runs along the Delaware River on the only active steam locomotive left in my whole state. I was thinking maybe I should bring Mikey some special train books or a toy locomotive to hold. Siblings can be annoying, but Angie actually has fun on these trips, so she's not picking on me. My favorite part of the ride is staring out the big windows taking in all the fall foliage and watching the river go by. Dad makes pumpkin bread and apple cider for us to enjoy during the ride. Of course, the conductor comes back into the train cars to pass out candy, especially if you're dressed up like him. Do you take family trips with your family? Maybe next time you're on a road trip or something fun, you'll have to send me all the details. In the meantime, I'll be sure to grab lots of photos from the Great Pumpkin Train for you this Halloween!

I used to have a model railroad project, but Mom thought it was a waste of time. Now, I'm collecting pieces so I can build a new one in the attic. Nobody ever goes up there.  I've also been collecting spare parts and tools around the neighborhood. I'm dreaming up designs for my very own battle robot. Once it's finished I can program it to smash and destroy targets while I control it from a distance. What do you think - should I call it Darth Bot or Vader Bot? Let me know if your neck of the woods has any cool materials I could use. I'll send you pictures of the robot progress.

Sometimes when things get too crazy around here with Mom's work and Angie always bothering me, I like to imagine I can escape to my own world, just like Max in my favorite book Where the Wild Things Are. I pretend I'm sailing away on my boat to a magical island where I'm the king of all the Wild Things!  My room is starting to feel more like the Death Star these days too. Darth Vader has always been my favorite villain because he's so powerful. I've got Star Wars posters all over and am working on a light saber toy to add to my collection.

So, how's the boycotting going so far? I bet all those soups and shakes are getting a bit old by now, eh?  My mom made spaghetti for dinner last night and it smelled so good. I wanted to sneak a bite even though I'm still a little nervous after what happened. I cut it up real small like and chewed extra careful. When nothing bad happened, I decided to slowly start reintroducing some softer solids back into my diet. Maybe you could try something similar? Like bananas or yogurt - really soft foods that won't be too stressful but will get you used to eating stuff with some texture again. And don't feel bad if you have to cut it up tiny or take little bites at first. Healing takes time.  At least you don't have to worry about sausages for a while! Hope you're feeling better soon. Let me know if you try adding anything new to your meals.

Are you named after the Nobel Prize-winning American theoretical physicist Sheldon Glasgow? There aren't as many 'Sheldon's as there are 'Leonard's. But speaking of Leonard Nimoy, you called Spock emotionless. That isn't true at all. I've seen a lot of episodes, and even though Spock is Vulcan and they don't show their emotions, I think he feels just as much as humans do deep down. There's this one episode where Captain Kirk gets hurt real bad, and even though Spock acts all logical on the outside, his voice gets all shaky. I think he really cares about the Captain a lot. And there was another time where Spock had to choose between saving the ship or saving Kirk, and he chose Kirk. If that's not emotion, I don't know what is! Know how Doctor McCoy calls Spock a walking computer sometimes? It's just a teasing thing but not my point.

Actually, Mom finally bought a brand new computer for our home. Before, we only had her little typewriter thing she uses for her therapy patients. This computer is huge though, it takes up a whole desk in our living room! Mom says she wants me and Angie to use it too to "keep our minds sharp." I've discovered this new thing called the internet where you can play games against other people long distance, isn't that cool? I've been practicing my chess skills against players from all over. My username is CaptainKrypton since Captain Kirk and Superman are my favorites. I learned chess after watching Star Trek. I play online every Monday at 5 pm, but on Thursdays, I have my weekly cello lesson after school till 7:30. That's why I usually hop on the computer for chess at 8 pm instead of 5 like Mondays. Gotta keep practicing my music too! Do you have a computer? I'd love to play a game with you sometime!

Do you go to rodeos and roundups like they show on TV about Texas?

Peace and long life,

Leonard

Overjoyed by the letter he's received, Sheldon withdraws his physics notebook that he normally uses for calculating velocity on his model train projects, and starts writing about algebraic topology and football statistics. He's so absorbed in his letter-writing, that he fails to hear either parent calling him name. Georgie isn't bothered enough to gain his attention, but Missy knows what to do. Sheldon is brought out of his zone with a single unhygienic threat.

"Get up here, or I'll lick your toothbrush tonight!"

He quickly shuts his notebook and turns off his train set, running back into the house for family dinner.

Chapter Text

As it's a Friday afternoon, Leonard needs to finish his chores before he can relax. With a sigh, he heads to the upstairs hall bathroom to tackle the first chore - scrubbing the toilet. When he opens the door, the smell of cleaner lingers in the small room. He fetches a worn scrub brush and bottle of Lime Away from the cabinet under the sink. Kneeling down, Leonard pulls on rubber gloves that are a bit too big for his hands. He uncaps the bottle and pours a stream of blue liquid around the rim of the toilet bowl. Setting the bottle down, he dips the brush in the pungent cleaner and starts scrubbing at a stubborn ring. The bristles scratch against the porcelain as he goes around in circles. After only a few minutes, his gloves are soaked through and his knees ache against the hard tile floor. Once it's finally sparkling clean, Leonard stands up with a groan and flushes, watching the swirling blue liquid disappear. His back and legs are sore as he strips off the oversized gloves and tosses them in the trash. He crosses off the first chore; now it's off to sweep the back porch.

Leonard walks through the kitchen towards the back door, Boots' ears perk up, and he runs over. Leonard grins down at the cat as he weaves between his legs with his disproportionately large paws. Leonard tries to step carefully so as not to trip over the energetic feline, but Boots has other plans. He leaps, attempting to wrap his lithe body around Leonard's shins. The preteen stumbles slightly but catches his balance on the counter.

"Boots, no!" His attempt to discipline the cat is undercut by a fond laugh.

The black-and-white ball of fluff looks up at him with wide green eyes, meowing plaintively. Leonard knows what he wants - to be fed right away. But it isn't time for dinner yet. Gently nudging the cat away with his foot, Leonard informs him that he's got chores first. Boots isn't one to be deterred, swatting at the hem of his young human's pants with sheathed claws. Leonard picks him up and deposits him back on the floor, giving his head a quick scritch before opening the screen door. The cat winds around his legs one last time as Leonard calls for him to be good. He snags the broom as he steps out the screen door onto the back porch.

As the brunet begins sweeping, he already feels his chest tightening. Sweeping always stirs up dust and pollen which aggravates his asthma. He pulls his inhaler out of his pocket, taking a puff to ward off any coughing fits. The porch is certainly in need of a good cleaning - fallen leaves and tracked-in dirt cover the wooden slats. The broom bristles scrape against the grain as Leonard pushes them back and forth. Little clouds of debris swirl up with every stroke, making Leonard wheeze slightly. He takes another puff of his inhaler, breathing deeply through the medicine. After nearly ten minutes of sweeping, Leonard's arms are tired and his lungs are burning. He leans against the railing to catch his breath as he surveys his work. Most of the mess is now piled into a dustpan, but a few stubborn leaves cling in the cracks between boards. Leonard steels himself for one final push to finish the chore. With the broom in hand, he pushes through the last few leaves, coughing hard once he's done.

He's proud of how clean the porch is, even though his chest feels tight. There's only one chore left on the docket. His limbs feel heavy as he drags himself around to the side of the house where the recycling bins sit. His chest is still rattled from all the dust he'd stirred up sweeping. Sorting recycling is always an arduous task, made worse by his weariness. He hauls the bulging blue bin over to the patio table and starts emptying the contents. Leonard focuses hard to remember which items go in which bin - paper in the blue, plastics in the yellow, and glass in the green. Each movement sends fresh waves of fatigue through his small body. As he groups bottles and cans, Leonard's breathing grows more labored. He's on the verge of a coughing fit, but he doesn't want to waste any of his inhaler. Once each bin is filled with sorted materials, Leonard takes a moment of his time to lean against the house, squeezing his eyes shut as he regains his strength. He crosses the last item off his list.

He wants nothing more than to collapse into bed, but he can't. Not yet. He wearily drags himself back through the kitchen door, noticing Boots sprawled in a patch of sunlight streaming from a nearby window. Leonard's throat is dry and raspy from all the dust and exertion, so he walks to the sink and leans heavily on the counter as he turns on the faucet. The water rushes out in a clear stream, and he fills the nearest clean glass to the brim, shakily bringing it to his lips. The water is cool and refreshing as it flows down, though it does little to calm his breathless cough. Sufficiently hydrated for now, Leonard leaves the empty cup in the sink and shuffles down the hall toward the stairs. Each step up to his room sends spikes of pain through his battered muscles and lungs. But he's determined - a few more feet and he can collapse on his bed to finally read that letter in peace. And so he does. Curling onto his side with labored breaths and shaky hands, Leonard pulls the crumpled envelope from his pocket and extracts the pages inside.

d.Oct 9

Leonard,

It was the summer before my freshman year of high school. My father was driving as the whole family drove through this city called Gavelston because my mother used to live there, and she wanted to visit some friends of hers from Ball High. She thought they could help me and Georgie get settled in high school. There was a large crowd of people along the way that gathered in a open field just off the main road. Dad pulled over so we could take a look. Missy rolled down my window, and I instantly smelled manure and hay. Loud country music was playing over speakers as Cowboys and Cowgirls worked to herd cattle around the perimeter of the dirt arena. Bulls were snorting and kicking up dust as they bucked, trying to throw their riders. I had read about rodeos in books but never seen one in person. It was far more chaotic and unruly than I had imagined.

I was intensely overwhelmed by the loud noises and crowds. But I was also fascinated watching the skilled animal handlers work. One particularly large bull broke free from the herd and started charging straight at our parked car. Mom let out a small scream and my father quickly rolled up the windows. We watched safely behind the glass barrier as the bull came to an abrupt stop just before reaching us, confused by our strange vehicle. It was the closest encounter I've had with the wild animals used in these rural spectacles. While educational to observe from a safe distance, I don't think the raucous atmosphere of a real rodeo is one I'd feel comfortable participating in. I much prefer the calm study of animal behaviors to the rowdy spectacle of forcing them into shows for human entertainment.

Someday, perhaps after I've graduated high school and have settled into my first apartment away from this neighborhood, I hope to adopt a cat. I picture a friendly tabby or tortoiseshell who will keep me company in the quiet alone times and help ease my near-constant anxiety. A cat could also possibly help with the relentless squawking and flapping next door from Mrs. Sparks' dozen misfit chickens. Their self-appointed ringleader Matilda is the worst - a squat brown and white bantam hen with evil eyes and razor-sharp talons. I'll never forget the day last spring when I was crossing through the front yard after school, and she came storming out of the coop, hackles raised. Before I knew what was happening, she had flown at me with a primal squall, and I barely made it up the old oak tree in our yard. I stayed perched up there for over an hour, too scared to climb down, until Mrs. Sparks finally whistled Matilda and the rest of the flock back inside for the night.

The human neighbors aren't much better, to be honest. Billy, who is either 11 or 12 by now (he's been held back a few times so it's hard to know for sure), still finds juvenile ways to torment me. Then there's Bobbi, his annoying little sister who just turned 6. She's not as inventively cruel as Billy but still delights in startling me whenever possible, whether by popping out from behind our shared fence or luring one of the chickens my way with a handful of grain. I try not to let any of them get under my skin too much. But I still dream of the day when I can safely escape to my own space with nothing but a friendly cat for company. Maybe somewhere far across the country, in a quiet apartment where no neighbor's chickens will chase me up a tree again.

