Misunderstood

Hey everyone! I'm really sorry for being gone so long… writer's block can seriously suck sometimes. On top of that, I just haven't had the energy to update Total Drama: Generational Warfarelately. That said, Episode 9isstill in the works and I promise it's not being scrapped—I'm just on a bit of a break. Life's been hectic and I've been juggling a lot, so finding the time to write has been tough. In the meantime, I'm sharing thisYoung Sheldonstory to switch things up and keep you all entertained! I did mention I'd branch out into other shows eventually, and now feels like the right time. I really hope you enjoy this one—it was a blast to write, and I hope you'll find it interesting to read when your mind aligns it with the events in the actual show! Note that if you have seen the show, I have changed some things around. For example, I made Sheldon exhibit more human emotions and gradually have him come out of his science fiction shell. I thought it'd be interesting to read a story where Sheldon is actually understood by the world and gets along with people.

When you grow up with a brain that works differently than everyone else's, you get used to being alone.

To me, the universe is a vast and beautiful equation—ordered, consistent, filled with patterns that make perfect sense. The problem is, people don't operate like the universe. People are chaotic. Emotional. Inconsistent. No matter how many books I read or experiments I run, I still haven't figured out how to predict them.

And in my family, I'm the outlier.

I've been called a lot of things over the years—robot, weirdo, freak, even "the Sheldonator" once, by a boy who later threw a corndog at me. I've learned to accept that these are not terms of endearment. But what I haven't quite accepted is why I feel so alone… even when I'm surrounded by people who are supposed to love me.

I sit at my desk, writing in one of my journals. There are 27 of them now, carefully organized by date and topic. This one is labeled Emotional Hypotheses – Volume 3.

I've always thought that if I could understand people like I understand quarks or gravitational waves, maybe I'd feel less like a visitor on my own planet.

But so far, the data is… inconclusive.

Take my mother, for instance.

Mary is pouring coffee. Her eyes are puffy, but she smiles when she sees me come in.

"Morning, baby."

"Statistically speaking, you're more likely to spill hot coffee if you're multitasking while sleep-deprived."

She stares at me for a moment, then smiles again, tighter this time. "Thanks, honey."

Mom tries. I know she loves me. But loving me doesn't mean understanding me. To her, faith answers everything. To me, faith is a variable I've never been able to solve for.

Then there's Missy, who never fails to remind me that she wishes I didn't exist.

Missy is watching a rerun of Full House. I try to sit beside her.

She sighs, moves to the other end of the couch.

"You know, if you'd just ask what I want to watch—"

"Sheldon, shut up."

I blink. "I didn't say anything yet."

"Yeah, but you were about to."

Missy and I share DNA and a birthday. That's about it. She thinks I talk too much. I think she talks too little. I guess we're both right.

Georgie's easier to figure out.

Georgie is under the hood of a car. I approach carefully.

"Did you know internal combustion engines are only about 30% thermally efficient?"

"Did you know no one asked?"

He grins, but he doesn't sound mad.

Georgie doesn't understand me either, but he doesn't pretend to. I can respect that.

Meemaw is… complicated.

She once told me I was "too smart for my own good" and then took me to the racetrack to prove it. We lost twenty dollars.

"I bet on the one with the funny name," she said.

"I created an algorithm based on speed, age, and track record," I told her.

Her horse won.

So did mine.

She gave me her winnings and said,"Don't tell your mother."

She's the only person in my family who treats me like I'm not broken. Just… different.

Then there's Paige. I actually haven't seen her in like 2 years.. but she was the closest thing I've ever had to an intellectual equal. Maybe even a rival. Which is saying something, because I once debated a Nobel laureate and won.

Paige understood the academic part of me. The gifted part. But neither of us really knows what to do with the human part.

"Do you ever feel like everyone expects you to be okay just because you're smart?" she asked once.

I didn't answer. But I thought about it for days.

And then… there was Dad.

The most confusing variable of all.

He didn't understand me. Not really. But sometimes I think he wanted to.

Dad is grilling burgers. I'm sitting nearby, reading a book about astrophysics.

"You ever think