As a self-proclaimed science nerd with a passion for physics, math and engineering principles, I'd never really considered channeling my interests into building an actual robot but my curiosity has been piqued by discussions of hydraulics, circuitry, armor plating and such. After reading your most recent letter, I visited the local library and pulled up event rules and specifications. I was intrigued by the sanctioned designs and past championship bots featured. Slowly, an idea took shape in my logical yet occasionally whimsical brain. I have sketched out blueprints for a mid-weight combatant with a symmetrical wedge design for maximum traction and impact distribution. As for the name of your battle robot... As an avid Star Wars fan since age 5, both names are suitably sci-fi inspired. "Vader Bot" has a nice ring that pays homage to both the Dark Lord of the Sith and physics principles. After all, what force propels and guides competitive robots if not electricity, mechanics, and engineering - the Force of science! 

Over the next few months, I will throw myself into building a bot of my own in my homemade workshop localized in the unused garage, just as I trust you will build Vader Bot in your attic space. I believe the results of hardware, coding, and evaluating will test if not exceed even my estimations. Be sure to check in as your battle bot grows, and I'll do the same. I would like to battle our bots directly in glorious gladiatorial combat. Unfortunately, your competition will likely be held at either Stevens Institute of Technology or Hoboken Terminal, while the competition I have selected is closer to my home, at the Maude Cobb Convention and Activity Complex in Longview, TX.

As Leonard's tired eyes scan over the next few lines of news from his pen pal, his body begins to succumb to exhaustion. The aches and pains ease as sleep wraps its comforting arms around him. His breathing slowly steadies into the deep, restful rhythm of slumber. The letter falls from Leonard's limp fingers, slipping partially under his pillow. His face still holds a faint smile, warmed by the connection with his distant friend. But for now, these thoughts and dreams will wait - his body demands respite after such an arduous day. Golden late afternoon sunlight filters through the window, bathing Leonard's resting form in a soft glow. Boots leaps lightly onto the bed, padding over to curl up against Leonard's side.

Morning sunlight is just starting to peek through the gaps in Leonard's curtains as his alarm starts blaring. He groggily swats at the clock until the annoying beep shuts off. Slowly, Leonard's fuzzy brain remembers - it's the start of his mostly carefree weekend! His sore muscles have healed in sleep, leaving Leonard eager to start the Saturday. Not wanting to waste a second, he shoots upright and dashes out of bed. Boots meows in protest at being disturbed, but Leonard has no time to snuggle the kitty now. Barreling down the hallway, Leonard hears stirring from his sister's room up ahead. He pumps his shorter legs as fast as they can carry him, hoping to outrace her to the bathroom. Just as he spots her door creaking open, Leonard makes a desperate lunge for the open bathroom doorway. 

"No fair, I called it last night!" his sister Angie groans behind him.

But her words fall on deaf ears as Leonard slaps the lock onto the door with glee. Today will be a glorious day, starting with the luxury of a leisurely shower without many chores or responsibilities weighing him down. Feeling refreshed from his shower, Leonard towels off and walks out of the steamy tub area. Angie bangs on the other side of the door, no doubt eager to put on her makeup, but she'll need to wait a bit longer. Leonard squeezes a blob of toothpaste on his brush and brings it to his mouth. As he scrubs, the minty foam tingles pleasantly against his gums. But when he rinses with a swig of Angie's cinnamon mouthwash, the heat flares across his tastebuds mercilessly. Leonard tries not to gag at the fiery spice as it swirls down his throat. Spitting the last of it into the sink, Leonard flees back to the safety of his room with watering eyes. Boots lounges on his pillow, watching with amusement as Leonard dances around, clutching his throat.

"Ugh, my sister likes some gross flavors, Boots," he complains.

Once he's finally recovered, Leonard begins rummaging through his drawers for the perfect weekend outfit. Fuzzy socks, comfy jeans, maybe that new video game t-shirt... Once dressed, he collapses back onto his bed with a contented sigh. Boots purrs happily beside him on the pillow, begging for some love after being disturbed earlier. Leonard scratches under Boots' fluffy chin, eliciting a throaty rumble. The cat pushes into his hand, tickling Leonard with his soft fur. They play like that for several blissful minutes, content in each other's company. But Leonard knows if he doesn't act soon, his bed will remain a rumpled mess all weekend. Reluctantly, he gives Boots one last scritch before gently dislodging the furball. Boots meows in protest as Leonard stood up.

"Sorry buddy, beds don't make themselves!" Leonard grins, pulling the sheets taut.

Boots watches from the floor, kneading plush blankets with needle claws. After smoothing the duvet and fluffing pillows, Leonard deems his sanctuary presentable once more. As Leonard arranges the pillows, his fingers brush against a crumpled sheet of paper. Pulling it out, he recognizes his pen pal's unfinished letter from the night before. A smile spreads across Leonard's face as he flops back into the nest. A warm pile of fur joins him, and Leonard tucks the cat securely in the crook of one arm. Boots purrs loudly, rumble vibrating through Leonard's fingers. With the other hand, he smoothes out the creased pages eagerly, picking up right where sleep had interrupted. Boots purrs louder in response to Leonard's brightening mood. Warm sunlight streams through the window as Leonard gets cozy against the pillows once more. The words paint fresh mental images as he's instantly transported, worries melting away as he gets lost in the letter's details. Boots' fur tickles his skin, a pleasant reminder of this relaxing day. With cat and correspondence as his company, hours could likely stretch before Leonard.

In mathematics today, I let out a quiet sigh as my teacher launched into yet another lesson on basic algebra word problems, focusing today on connections between variables and concepts represented by shapes. While I appreciate the effort to make math more visually engaging through puzzles and diagrams, but I have grasped these elementary topology ideas years ago. Sitting towards the back as always, I discreetly pulled out a second notebook just for myself, keeping up the pretense of following along in the standard issue text. But while my classmates laboriously transpose the teacher's step-by-step instructions, I jotted down my own refined approach using intrinsic properties like homotopy equivalence and homology groups. This allows me to essentially decode the abstract space represented by each puzzle, analyze its intrinsic topological features, and arrive at the answer far more quickly and directly. 

It's frustrating to be forced to feign attentiveness to rehashed material, but I'd rather fly under the radar than raise flags by zipping through assignments too fast. A few more years and I'll be in university-level classes where my advanced knowledge and methods will be appropriately challenged. In the meantime, I surreptitiously classify and solve in my head, discreetly jotting my compressed work in the notebook on my lap while outwardly maintaining the charade of patience. One day, perhaps I'll have the freedom to teach at this level with greater sophistication and scope. But for now, the algebraic topology master will have to suffer some boredom.

Today, my father drove me to the local library. They've recently gotten access to several on-line functions. One in particular is the chess program. I'm fascinated by the way the pieces move about the board according to my commands. I learned how to register and chose the username "CommanderVader". It should be obvious but, if it's not, it's an amalgamation of Commander Spock and Darth Vader. Following talk of your battle bot, I had the opportunity to re-watch The Empire Strikes Back. I only had the time to play two games, and my first match was over very quickly. However, the second match was much more challenging and strategic. I'm impressed. Perhaps one day we will compete against one another. I intend to sign into the chess program on Mondays at 6:00 PM, my time.

Out of curiosity, what is your father's occupation? As the son of our high school's long-time football coach, sports have always been an ubiquitous part of life, whether I liked it or not. Growing up in a small town in East Texas, football reigns supreme as the local religion. My dad has poured blood, sweat and tears into the Panthers program for over two decades now, living and breathing his players' success. My older brother Georgie is a star linebacker entering his freshman year, shouldering immense pressure to lead us to championships. Me, I'd rather bury myself in books than play or even watch the games. But filial duty binds me to dad's team in my own behind-the-scenes way. With my photographic memory and analytical skills, I began charting intricate statistical breakdowns and play probabilities based on hours of recorded game film study.

At first, my contributions were merely tolerated. But over the past few weeks, the precision of my stats and strategic insights have noticeably boosted the team's performance. Now Dad and the assistant coach rely on my fresh eyes and recall to help strategize for upcoming opponents. It's gratifying to prove my worth beyond books, even if the Friday night lights hold no appeal. Football may rule Texas, but stats and logic can rule football - at least for this cerebral coach's son doing his part from the sidelines. Are any sports prevalent in your area of New Jersey?

You may be pleased to hear that your recommendations helped me begin reintroducing solid foods in a safe, gradual manner. Coming back to eating regular textures after illness or injury can feel daunting. But I am going slowly with soft, nutrient-dense choices that provide both physical comfort and psychological reassurance during the transition. I have decided to continue listening to my body's cues and not pushing myself too fast. I have read that small steps, patience, and self-compassion will serve me well. With consistent effort, hopefully I will soon find myself enjoying stronger fare once more without distress. Despite my mother's attitude on the matter, I intend to stay determined yet gentle with myself.

While the Great Pumpkin Train Ride sounds like a delightfully festive fall excursion with its seasonal decorations, hot apple cider, and picturesque scenery passing by, I have my doubts about getting the whole family on board. As the youngest in a rather traditional Christian household, Halloween has always been a somewhat taboo time of year in our home. My mother especially views it as a treacherously pagan holiday, full of occult symbols and influences she's strived to shelter us from. Bringing up the Pumpkin Train would only cause a respectful but firm rebuttal about the "dangers of dabbling in darkness." My older brother, as previously mentioned is a jock, has no interest in anything slower than his pickup truck. And my twin sister, while always up for adventure, would relish the chance to spar with me over the proposal on principle of our sibling rivalry. 

The one wild card is Meemaw, my grandmother who across the road. She's much less rigid about such things and lets me celebrate at her house. With some advance buttering up and assurance of good behavior, perhaps she could be persuaded to accompany me. And Dad, who works long hours, would probably be happy to avoid any potential debate. So with some tactful lobbying of one relative at a time, this bookish boy may yet find a way to experience a Halloween steam train after all. Fingers crossed!

As a lifelong Trekkie and avowed logician who models himself after Mr. Spock's impeccable Vulcan reason, I admit to be quite surprised to recently realize there are indeed moments where the famous First Officer lets slip hints of emotion. Upon rewatching key episodes, I noticed subtle signs I had previously overlooked - a quirk of an eyebrow, tightening of the hands behind his back, a catch in his usually even tone. It got me thinking about my own challenges perceiving social cues due to my self-diagnosis on the autism spectrum. While I intellectually understand concepts like body language, personal space, tone of voice and implied versus literal meaning, I have difficulty instinctively recognizing these dynamics in real time interactions. If only there was a way to analyze cues through another modality I can better process, like visually annotated footage or perhaps sensory information broken down step-by-step.

I wonder if developing a catalogue cross-referencing emotional cues with descriptive metadata may help "translate" the language of feelings into a more logical format I can learn from through repetition, like a new alien vocabulary. With continuing progress in fields like artificial intelligence and computer science, perhaps advances in social cognition modeling could also provide an assistive tool. Until then, I shall remain a devoted student of great role models like Mister Spock - and strive for ever improving comprehension through attentive observation and application of reason.

Live long and prosper,

Sheldon

Sheldon sits nervously on the bench, clipboard in hand, as the last big practice of the season goes underway. He never would have expected to be so involved with the high school football team, but his encyclopedic memory for numbers and unconventional way of seeing patterns have proved an asset as their unofficial statistician. Under his father and head coach George Cooper's wing, Sheldon has learned the ins and outs of the game. At first, it was simply meant as a way to foster some connections for Sheldon outside of school. But the team started winning more than ever, as Sheldon's statistical analyses spotted weaknesses in other teams that no one else saw. Word has spread of the little statistics savant, and soon Sheldon finds himself with an unexpected fan club on the sidelines.

While George is proud of his younger son's successes, he also sees how the noise and affection from other students is becoming overwhelming for Sheldon. His stims are more pronounced as his fingers tap urgently, his eyes tracking the plays unfolding on the field but unable to process everything happening around him. After another touchdown, George surprisingly pulls Sheldon aside.

"You're doing great work for the team, son, but it's okay if you need a break sometimes too."

Sheldon nods, mentally preparing his exit strategy to avoid the crowd. 

The bell rings, and Sheldon is brought back to the present time.

He freezes as a crowd of students swarm him in the hallway after chemistry class lets out. He hadn't expected the wave of sensations that suddenly overtake him - hands patting his back, hair being ruffled, lips pressing awkwardly against his cheek in congratulations for the team's latest win. As the bodies press in, Sheldon starts to retreat inward. Everything feels simultaneously too much and not enough - the sounds and touches bombarding his senses until he can't process any of it clearly. On instinct, he grabs his backpack straps tightly with both hands, begins rocking on his toes, and lets out a low whine to ground himself. A few students at the front of the crowd seem to realize mid-hug that something is off. They back away with apologies, noticing Sheldon's wide eyes and rigid posture. Word spreads quickly and, while the cheerleading continues, it's at a safer distance. Space opens around him, and Sheldon's friend Tam shoulders his way to his side.

He silently asks if Sheldon is okay but, when he recognizes the fear in the younger boy's eyes, he adds, "Need to head to the library?"

At his shaky nod, Tam leads him carefully down the less crowded hallways to the quiet space where he can decompress. Though he's only known Sheldon for roughly a month, he understands the library is a calming alternative. For Sheldon, this newfound fame is all just too much too fast. In the library, Tam leads Sheldon to a secluded table at the very back, tucked under the stairs where the lighting is dim and yellowed. He can tell by the younger boy's rapid breathing and clenched fists that he's close to overwhelm.

"Breathe with me Sheldon, just breathe," Tam says gently, taking his hand in his and slowly exaggerating his own inhales and exhales. Sheldon resists at first, not wanting the physical contact. But Tam's touch is somewhat familiar, and he instead tries to match the rhythmic breathing as a grounding force. "That's it, you're doing great. Now tell me 5 things you see here."

Sheldon's eyes dart around the shadowy area. "Books... stairs... dust... table... you," he gasps out.

"Good. 4 things you can touch." Tam rubs his hand reassuringly.

"Your hand... backpack... chair... books." 

Gradually Sheldon began to relax as he focused on the simple mindfulness techniques. The feelings of being overwhelmed and overstimulated began to recede into the background once more. Tam stayed with him quietly until his breathing normalized and some of the color returned to his face. He gave her a small smile, not needing to voice his thanks for her helping him regroup in this hidden corner of calm.

Once Sheldon composes himself, Tam asks gently, "Do you think you're okay in the halls again? It being Friday, there might be more people around for clubs and things."

Sheldon pauses, considering. The idea of braving the crowded corridors after such overload doesn't appeal. Instead, he pulls his Geometry textbook from his backpack. "I'll do homework," he says simply. 

Tam nods understandingly. He pulls her own books from her bag, settling in at the table across from Sheldon. Without needing to say anything more, he opens her World History notes and begins reviewing in companionable silence. The musty library basement offers a rare respite from the noise and activity elsewhere in the school. Down here, Sheldon can focus his intellect on formulas and theorems without distraction. And Tam's quiet presence, giving him space but staying nearby, provides the security he needs to recharge himself through productive work. Two misfits, finding their own form of acceptance together in the shadows.

True to his abilities, Sheldon finishes his geometry homework within fifteen minutes. As he puts his book and papers away, his eyes land on a worn copy of Alice in Wonderland tucked on a lower shelf. Intrigued, he pulls it out to explore. Tam watches with a smile as Sheldon opens the storybook, quickly getting lost in Lewis Carroll's fantastical world. His focused gaze moves quickly across the pages, visualizing every unusual character and scenario. For someone who finds the unpredictability of real people difficult, fictional realms offer a safe place to lose oneself. Across the table, Tam continues reviewing his practice exams in the fading light. He's content to share this refuge with his friend, providing a calm presence while respecting his need for solo escapism too. Down in this dingy literary den, they navigate their neurodivergent ways. 

As the hour draws to a close, Tam sets down his pencil with a satisfied sigh. He smiles across at Sheldon, still engrossed in Alice's peculiar escapades. "I'm done with my homework. Want me to check if they've got the new X-Men?"

Sheldon glances up, confused. "X-Men? What's that?" 

Tam's eyes light up, excited to share this passion. "Only the coolest comic series ever!" he gushes. "They're mutants. Misfits like us - but with amazing superpowers. Professor X leads them to fight evil mutants trying to take over. It's so good at talking about discrimination and finding your place."

His enthusiasm piques Sheldon's interest, despite mysteries usually holding more appeal than fictional action. "Tell me more," he prompts as Tam gathers his things. 

"I'll go grab the recent issues so you can see! Be right back."

He hurries up the creaky basement stairs, returning minutes later with an armload of comics, eager to pull his friend into the inclusive Marvel universe.

Time slips away unnoticed as Sheldon and Tam delve deeper into the expansive X-Men universe over the following comics. Down in their hidden library nook, the worries and unpredictability of the outside world practically fade away. Sheldon asks insightful question after question, connecting with these characters on a level beyond what Tam had expected. These are other outsiders struggling with their differences yet banding together, and the intricacies continue to draw him in. Tam eagerly supplies context and explanations, enjoying how animated Sheldon is becoming as they discuss the heroes, villains, and their dilemmas. As the late afternoon sunlight dims further, Sheldon flips the final page with a satisfied sigh.

"I see why you like it. They show being different isn't bad - it can help people."

Tam beams, glad to have opened this imaginative world. "Exactly! And maybe someday they'll make a movie, so everyone can see."

A somber voice suddenly breaks their enthralled chatter. "The library will be closing now for evening activities."

The librarian stands dully by their table, waiting for their departure so she can lock up as usual. Tam and Sheldon spring into action, hastily gathering their papers and books to clear the space. Sheldon follows Tam up the creaky stairs, head swimming with the cosmic scope of the stories he's immersed in this afternoon. At the front desk, Tam hands over the comics while Sheldon checks out his issues of X-Men and Alice Through the Looking Glass with eager excitement dancing behind his eyes. The dour librarian stamps their items silently, writing in the cards by rote repetition without interest. The now-quiet school corridors provide a soothing contrast after the bustling crowds that had overwhelmed Sheldon earlier. Only a few stray students linger, allowing him and Tam space as they navigated to the side exit. Emerging into the fading light, they make their way over the patchy lawn to the bike racks. Most vehicles have already gone, leaving the metal frames swinging gently in the breeze. Tam unlocks his bike, smiling over at Sheldon who's continuing on foot.

“See you Monday, Sheldon. Enjoy your comics this weekend!” He pedals down the quiet street as Sheldon waves.

He often gets rides, but today, the calm solitary walk suits his sensibilities after such stimulating social hours. With X-Men and Alice tucked safely in his backpack, Sheldon sets off down the sidewalk, engrossed in thought. His mind continues processing all the insights, questions, and imaginings that sparked from the secluded haven he and Tam had uncovered together. His pace quickens in anticipation of the stories still unfolding before him all the way home. When he turns down his street, his eyes dart warily toward his neighbor's house. As the first clucking scuffles of feathered beasts reach his ears up ahead, Sheldon instantly ducks behind the nearest large shrub. Peeking through branches, he scans for any fowl interlopers harassing the lawn. The coast seems clear, but he knows better than to rush. Skirting along behind parked cars, Sheldon maintains cover as much as possible. When a squat hydrangea offers concealment, he hunkers low until a flurry of wings signals danger's passing. Finally darting up the driveway, Sheldon slams and locks the door securely behind himself. Leaning against it to catch his breath, he chokes out a laugh for having survived the clucking terrors.

"Shelly?" Mary calls from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

He replies in the affirmative as he makes his way into the room. She's busy cooking dinner and Missy is working on her elementary vocabulary worksheet at the table. Near her schoolwork is a pile of mail that's been sifted through. Mary catches him looking and purses her lips.

"Yes, you've got a letter from your little friend. Go ahead and take it. I'll call you down when supper's ready."

He nods eagerly. After today's chaos, not including the new comics sensation, he'd love nothing more than to relax in his room and read a new letter from his faraway friend.

d.Oct 17

Hello, Sheldon

I've got a mathematics joke for you to cheer you up since your class is so boring:

A mathematician decides that she wants to learn more about practical problems. She sees a seminar with an interesting title: The Theory of Gears. So, she decides to attend. The speaker stands up and begins, "The theory of gears with a real number of teeth is well known..."

Once I graduate from high school, one of my main goals is to get into a top university far from New Jersey. While the state has treated me well enough for the past 9 years, I'm really interested in exploring different parts of the country. California and Nebraska especially intrigue me - the warmer weather on the west coast versus the wide open plains in the middle of the country both sound appealing. I know it won't be easy to get accepted into schools like Stanford, UC Berkeley, or the University of Nebraska. My grades are strong with a 3.8 GPA, but my asthma sometimes holds me back from participating in extracurriculars or sports as much as I'd like. I spend a lot of time at the library or working on coding projects on my own. Still, I hope my love of learning and academic achievement will shine through on my applications. I also plan to take the SATs very seriously and study hard to earn high scores.

My parents have mixed feelings about me wanting to go far away. Mom thinks a change of scenery would be good for my academic growth, but Dad worries about how I'd manage my asthma symptoms without them close by. Money is also a concern, as out-of-state tuition is much pricer. I'm determined to apply for every scholarship I can find. With some careful budgeting and student loans if needed, I believe I can make it work. For now it's just a dream as I continue my fourth-grade year at Woodrow Wilson Elementary. But I'm going to work very hard to turn it into a reality. Who knows - in a short decade I could be starting a new chapter on the other side of the country!

Oh gosh, that's awful about what happened with Billy and Bobbi. No one deserves to be bullied like that. It really does hit close to home for me too since I've dealt with bullying for as long as I can remember. Being shorter than most of the other kids in my class has always made me an easy target. And don't even get me started on the constant mocking I get for wearing glasses! Last month some jerk stole them right off my face during recess. I practically had to feel around blindly to find them again while everyone laughed. My cello definitely doesn't help matters either. The football players especially love taunting me with nasty rhymes about "the dork with the ugly pork." It's gotten so bad that sometimes I hide in the band room during breaks just to avoid them. And don't even get me started on the asthma! Having an extra inhaler in my backpack is like admitting I'm weak. So as soon as anyone spots the little plastic cylinder they start shrieking in fake coughs and wheezes. They'll even squeeze my arms and chest tight to try and trigger an attack just for their own sick amusement. 

It really does make me feel utterly alone sometimes. I'm glad I've got my books and tinkering projects to escape to at home, because school sure isn't a safe place. All I can do is keep working hard and hope that one day soon I can get into a great college far, far away from all of this. Maybe then I'll finally find people who appreciate me for who I am. A few days ago, a classmate of mine called Gustav shoved me into my own locker. A janitor let me out, but I had a monkey sticker embedded on my forehead. What an absolutely dreadful bully. How unfair it is that I had to endure being trapped in there who knows how long, with a stupid sticker stuck to my face no less. I'm sure the other kids got a real kick out of that one. Gustav is always looking for new humiliating ways to show he's top dog. It's a miracle the janitor heard my muffled cries for help over the din of slamming doors and shouts from the hallways. Even after I was freed, there was even more teasing and jeers as I made my way to the bathroom to assess the damage. "Ooh look, it's Curious George!"

I can still hear them even now. My forehead is still really bright red. You know, I really admire how passionate you are about science! Physics and chemistry truly fascinate me too - there's just so much amazing stuff in the universe to discover. It's a shame more people our age aren't curious about how the world works on a deeper level. But that's their loss, and it just means those mocking us won't get very far in life if they can't even appreciate basic concepts like the periodic table or gravity! I try not to let the snide remarks get me down. I think it's fantastic that you refuse to apologize for your interests or hide your enthusiasm, no matter how much flak people give you. That kind of confidence is inspiring. And who knows, maybe someday one of these bullies will come crying for help with their homework and you'll be the one laughing! 

Do you have any new exciting science facts to share? I'm always eager to learn something new. And it really helps to talk with a fellow enthusiast who gets it. Keep your head high - in just a few short years we'll be off studying amongst likeminded peers at the university level. The future is bright! I'll tell you something, though. I rushed through my homework tonight. Tomorrow is the school science fair, and I just know my experiment is going to blow everyone away! For weeks, I’ve been meticulously growing different types of algae under varied conditions, recording all my observations in my detailed lab notebook. I hypothesize that blue-green algae will thrive most in brackish water with ample sunlight, while spirulina prefers cooler temps and lower mineral content. If my findings are conclusive, it could offer insights for future farming of these microorganisms. Not bad for someone our age, right? But I can’t help wanting to make meaningful contributions to science even now.

Of course, I fully expect to hear an earful of teasing from the cool kids at the fair. They’ll make fun of how serious I look, hunched over my display and enthusiastically explaining my methods. I just know someone will pretend to sneeze right as I’m talking, or leave an annoying half-eaten lollipop on my station when they walk by. My palms start to sweat just thinking about having to stand there for hours answering questions while the bullies loom, looking for any excuse to humiliate me. But I won’t let them ruin this - not when I’ve put so much effort in. I refuse to apologize for my interests or hide my excitement about discovery. With any luck, the judges will be impressed enough by my work to drown out the noise. One day, the people mocking me now will be working for guys like me. I just have to stay focused on the science and wait for my time to shine!

Neighborhood chickens do seem to present an irregular situation that requires analysis. Since you idolize Spock, maybe you could see things from his perspective. Allow me to gather more pertinent facts using careful observation and deduction. The chickens appear to be of an Midian breed, suited for egg production rather than meat. However, their behaviors have strayed from the normal activities of foraging and dust bathing one would expect. On multiple occasions they have entered our property in an aggressive manner, attempting to swarm myself and the other inhabitants. A hypothesis has emerged that an imbalance in their established social hierarchy may be causing undue stress, thus influencing them to act outside of their instincts for survival. Perhaps the introduction of a new rooster or changes in their enclosure have disrupted the flock's natural order. Further studying their interactions and living space may provide clues. 

It would be prudent to open a dialog with the neighbor to determine if any such disruptions have occurred, and to discuss potential remedies. Nonviolent solutions focusing on the chickens' wellbeing should be exhausted before considering any containment or rehoming options that could be distressing to the specimens. Knowledge and cooperation between all parties will likely yield the most favorable outcome for all involved. Additional observation over time will assist in evaluating the effectiveness of any measures taken. As with most phenomena involving lifeforms, maintaining an open and inquisitive mindset will best serve the interests of reaching a satisfactory resolution through peaceful means.

What do you think? Did I make a good Spock impression? Try that out with your neighbors, and let me know how it goes!

Katarina is one of the few neighbors under eighteen who hasn't outright made fun of me, for which I'm grateful. At 15, she thinks she's all grown up, but I can tell she still gets nervous talking to boys sometimes too. We'll exchange polite waves if we pass on the sidewalk, but she's usually busy chatting with her high school friends to hang out with a younger kid like me. Still, I noticed her tabby Robyngail seems quite taken with my Boots whenever their paths cross in the alleyway between our houses. The pair of cats are constantly batting at each other's tails and rolling around in play fights. It's kind of cute to watch their carefree romps, a nice break from my studies. Boots absolutely adores the attention and always meows pitifully at our fence if Robyngail has to head inside for dinner. 

Part of me wonders if maybe Katarina would want some help keeping an eye on her cat every now and then while she's out with her friends. I'm sure it would do Boots a world of good to run around the backyard with his furry pal. And Katarina does seem fairly laid back... maybe she'd let me tag along on their excursions sometimes too. A guy can dream.

Anyway, since your dad is called Coach Cooper, maybe your new nickname should be called Football Cooper. After all, you help the team so well and you've got  to have strong arms to be able to climb up trees. I'm glad you got an account for the chess program. I tried to find you back on Monday, but no luck. But that doesn't mean I'll give up. You're right, by the way, the Jersey Shore Battle Bot Competition will be held at Stevens Institute of Technology. I've created homemade wresting ring battles up in the attic, and I test them when I'm alone or watching Mikey. I've used old Speak & Spell parts for the processor, modded a ceiling fan motor for propulsion, and scavenged aluminum flashing from a construction site for the armor plating. Getting the gear-driven grasping claws calibrated took forever but I finally got them gripping just right. I even jury-rigged a VCR camera inside so I can watch the mayhem from the audience on channel 3 of the portable TV my dad lent me. This thing is gonna dominate.

If you're gonna build a battlebot too, you should be thinking of names. If you want my opinion, I thought of two suggestions. 1) The Annihilator. It pays homage to the season one finale of Star Trek. 2) RoboSmash9000. It has a cool comicbook B-movie vibe to it. Of course, to select a name, you need to figure out which element you want to put the focus on for your contender - speed, strength or just plain carnage?

Oh, and I thought maybe we could have some fun with these question-type things that I took from one of my sister's magazines. They aren't really quizzes, but it's like a this or that thing. It's hard to fully explain on paper. I'll give you a few of them in this letter, and if you like them, then maybe we can write more.

Which gum do you prefer?

• Cinnamon
• Fruity
• Minty

Do you ever drink after other people?

• Yes
• Sometimes
• Rarely
• Never

How do you eat ice cream?

• Waffle Cone
• Sugar Cone
• Cup/Bowl
• I don’t

Best Thing in a Spray Can?

• Whipped Cream
• Cheese Whiz
• Paint
• Air Freshener

I know we haven't known each other long, but you seem like the type to answer honestly rather than cater to what I like or what you think I want you to say, so I'll go ahead and give you my answers here: I like minty gum, I rarely drink after anyone, I can't have ice cream because I'm lactose intolerant, and I like air freshener for the same reason (plus my asthma doesn't like spray paint).

Oh, and we've traded our favorite fictional books, but we've kinda avoided comic books. I mean, the only time we've even mentioned them are when I explained my chess username. We have a comic bookstore near my house. Technically, it's a regular bookstore, but they have all the comics in the back. I usually dip in there to grab a technical book or two and hide some comics so Mom won't say anything about rotting away my brain. She's a psychiatrist. I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned that. Do you like comic books?

Peace and long life,

Leonard

Chapter Text

"Hey, pal. Playing with your rockets?"

Without looking away from his experiment in the garage, Sheldon raises an eyebrow, mimicking an inquisitive Spock. "I'm trying to calculate ballistic coefficients."

There's a pause where his dad tries to parse what's just said, but then, "Well, that's fun, too. Listen, I don't have to work this weekend, I was wondering if you wanted to do something together."

"Like what?" The preteen asks suspiciously.

When George tells him to choose, Sheldon initially proposes changing the filter on his air purifier or visiting Sears. However, George recommends a more active option, such as going camping. Camping had been a nightmare last year, and Sheldon is vehement against repeating it. After George promises it won't be like that, Sheldon has a more active idea.

"There is the launching of the space shuttle this weekend."

"Space shuttle? Don't they do those out of Florida?"

Although it's a 14-15 hour drive from Medford to Cape Canaveral, George agrees to take him. When the man leaves for the kitchen to share the news with Georgie, Sheldon picks up his discarded notebook.

d.Oct 22 24 27 30

Dear Leonard,

I suppose I should apologize for writing to you so late in the system. However, given your lackluster adherence to the write-and-respond persuasion, I've decided you likely would not have any negative opinions regarding a skip in the continuum. A lot has happened since we last talked. In regards to the survey depicted in your last letter, it seems your sister is a subscriber to the Teen Beat magazine. My sister possesses the same issue, and I would not be against getting to know you better through a 'quiz' designated to better understand someone. I don't care much for gum, however, I have conducted extensive research on the sensory experiences of different types of gum flavors. Minty gum is preferred over fruity or cinnamon gum for several reasons. Firstly, minty gum provides a refreshing and invigorating sensation in the mouth. The coolness of mint activates sensory receptors on the tongue, creating a feeling of cleanliness and alertness. This can be especially beneficial for individuals who may struggle with sensory processing or need a quick pick-me-up throughout the day.

Additionally, the strong flavor of mint can help mask unpleasant tastes or odors, making it a popular choice for combatting bad breath. By stimulating saliva production and promoting good oral hygiene, minty gum can help maintain a fresh and clean mouth environment. Furthermore, the menthol compounds found in minty gum have been shown to have potential cognitive benefits, such as improving focus and concentration. This can be particularly advantageous for individuals who may have difficulty staying attentive or engaged in tasks.

As for drinking after another person, I understand the importance of maintaining personal hygiene and protecting oneself from harmful bacteria and viruses. When one person drinks from a shared cup, bottle, or container, they are transferring their saliva and potentially dangerous germs to the item. These germs can easily be transmitted to the next person who drinks from the same item, increasing the risk of illness and infection. Even if the other person is a family member, such as a sibling, it is still crucial to practice proper hygiene and avoid sharing drinks. Siblings may have different hygiene habits or may be carriers of harmful bacteria without even realizing it. By refusing to drink after another person, I am taking proactive measures to protect my own health and prevent the spread of germs.

After careful analysis and data collection, I have found that the waffle cone is the optimal way to eat ice cream. The waffle cone provides a sturdy and delicious vessel for the ice cream, allowing for easy consumption without any mess or hassle. The sugar cone, while similar to the waffle cone in function, lacks the structural integrity and flavor profile of the waffle cone. The cup or bowl, on the other hand, does not provide the same tactile and sensory experience as the cones.

I must approach your last question with an objective and analytical perspective. The "best" thing sold in a spray can can be determined by several factors such as utility, nutritional value, safety, and environmental impact. Whipped cream may seem like an enjoyable treat, but it is lacking in nutritional value and is primarily used for indulgence rather than practicality. Cheese Whiz, on the other hand, has a higher caloric content and may provide more sustenance, but it also contains additives and preservatives that may not be ideal for health. Paint, while useful for artistic purposes and home improvement projects, can be toxic if inhaled or ingested and may have negative environmental impacts if not disposed of properly. Air freshener may seem like a harmless and convenient product, but it can contain chemicals that may be harmful to human health and the environment.  Therefore, in my scientific analysis, the objectively "best" thing sold in a spray can would be air freshener, as it serves a practical purpose of masking odors and freshening up a space without the potential health and environmental risks associated with the other options.

I must confess that I had my doubts when initially reading through this survey. I expected nothing but girlish teenage drivel, but I was pleasantly surprised to have the opportunity to use my cognitive and analytical skills. I am not opposed to continue this game. Allow me to continue directly from the magazine on my end.

Which of these would you like most right now? 

• 🐶 Puppies in your lap 
• 👐 a massage 
• 🍨 an ice cream sundae

Which would you rather do with your best friend?

• Go out to a diner
• See a movie
• Active hobby/exercise
• Hang out at home

Which of these is your favorite food?

• Pizza
• Sushi
• Burgers/Fries
• Tacos

Which company's shareholder conference call would you rather eavesdrop on?

• Disney's
• Claire's
• Sears's
• Radioshack’s

Which would you rather have?

• A million dollars in the bank
• An extra hour in every school night
• An extra 3 hours on each weekend day

To answer question one, I would choose the ice cream sundae. The sensory experience of tasting different flavors and textures in the ice cream, toppings, and sauces would provide a stimulating and enjoyable experience for my heightened senses. Additionally, the cold temperature of the ice cream would offer a refreshing sensation that can help me regulate my emotions and focus more effectively on my studies. Although I don't care for the wording on the second question, I would prefer to 'hang out' at home with my best friend. This way, we can engage in intellectually stimulating activities such as conducting scientific experiments, coding computer programs, or solving mathematical puzzles. Additionally, being in a familiar environment would reduce sensory overload and allow for better focus and communication between us. Plus, I can showcase my research projects and share my discoveries with my friend in a comfortable and safe setting. Frankly, I'm unsure who I would constitute as my best friend, but in either case - i.e. you or Tam - my answer would be the same.

For the third question, I must examine all aspects of the various food options in order to determine my favorite. Based on nutritional content, taste profile, and overall appeal, I have concluded that pizza is my favorite food out of the choices presented. The combination of carbohydrates, protein, and vegetables in a well-balanced pizza provides a satisfying meal that fulfills my dietary needs. Additionally, the diverse flavors and textures of the toppings make pizza a versatile and enjoyable option for any occasion. While I do appreciate the simplicity and convenience of peanut butter jelly sandwiches and homecooked meals, the complexity and variety of pizza ultimately wins out as my top choice. 

Question four is the easiest to answer. The most intriguing shareholder conference call for me to eavesdrop on would be Radioshack's. With the rise of personal technology and electronics, Radioshack's conference call would likely touch on cutting-edge advancements in consumer electronics and potential partnership opportunities with tech companies. As I am interested in science and technology, I would be fascinated by discussions on new products, market trends, and innovations in the electronics industry. Plus, Radioshack's conference call may offer valuable insights into the future of technology and its impact on society, providing me with a unique learning experience that aligns with my intellectual curiosity and passion for scientific discovery.

As for the final question, I would definitely choose to have an extra hour in every school night over having a million dollars in the bank or an extra 3 hours on each weekend day. This choice is grounded in the principle of maximizing my potential for knowledge acquisition and intellectual growth. With an extra hour in every school night, I would be able to dedicate more time to studying and exploring new topics. This additional time could be used for reading scientific journals, conducting experiments, or practicing complex mathematical equations. By consistently adding an hour of focused learning each school night, I would be better equipped to excel in my academic pursuits and develop a deeper understanding of the world around me.

While having a million dollars in the bank may seem enticing, I believe that the true value lies in investing in my education and cognitive development. Money can be spent or lost, but knowledge and skills gained through dedicated study can never be taken away. Likewise, an extra 3 hours on each weekend day sounds appealing for relaxation and recreation. However, I believe that the benefits of extended study time during the school week far outweigh the potential leisure activities that could be enjoyed on the weekends. The intellectual stimulation and growth that come from studying diligently each night would ultimately lead to greater personal satisfaction and fulfillment in the long run.

This discourse is rather enjoyable, Leonard. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, and feel free to continue on your end with the final six questions of this issue, or the beginning questions of next month's issue - if your sister or mother throws away the issue after use.

Here is a joke for you: Why did the ballistic coefficient go to therapy? 

Because it had issues with its drag coefficient! Bazinga!

I wanted to introduce you to a transition in our discussions from lighthearted topics to a more serious matter. It appears that my mother has decided that it would be beneficial for me to see a therapist. His name is Dr. Goetsch, and he has a deep understanding of my fear of germs, known as mysophobia, and the reasons behind my aversion to shaking hands. While I typically do not allow people to touch my hand, I do make exceptions when I am experiencing high levels of anxiety or a panic attack. In those situations, I trust that the person touching my hand will be able to provide me with the grounding I need to calm down. Only four individuals have been able to successfully help me through these episodes: my mother, Meemaw, my sister Missy, and my friend Tam.  I thought it was important to share this information with you so that you could better understand my current situation. 

I was overjoyed to discover that my therapist has a collection of comics on his shelf. During our latest session, he took notes in his notebook while I immersed myself in reading X-Men comics for the entire hour. I couldn't help but ponder whether he was observing my intellect or my preference for comic books. Perhaps he was simply completing his homework. He confided in me a secret - which I can't resist sharing with you, as our paths may never cross in person - that he has recently returned to university to pursue a Masters in intermediate child sociology. Aside from my therapist's office, I can also find comics in the basement of our school library and down the street from Dr. Goetsch's office, at Tam's favorite comic book store.

Sheldon sighs as he reaches where he left off three days ago. He glances at the door that connects to the house, noticing its thin wall. From there, he can hear Missy talking about the gun range and Georgie complaining about Sheldon's bathroom schedule. Shaking his head, he picks up a discarded pen, changing the date to the 30th, and sits on his conductor's stool to continue his letter.

In our last conversation, we discussed leaving our respective states once we graduate from high school. While I'm not relocating, I am excited to visit Cape Canaveral this weekend with my father and brother to witness the space shuttle launch. Personally, I hope to slip away and board the shuttle without anyone's notice so I can finally escape this ridiculous planet.

My advice to you about your bullies is to find a strategy to gain an advantage over them. In Gustav's case, offering tutoring in a subject he struggles with in exchange for protection could be effective. In other news, Meemaw has opted for my advice regarding sports bets. As my statstics skills have garnered me a place on the football team as the statistician, she has realized that my skill can help her win money in a more legal way than the illegal underground casino ventures she doesn't want anyone to know she frequents. Balancing football games, Meemaw's bets, and social events with Tam and Missy have left me feeling drained. I don't want to disappoint anyone, but I am concerned about falling asleep in class or failing a class.

 

Leonard's eyes widen as he reads about Cape Canaveral. If it hadn't been such short notice, he might have asked his dad to drive him. As it is, he watched the launch on the living room television with his mom. He'd been silent throughout, but it was the most they'd spent quality time with each other in a long time. He then wonders if he could convince someone to sneak into the principal's office to check the permanent records. Or even better: convince someone to make a distraction while Leonard's in the nurse's room for his daily Terbutaline shot. The principal's office is just down the hall. Shaking his head, he continues reading.

In other news, Meemaw has opted for my advice regarding sports bets. As my statstics skills have garnered me a place on the football team as the statistician, she has realized that my skill can help her win money in a more legal way than the illegal underground casino ventures she doesn't want anyone to know she frequents. Balancing football games, Meemaw's bets, and social events with Tam and Missy have left me feeling drained. I don't want to disappoint anyone, but I am concerned about falling asleep in class or failing a class.

I recently had the opportunity to meet NASA engineer Dr. Ronald Hodges in my biology class. Unfortunately, he did not take my idea about VTVL technology seriously. Determined to prove him wrong, I attempted to do the calculations myself, but I quickly realized I needed a computer to do so. With the reluctant help of Georgie, who drove me to the local library on days we weren't needed for football, I was able to access a computer and continue my work. He spent his time with the library's receptionist's daughter. However, my time at the library was limited as my mom would call to have us return home each night, even though we had another hour before closing time. This caused me a great deal of frustration, especially when I discovered that I couldn't continue my calculations at home since we don't have a computer. The stress of the situation even gave me an ulcer. 

Mom took me to hospital, and I took the opportunity to use my doctor's computer and internet access to complete my calculations. I was able to send my results to NASA. As I awaited my response, Meemaw and Dad's disdain for one another grew to extremes after Meemaw refused to give him her infamous brisket recipe. He tried to sneak into her house and steal it, and she left behind a fake recipe that he wasted over 14 hours trying to cook it. This caused tensions to rise and, when Mom took Meemaw's side, we feared a divorce was incoming. Missy took to playing with my trains when she saw how calm I was projecting. As she made train noises, I suddenly had a recollection of when I was 23 months old. Georgie was having difficulties with potty-training, so Meemaw called him Mr. Soggypants. Meemaw gave nicknames to me and Missy as well, though we were nicknamed as snack foods. I was Moon Pie, and she was Tater Skin. On Valentine's Day 1982, Mom and Dad went to the dollar theater to see Cannonball Run, leaving Meemaw to watch over us kids.  She was spoon-feeding me a mash of her infamous brisket and, not realizing I was paying attention, told me her recipe.

One tablespoon of cumin, one cup of brown sugar, two tablespoons of smoked paprika, three tablespoons of dried mustard, one cup of Lone Star beer, and 1 (4-5 pound) brisket. The directions are as follows:

1. Preheat the oven to 325°F.
2. Mix together the cumin, brown sugar, smoked paprika, and dried mustard to create a dry rub.
3. Rub the dry seasoning mixture all over the brisket, making sure to coat it evenly on all sides.
4. Put the seasoned brisket in a roasting pan and pour the Lone Star beer over the top.
5. Cover the roasting pan with aluminum foil and bake in the preheated oven for about 4 hours, or until the brisket is tender and easily pulls apart with a fork.
6. Remove the foil and broil the brisket for an additional 5-10 minutes to caramelize the top.
7. Let the brisket rest for a few minutes before slicing and serving hot.

As I neglected to complete divulging the instructions to my family, I have opted to relay them to you. Upon authorization from Meemaw, you are authorized to experiment with the recipe. The interpersonal dynamics remain somewhat tense, but Meemaw has started sharing different recipes. Mom and Dadare no longer at risk of a marital dissolution. Regrettably, there was still no response from NASA after a week. My emotional state deteriorated as I watched The Flintstones with Missy. As this was such a departure from my usual behavior, Dad drove the family to the Johnson Space Center and insisted that Hodges consider my proposal. I presented my detailed calculations on VTVL technology to Hodges. He acknowledged the validity of the theory but stated that NASA does not currently possess the necessary technical expertise to implement it. Therefore, I have concluded that I am once again ahead of my time. I've also decided to look into studying theoretical physics when I have free time.

Your science experiment fascinates me, and it sounds quite intriguing. It appears that you have taken a methodical approach to studying these algae species under different conditions. I have several questions and theories to propose regarding your experiment. Have you considered the potential effects of different nutrient levels on the growth of the algae? Additionally, could the presence of other microorganisms in the water impact the algae's growth?  Furthermore, it may be worth investigating the specific wavelengths of sunlight that each type of algae responds to best, as this could have a significant impact on their growth rates.  I look forward to hearing more about your findings and conclusions from this experiment. If I were at the fair, I would not tease you or your accomplishment.

I followed your suggestion and paid a visit to my neighbor after my studies last week. I dressed in my science blues and equipped myself with my trusty tricorder to gather information on his chickens through careful observation and logical deduction. To my surprise, I discovered a surprising connection with my former tormentor, Billy, through our shared interest in the poultry. Despite having visited only twice since then, I am beginning to feel more at ease around the chickens and Billy seems to be behaving in a more civil manner. I have begun to wonder if Billy has any friends in his grade, and I am considering seeking advice from my sister on the matter. Furthermore, I am open to receiving photos of your neighbor's cat Robyngail if you happen to capture any during your time there. As one who finds the rituals of domesticated feline species intriguing, comparative analysis of Robyngail's behavior and traits with the tabby could offer insights.

I must express my disapproval of the nickname you have given me. As the sole statistician for Medford High's football team, I am not a player and do not partake in the game itself. While I possess knowledge of the technical aspects and strategies of football, I do not find enjoyment in participating in athletic activities. Hence, I kindly request that you refrain from addressing me with sport-related monikers. I regret that our schedules do not align for online interactions via the chess program's communications network at this time. However, I anticipate my presence on the chess platform will resume in November, once my current projects here have been satisfactorily completed.  Speaking of projects, I wish to inform you that with the completion of my calculations assistance provided to NASA, I have decided to construct a robotic combat device as a personal intellectual exercise. Taking into account your previous input, I have settled on the appellation "Train-Track Annihilator" for the battlebot I am designing. The conceptual design involves adaptive metal plating and a weaponized grasping arm capable of disassembling opposing machines piece by piece. Aside from the purposes of actual physical confrontation, this is engaging as a puzzle to solve regarding the theoretical application of advanced technology.

Please send word of any notable observations from your surroundings in New Jersey. I await our next stationery encounter.  

Peace and prosperity,

Sheldon L. Cooper

Leonard sighs in amazement as he completes the letter. He had been thinking that his long-distance friend had ghosted him, but it turns out his friend had just had a very chaotic last half of the month. He throws himself on his bed, wondering what he can possibly put in his next letter. His life is nowhere near as exciting. As Boots hops onto his bed, snuggling against his chest, Leonard breathes in the hypoallergenic fur and decides he can think about it later.

Chapter Text

On a cold December night, the wind howls outside as Leonard climbs the creaky stairs to the dimly lit attic. He enters carefully, mindful of the low ceiling, and flips the single dangling lightbulb to illuminate the dusty space. Cobwebs fill the corners and boxes of who knows what cluttered the floor and leaning stacks of wooden beams held up the slanted roof. When he can find the time, Leonard makes his way over to the unfinished corner where he's been working on his project. The first version of the hugging machine sits disassembled, its gears and wiring strewn about as he analyzes what went wrong with its calibration. Taking a seat on an overturned apple crate, Leonard pulls out his notebook and begins sketching designs for Version 2.0. He wants the arms to move with more sensitivity this time, gently enveloping whoever stands within its reach in a soft but reassuring embrace.

Hours pass as Leonard tinkers, losing himself in his work. Outside the wind continues to blow, but up in the solitary attic, it provides much-desired white noise as he solders and screws pieces together. His brow furrows in concentration, occasionally pausing to check the diagrams in the dim light. A new machine slowly begins to take shape from scrap metal and loose parts. Leonard glances up in surprise as the creaking floorboards echo from below, followed by the faint murmur of the TV. Has he really been working all night without noticing? Now that he knows, though, his eyes sting with tiredness as he removes his smudged safety goggles and rubs at them, squinting against the streaks of dawn sunlight now streaming through the dusty attic windows. Birds chirp merrily outside, announcing the new day. As he slowly becomes more aware of his surroundings, Leonard can hear the soothing tones of Bob Ross drifting up from the living room.

His dad calls when breakfast is ready; Leonard's stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him he'd been subsisting only on granola bars. He turns back to survey his work, pleased to see the hugging machine's arms now moving through their range of motion with fluid grace. He pushes up his flannel pajama sleeve to stare at the watch face, shocked to see that it's already 7:15 AM. His energy's running low but, more importantly, he's running late. The hugging machine only needs a few more adjustments, but he doesn't have the time. Instead, he searches the cluttered attic for his dad's old storage locker. Alfred's old exercise equipment and unused sporting goods are doing nothing more than collecting dust behind the stacked plastic tubs filled with university clothes and holiday decorations. A storage locker that was purchased years ago sits abandoned amongst the items. Leonard carefully maneuvers the hugging machine inside, shielding it from view with the stacked items around it until only its charging cord snakes out.

Although his energy is depleted, adrenaline fuels him as he creeps to the attic entrance hatch and pauses, pressing his ear tentatively to the floor. No sounds of movement drift up from the second level, only silence. Taking a calming breath, Leonard slowly pulls back the hatch and peers down the dim hallway. Seeing that it's clear, he lowers himself down the folding ladder in a crouch, hoping the old hinges won't creak and alert his family below. Wasting no time, Leonard tugs a broom from the nearby cleaning closet, using the bristles to push the hatch firmly into place. His heart pounds as he races to the bathroom at the end of the hall, throwing open the shower for a hurried cleansing before changing into his school clothes. Trying to hide his heavy footsteps, Leonard swings his backpack around and grips the polished wooden banister with his free hand. Taking a deep breath, he launches himself onto the smooth railing and swiftly slides down to the first-floor landing, damp hair flying back from his face. 

Reaching the bottom without a sound, he pauses to listen for movement from his mom's home office down the hall. Only the dull clacking of keys on her keyboard is heard as she works. Perfect. Next on the docket is navigating past the kitchen without alerting his dad. Creeping stealthily, he hears his baby brother cooing from his high chair. Alfred gently replies to the young boy from across the room as he cleans the breakfast dishes. Taking his chance, Leonard dashes through the back hallway entrance to the kitchen in a few quick strides. Snatching the remaining pieces of bacon from the cooling rack, he pivots immediately and flees silently out the back door. Leonard exhales sharply, shouldering his bag as he reaches the sidewalk. He spots the yellow bus as it pulls away from the far corner just then. He knows that the shy, quiet boy he is could never call out after it. Instead, he adjusts his backpack and begins the long walk to school, crunching contentedly on bacon as he goes.

As Leonard strolls down the quiet suburban street, he passes Katarina's light blue house on the corner. Predictably, her fluffy orange tabby Robyngail is sunning herself on the top of the chain link fence that separates their yard from Widow Watson's on the other side. In the neighboring garden, Leonard spots the elderly woman bent over her flower beds, gently attending to her rows of vibrantly blooming petunias. As he walks by, her wrinkled face lifts, and she waves a dirt-stained glove in greeting.

"Good morning Leonard! Finished with tinkering in that attic workshop of yours?" she calls warmly. 

Widow Watson has lived on the block for decades and always takes an interest in her neighbors and their latest projects. Leonard pauses at the fence, still chewing his last piece of bacon.

"Just working on a new hugging machine design, ma'am," he answers shyly. 

"Well when you're done with schoolwork, come back and help me deadhead these flowers, would you? Could use the company."

Her blue eyes twinkle at him through strands of wispy white hair that have fallen loose from her bun. Leonard nods politely in reply, appreciating her kind invitation as always, before continuing his walk to school where the day's lessons will soon begin. As Leonard approaches the end of his block, the stately white form of the old Baker-Bell House comes into view. It had once guided ships safely into the harbor with its rotating beacon, back when Mr. Hofstadter was just a boy. Now it stands as a private residence, its widow's walk long unused but still lending charm to the roofline. Two familiar figures emerge from the front gate just then. Cynthia and Noreen chat animatedly as they walk, cousins who live there with their relatives. Though not close friends, Leonard knows they attend his school. Their older cousin Greg suddenly appears in the doorway, juggling car keys and a toddler on his hip. 

"Morning Leonard, have a good weekend?" Greg calls out tiredly to the boy walking past.

His smile seems wearier these days with a baby now in the house. Little Leona babbles happily as she plays with her dad's hair, ignorant of the early hour. Waving to Greg in return, Leonard slows to accompany the girls as they all continue toward the school down the street together. A light breeze carries the tang of sea air along with the first screams of seabirds waking over the water. Leonard is content to observe and listen as Cynthia and Noreen chat, walking the familiar road as the sun rises higher behind the lighthouse. As the final warning bell rings across the playground, Leonard, Noreen, and Cynthia hurry through the front doors of Woodrow Wilson Elementary. They part ways at the upstairs landing, the younger kids heading left while Cynthia goes right towards the upper-level classrooms. Rounding the corner, Leonard and Noreen run into Gustav and his group of rowdy boys loitering by the lockers.

"Well, look who decided to show their faces today," Gustav sneers as they approach their lockers.

He deliberately blocks Noreen from accessing her combination lock. Not one for confrontation, Leonard anxiously stands back. After long minutes of Gustav's taunts and attempts to ruin their morning, the final bell finally rings. Grinning victoriously, Gustav and his gang saunter off to their classes, leaving the locker area in disarray. Racing against time, Leonard and Noreen frantically clean up the mess and retrieve their workbooks. They slam their locker doors in unison and bolt for the stairwell, hearing Ms. Potts’ muffled voice already starting the morning lesson as they burst breathlessly into 4B reading class. Red-faced and tardy, they slide into their seats, dreading the teacher’s reaction to their late arrival. Rather than embarrass them in front of the class, Leonard's blush burns even hotter as Ms. Potts silently places the incriminating pink slips onto their desks. Her disapproval is evident in the stern look she spares them before returning to the whiteboard. Taking a deep breath, Leonard tries to focus on the reading comprehension tasks she's assigned.

Though Gustav isn't in this reading class, one of his usual cohorts, Adamari, is seated nearby and smirks over at Leonard. It only further fuels Leonard's embarrassment, his cheeks flaming as he stares at the short story passage, willing the words to stop swimming on the page. Beside him, Noreen is mostly unbothered, working diligently to analyze and summarize the key plot points. However, Leonard struggles, overly aware of Adamari's snide stare and overthinking every sentence as the minutes tick by agonizingly slow. To his horror, Ms. Potts soon walks around the room to check their progress. Her stern gaze lingers on his near-blank worksheet with a disappointed frown.

"See me after class, Leonard. We need to discuss improving your focus," she states softly before moving on. 

His insides twist with shame at letting her down. As the period finally ends and his classmates filter out chatting, Adamari shoots him a parting smirk. Leonard looks away and slinks over to the teacher's desk dreading the conversation to come. He stands nervously before Ms. Potts' desk as the classroom empties.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more focused in class today," he says softly, eyes downcast. 

"Is everything alright?" she asks with concern.

He hesitates, cheeks flushing even more if possible. "Some guys were, um, bothering me and Noreen at our lockers. It made us late," he offers vaguely.

Ms. Potts frowns. "I see. And was someone also distracting you during the lesson?" At Leonard's shy nod, she sighs. "You know that's not fair to you. But I need you at your best. Is anything else contributing to your fatigue?"

Leonard shifts uncomfortably under her probing gaze. "It's just been a long weekend, that's all," he replies evasively. 

She eyes him thoughtfully. "If the issues persist, please let me know. Your learning is important." 

Leonard nods, relief washing over him as he's dismissed. He hurries off to his next class, still embarrassed but glad Ms. Potts hadn't demanded any names from her shy student. He steps into his next classroom - Room 4C for mathematics with Mr. Singh - and takes his regular seat in the front. Numbers don't hold the same mysteries for him as inventions, so he hopes for a calmer period. 

Once the bell rings, Leonard listens attentively as Mr. Singh begins the day's lesson on multiplication and division. Word problems describing scenarios like sharing cookies or grouping toys catch his interest. He works steadily through the example calculations and problems. During the independent practice time, Leonard breezes through the worksheets. Dividing up amounts between groups or figuring how many items can be bought for a price come naturally to his logical mind. With the other students still working, he raises his hand for another page of challenge problems. By the end of class, Leonard has completed over half of the night's math homework as well. Mr. Singh nods in approval at his early finish. Glad to have the opportunity to focus, Leonard begins packing up feeling accomplished instead of embarrassed.

When the bell signals the short mid-morning break, Leonard gathers his things and trots to the art wing. His energy is flagging after the long, stressful morning. Weaving through bustling halls, he arrives outside the choir room as usual. He exhales with a sigh of relief when he spots no line in front of the Healthy Helpers vending machine stocked with nuts, fruit, and veggie packs. Checking his pockets, Leonard is glad to find a crumpled dollar bill left over from the weekend. He feeds the dollar into the machine and takes his time perusing the options, still feeling groggy. An orange and a granola bar offer the most energy for his buck. Peeling the fruit slowly, he leans against the wall inhaling the sweet, tangy scent waking up his senses. The simple sugars perk him up as he eats, visualizing ideas for after school to pass the time. Unless he can conceptualize machines through technical drawings.

Too soon, the warning bell chimes. Dropping the untouched granola bar into his bag and tossing the fruit peel in the nearest bin, Leonard hauls his backpack over his shoulder and heads down the corridor, entering the visual arts classroom. Easels are propped up in the back, but Leonard takes a seat at the large oblong table at the center of the room, whipping out his worn sketchbook. Lost in his plans for CaptainKrypton's gear assembly, Leonard begins scribbling calculations and proposed blueprint sketches. Smooth micro-servers will grant more dexterity but at the cost of torque. Or perhaps solar panels for supplemental power? He jots notes weighing the options. So engrossed, it takes Leonard a moment to notice the curious gazes of his tablemates Fia and Delta watching over his shoulder. Unused to such close scrutiny, heat rises in his cheeks as self-consciousness grips him. Quickly, he slams the sketchbook closed, concealing his private designs from their view. 

"S-Sorry, just working on an entry for the robotics contest," he stammers lamely, wishing he could hide within the pages.

The girls smile and withdraw, respecting his shyness, but Leonard finds it hard to relax his guard for the rest of class. As the teacher, Ms. Li, arrives in the classroom, Leonard hastily shoves his sketchbook away, hoping to avoid any more unwanted attention. Clapping her hands, Ms. Li announces they will be focusing on perspective drawing techniques and shading today. Leonard perks up slightly, eager to hone his technical skills. 

"I'll assign partners randomly so you can learn from each other," Ms. Li speaks clearly, holding a coffee can of popsicle sticks.

She begins pulling out the sticks, reading aloud the names written on them. When she reads out "Leonard Hofstadter and... Jackson Perseus", Leonard exhales quietly in relief. 

While Jackson can be boastful, at least Leonard knows him from their shared time in the school orchestra. They often practice together, with Leonard on the cello and Jackson on the piano. It'll be easier working with him than dealing with uncomfortable scrutiny from curious girls like Fia or Delta after they've seen his private designs. As the pairs begin gathering materials, Leonard scans the room. Fia is already deep in an animated conversation with her partner, but Delta catches his eye and waves. Leonard smiles shyly back before turning to focus on the task at hand with Jackson.

"What technique do you think we should try first?" he asks.

Between Jackson's quiet humming and Leonard's increased focus on getting the perspective just right, the class period flies by in a blink for Leonard. Stepping back to examine their work, he's pleased to see most of the steps outlined correctly on the paper despite a few rough edges. It isn't the high-quality piece some of the others have managed, but Leonard still feels proud of their mutual efforts.

"Look at us go, I think we really caught on to the techniques!" Jackson whoops.

His boisterous enthusiasm calls some classmates over, which makes Leonard unconsciously curl in on himself a bit. While he shares the pride of accomplishment, Leonard isn't comfortable drawing that kind of attention.

He steps away but smiles shyly and nods. "We did alright. Just need more practice to perfect it."

When the bell rings, Leonard turns to gather his supplies, allowing Jackson's bubblier persona to depart first. He takes his time while the class filters out so he can slip away unnoticed. He adjusts his backpack straps, taking the stairs two at a time heading up with his worn soles fitting each groove perfectly from years of use. His energy levels rise in anticipation of what class comes next - his most cherished subject, science. Reaching the third-floor landing, Leonard enters the laboratory with fresh curiosity. The chalkboard in the front has one message: get into your groups. There are 24 organized seats in the center of the room, and lab tables line the walls on either side. Leonard makes his way to his usual spot, giving his teammates a wide berth as they arrive, laughing boisterously. He takes out his well-worn notebook, straightening pages neatly as the others toss their bags haphazardly atop the shared lab table.

Jenna regales Mike and Travis about sneaking sips from her brother's hidden stash, though Leonard silently doubts she's as rebellious as she appears. Mike gives a cocky smirk when the topic shifts, giving Leonard a love tap to the shoulder as he mimics punching an invisible opponent, no doubt reliving last night's hockey scuffle. Travis eggs him on with crude jokes whereas Jenna rolls her eyes, already losing interest in their antics. Settling in with his pencil at the ready, Leonard lets their background noise fade into a blur. The assignment will soon start, and he'll get straight to comprehending complex concepts on his own as always. For now, he gazes absently around the lab, content to let the familiar routine play out once more.

Class soon begins, and Ms. Wu writes today's lesson on the board: "Ecosystems and Biodiversity." Although he's got a different wheelhouse of expertise, the interconnected webs of nature fascinate Leonard's inquisitive mind. Ms. Wu outlines the interactive lab experiment, explaining how they'll be measuring microhabitats in the schoolyard. Leonard blinks in surprise, glancing down at the small compartment of his backpack where his inhaler rests. Still, the prospect of the experiment intrigues him. Quickly scanning the instructions, he begins to strategize the most comprehensive survey method. By the time his teammates realize what's going on, they high-five over 'missing' class time. Leonard, meanwhile, has already prepared observation templates for them so it looks like they're doing the work. He delegates roles to them as they walk - Jenna will sketch flora, Travis will record insect behavior, and Mike will take Polaroids - handing over the papers and three borrowed pencils he'll never see again.

Stepping outside, the class scatters across the yard. Leonard begins transecting alone until he notices his strategic classmate Lydia doing the same. Their efficient teamwork requires no discussion, precisely delineating and notating the zone. From the corner of his eye, Leonard surveys the side habitats. Jenna giggles with her best friend Naomi and a quiet but cool student Tuck near bushes bursting with life. Travis leads roving reporter Jimmy and rowdy Betsy on an insect chase, Ginny's superstitions no doubt providing commentary. When the boisterous Marissa and theatrical Skagi notice Lydia and him, Leonard stiffens, unused to unnecessary socialization during studies. He exhales slowly, picturing diagrams and formulas to calm worried thoughts. Focusing on neatly scribbled transect notes distracts him from their bubbly enthusiasm. 

Back in the classroom lab, Leonard enthusiastically guides his team through analysis, piecing together the habitats' invisible complexities. The rest of the period flashes by. When the noon bell rings, Leonard packs his contents fastidiously while the others toss everything into their bags haphazardly. None of his group returned his pencils as predicted. His stomach reminds him of its empty state with an audible growl, though he's thankful that it waited for the bell signaling dual lunch and recess.

At the cafeteria line, Leonard pays for an apple and milk, hoping the fiber and calcium will sustain him until supper. Since the cafeteria is too crowded, Leonard opts to eat outside. He settles at an empty picnic table, glad for quiet after bustling labs and yards. Only a few bites in, Leonard's focus is broken by dreaded voices. Gustav and his gang are nearby, jeering taunts as usual. Leonard automatically shrinks inward as they grow closer, and he glances around fruitlessly for a teacher to intervene. But with only a small student body, none are near during this break. His milk is suddenly snatched off the table, and Leonard is unsurprised to find Gustav flanked by his usual compatriots. Adamari looks disdainfully over the leader's shoulder, eying Leonard like inferior prey. Beside her, Betsy flashes a mischievous smirk. The other three kids in the gang are only known by their animal monikers - Raven, Snake, and Racoon.

Racoon is in the choir; his resting face in class is cheerful. That's his zone: making the teachers comfortable and totally fooling them. In Gustav's gang, every word out of his mouth is mocking, accusatory, and twisted. Leonard doesn't know much about Snake, the new kid from Kyrgyzstan. He's quiet, but Leonard has seen him around town - at the bookstore looking through a Black Panther comic and using the Five Finger Discount at Blockbuster for the movie Poltergeist. The boys look amused as Leonard shrinks away, but the most chilling member of Gustav's gang is Raven. A pang of hurt strikes Leonard's chest when he sees his former friend scowling at him. They rode their bikes to see the tenth anniversary of Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope together just two years ago. Now, she's a member of the Model UN and chooses Gustav's company as opposed to Leonard's.

Today, Gustav's piercing gaze doesn't embody his usual bullying demeanor. It is filled with intensity and purpose, causing Leonard to instinctively pull back, unsure of what he could have possibly done to provoke such anger from his larger peer.

"No, no," Raven scolds Leonard, her tone firm. "You don't get to back out now, Curious George."

Leonard visibly startles at her words, as if he has been physically hit, while Raven's grip on his biceps tightens from behind. He's then caught off guard by the sudden blow to his nose, causing him to emit a pained grunt. His body is jolted as he struggles in Raven's tight grip, unable to break free. Another punch lands in his gut, causing him to double over in agony, his arms instinctively wrapping protectively around his stomach as a scream escapes his lips. Snake joins in to help restrain Leonard, ensuring that he's unable to defend himself against the onslaught. 

With a scowl on his face, Gustav asserts his dominance as he orders his followers to lift Leonard to his feet. He then delivers a harsh kick to Leonard's knee, emphasizing his belief that Leonard belongs at the bottom of the social hierarchy.

"You're gonna learn your place, reject," Gustav sneers, his intention clear as he asserts his authority over Leonard in front of his cronies.

Gustav shatters Leonard's glasses with a final punch and signals for Raven and Snake to release him. Leonard crumples to the ground in agony as Gustav struts away. But just as Leonard hopes for a moment of relief, Gustav orders Adamari and Betsy to continue tormenting him. Adamari, known for her psychological cruelty, stands back while Betsy delivers a series of brutal blows to Leonard's body. Only when Leonard's cries subside into pitiful whimpers does Betsy finally stop.

"Think he's had enough?" Betsy casually inquires, taking a bite of the apple Leonard had dropped during the attack.

Adamari kneels beside Leonard, studying him with cold indifference. She traces her fingers over a patch of dirt before flicking a clod into his face without warning.

"Yeah, let's go," Adamari decides, standing up and leaving Leonard lying on the ground in pain.

Leonard remains on the ground long after the bullies leave. His glasses no longer have glass for the lenses, and the frames are bent out of shape. Lying there, staring up at the cloudy sky through streamed tears and blood streaks that are beginning to dry, he contemplates skipping the rest of the school day. He's only got two classes left and, while one isn't too bad, the one lined up next will take his breath away completely. Physical education being a mix of team sports and individual fitness activities does not bode well for the young bullied boy. Leonard's hands gingerly probe his mangled knee, assessing the damage with practiced care. Despite tears and blood obscuring checks, no bones feel outright broken, though the joint has clearly been wrenched beyond tolerance.

Exhaustion tugs at his weakened frame but skipping classes goes against his prudent planning and attendance record. Still, facing teammates in the treacherous gymnasium now seems like it would be an insurmountable trial without crutches. Quietly and slowly, Leonard scraps himself some reserves, pulling himself onto the shadowy section of the picnic bench. He curls himself into a protective ball, hiding away from any straggling students once the warning bell rings. Giving himself a ten-minute window, he painstakingly hauls himself upright, fighting fresh waves of wooziness. He draws a few shaky breaths as he steadies his quivering limbs. As he grips the table's edge for balance, his thoughts turn pragmatic. Although his vision is blurred and his leg is impaired, he will not accept defeat and let his attackers win again.

The limping trek between the table and the nurse's office takes almost three times as long as it normally would. Through countless past visits, Leonard has inadvertently memorized the nurse's somewhat unpredictable schedule. He knows that Ms. Sanchez always leaves her post on Monday afternoons for a weekly staff meeting in the principal's office at this hour. With the district facing budget cuts, monthly check-ins have been implemented to scrutinize expenses down to the last medical bandage. No doubt Ms. Sanchez is now embroiled in lengthy justifications for supplies used treating common scraped knees and paper cuts. Once safely inside, he locks both doors, grateful that her absence spares any difficult questions about his condition. He's quick to assess the damage more carefully under fluorescent lights.

His knee is swollen and purple, but he doesn't think anything is broken, just badly bruised. He rinses the blood from his face and hands, grimacing at the sting of the cold water on his cuts. The lost-and-found is a plastic blue bin sitting behind the nurse's cluttered desk, and Leonard rummages through it. First, he finds a pair of sweatpants that are a size too large. Then, he rummages through the nurse's desk to find a couple of safety pins to hold the pants up. He returns to the lost-and-found bin to snatch a worn-out t-shirt that he can rip into makeshift bandages for his knee. It's a painful process but he manages to wrap it tightly, hoping the pressure will help with the swelling. Leonard carefully applies antibacterial tape across his swollen nose, squinting closely at mirrored reflections thrown back at him. With an exhausted sigh, he carefully removes the battered specs dangling uselessly from one rim.

No amount of rinsing can fix the spiderwebbed lenses. The only thing he can do at the moment is to bind the joints of the uneven brass arms back in place with adhesive glue and duct tape that's kept in the bottom of his bag for emergencies. Hopefully, his next instructor will either not notice his red-rimmed eyes or mistake them for tiredness. He collects an icepack and unlocks the main door as he slips out the back, undetected. The bell rings to end fifth period at 2 PM just as Leonard has pulled himself upstairs and around the corner toward the history corridor. He looks like a bruised ragdoll as he leans against the wall next to the maintenance closet while students filter out of their classrooms. Panic grips him as he clenches his splinted fingers around abrasions that have the potential to re-open if he's jostled too harshly. The blur of bodies makes him feel nauseous, so he shuts his eyes and leans his head back.

"Oi, math nerd!" A familiar voice barks out above the noise.

Leonard recognizes the owner of the voice without opening his eyes: a hockey player named Tate. He's a misanthropic bully outside of Gustav's gang. The boy Sharpies skull tattoos down his arms and chases birds at lunch/recess. Tate shares mathematics and art with him but generally doesn't speak to him. Leonard groans as he opens his eyes through his fractured specs to face him.

"How'd you get done so fast?"

"'M good at math," he shrugs.

Tate rolls his eyes, menacingly shoving a workbook at Leonard. "Well, now you're good for both o' us. Gimme a C. Or else."

Tate flips up his hoodie and storms down the stairs without waiting for a response. Leonard lets out a pitiful groan once he's gone. Fearful of violent retaliation for not completing the athlete's homework, Leonard drops the extra book in his bag and heads down to the social studies classroom. He takes his regular seat in the second row; eventually, other students file in. He begins to fidget when Delta sits at his left, but the girl is engrossed in a conversation with Marissa and a boy named Sam. The blond boy is friendly to everyone, Leonard included.

"Doin' good, dude?" He asks, tapping Leonard's shoulder with the end of his pencil as he sits behind him.

Leonard gives him a wan smile and mutters half-hearted reassurances. The kindness is appreciated, but Leonard doesn't want to make anything more of it. While Sam doesn't look too convinced, he's quickly distracted by the conversation with the girls. Leonard diverts his gaze as well, noticing Noreen and Cynthia's arrival. Noreen is shy, eyes downcast as she grabs a seat in the front row. Cynthia glances between them, mentally putting pieces together. Instead of her typical malicious cruelty, she holds her tongue and sits beside her cousin. Eventually, the teacher arrives, providing a lesson on ancient civilizations. At the end of class, the students are given a homework assignment due at the end of the week: build a diorama of an ancient civilization in either Egypt or Mesopotamia. Most of the students file out when the last bell rings at 3 - save Leonard, Noreen, and Cynthia.

"You got anyone picking you up?" Cynthia asks.

It takes Leonard a second to realize she's talking to him, and he stammers that he'll just walk home.

"No way," she shakes her head. "You live in our neighborhood. Dylan will bring you home."

She turns and walks away before Leonard can protest further. Dylan is Greg's husband and the designated pick-up driver for the elementary students. Noreen smiles a little at him; he follows her to their lockers, and then to the detention room. Miss Reynolds is in charge of detention today. Although she doesn't use a roll call, she has a list of students, and she makes a checkmark next to each student who hands in their detention slips. Detention is simply an hour of silence without sleeping; Noreen opens a library book while Leonard takes out Tate's workbook while his vision is still blurry. The hour seems to stretch forever, but it finally ends. Although Noreen expects him to join her and the cousins in Dylan's van, Leonard tries to sneak away.

"You look like shit," Jackie greets him in the hall.

She's Greg and Dylan's oldest daughter, and Leonard just lets out a self-deprecating laugh. The girl is three years older than him and abrasive, but he has known her for years, so her blunt honesty just washes off his back. She scrutinizes him a little and her face softens.

"C'mon, loser. You can sit in back with Leona."

She leads him to the van; Cynthia and Noreen join them only moments later. Noreen and Leonard sit in the back with the toddler, not listening to the quiet conversation between the older girls and the men in the front. When the van's engine finally cuts off, Leonard looks out the window but is surprised that they're at the lighthouse rather than his house. But with a quick look shared between him and Greg in the rearview mirror, Leonard realizes that Jackie and Greg have seen through his pain. Greg has been a doctor at the local teaching hospital for the past nine years, so he knows a thing or two. Silently grateful, Leonard follows everyone inside, letting Cynthia help him balance. It's a quarter till five by the time Leonard is properly patched up and given a borrowed set of crutches. He's a bag of nerves, though, as he keeps checking the time.

"Do you have somewhere you need to be soon? A schedule to keep?" Dylan asks gently.

Leonard bites his lower lip but admits, "I practice chess online every Monday at five."

Without hesitation, Dylan leads Leonard into a safe space for focus. The actuary's workspace provides an island of quiet for the boy's needed practice. Leonard stutters through a thank you while Dylan leaves to call Leonard's parents, letting them know where he is without divulging every detail. With trembling hands, Leonard carefully plugs in the cables and waits anxiously as the familiar whirring sound of the modem fills the room. The LED lights flicker to life one by one, casting a soft glow on Leonard's grateful face. As the actuary's modem hums to life, Leonard eagerly waits for the familiar dial-up tone. To his surprise, the connection is established swiftly, the progress bar racing across the screen at an impressive speed. Within minutes, Leonard is greeted by the familiar welcome message of AOL, the iconic "You've Got Mail" echoing through the speakers.

With a few quick keystrokes, Leonard navigates to his online chess program, his fingers deftly moving across the keyboard in anticipation. The clock on his computer screen reads 5:00, a testament to the efficiency of Dylan's setup. Ready to embark on another intense game of chess, Leonard smiles in satisfaction, grateful for the lightning-fast connection speeds of his friend's modem. Although he hasn't heard from Sheldon in over a month, he figures the other boy must simply be too busy. He'd thought he was ghosting him last time, but he'd just had a very busy few weeks. Fingers crossed, they'll get paired today.

CaptainKrypton is searching for opponents in [Hoboken ↓] [New Jersey ↓]

CaptainKrypton is searching for opponents in [Any City ↓] [Texas ↓]

CaptainKrypton has been matched with QueenWaffles

Although it isn't who he wants, he accepts the match and begins the game. Using strategy and several years of practice, Leonard executes a great starting move. His opponent moves their piece rather haphazardly. Leonard's unsure if this is an intricate move that will blindside him or if they just don't understand the game. The Captain puts his skills to the test, while the Queen dances in a chaotic frenzy, making their pieces bump into each other and scatter in all directions. Leonard watches in disbelief as they move their queen into the line of fire; he pulls up the instant chat function.

CaptainKrypton: how long have you been playing?

QueenWaffles: i dunno

CaptainKrypton: i've been playing a few years

CaptainKrypton: i learned after watching star trek

QueenWaffles: whats that

CaptainKrypton: oh my gosh, you have to watch the original star trek! it's this amazing sci-fi show from the 60s that follows captain kirk, the super cool and charming leader of the uss enterprise, and his loyal and logical first officer, spock. kirk is like the ultimate space cowboy, always getting into crazy adventures and flirting with alien babes, while spock is this half-human, half-vulcan who's super smart and always keeping kirk in line. their bromance is epic, and they have the best banter ever. plus, the show has all these cool aliens, spaceships, and moral dilemmas. it's a total classic and you have to check it out!

CaptainKrypton: live long and prosper!

QueenWaffles: wassat mean

CaptainKrypton: means youre wishing someone to have a long & happy life

CaptainKrypton: youre supposed to say peace and long life back

QueenWaffles: like happy birthda and thsnk you?

CaptainKrypton: yeah kinda

CaptainKrypton: checkmate

QueenWaffles: oh that was fun

QueenWaffles: live long and porspeer

CaptainKrypton: peace and long life

Leonard shakes his head as the game ends. He had some fun playing with the esteemed Queen, but now it's time for another opponent. He declines to save QueenWaffles as a frequent opponent and starts the search again.

CaptainKrypton is searching for opponents in [Hoboken ↓] [New Jersey ↓]

CaptainKrypton is searching for opponents in [Any City ↓] [Texas ↓]

CaptainKrypton has been matched with CommanderVader

A wide grin stretches across his face, and Leonard immediately brings up the instant chat before even starting the match.

CaptainKrypton: sheldon???

CommanderVader: Yes. Is this Leonard?

CaptainKrypton: im so glad i found you!!

CommanderVader: The feeling is mutual.

 

Sheldon begins the match once greetings are made, but they keep chatting.

 

CommanderVader: It is fortuitous that we have met here as I am not currently living at my previous address.

CaptainKrypton: youre not? you didn't get my last letter?

CommanderVader: I have not. However, my mother has spoken to me over the phone and expressed to me that she will keep it out of the viewing eyes of my nosy siblings.

CaptainKrypton: where do you live now?

CommaderVader: I am attending Wilmont School for the Gifted in Dallas. Therefore, I am living with a host family.

CaptainKrypton: thats cool. living with your family sounded like a zoo

CommanderVader: Medford High School is a zoo. Living with my family is a circus.

CaptainKrypton: hows your host family?

CommanderVader: A hippie retreat. I am attempting to view this new experience through the eyes of Commander Spock. In doing so, it feels as though I am living his worldview during the events of "Plato's Stepchildren."

CaptainKrypton: they're making you sing and dance against your will?

CommanderVader: Affirmative. It appears to be a nightly ritual in order to obtain dinner.

CaptainKrypton: i guess i should say good luck, but i doubt a logical half-vulcan like yourself believes in such things.

CommanderVader: Luck is illogical but finding you out of everyone else in the system to be my pen pal was infinitesimal. You almost make me believe in luck, Leonard.

CaptainKrypton: Well, Sheldon, you almost make me believe in miracles.

CommanderVader: This was quite entertaining, but I must take my leave. I bid you adieu until Thursday practice.

CommanderVader: Checkmate.

CaptainKrypton: 8EDT/7CDT on the dot.

CommanderVader leaves the chat, and CaptainKrypton stars him as a frequent opponent. Despite himself and the insane day he's had, Leonard just sits back in the office chair and smiles dopily at the computer. It's suddenly become such a great day.

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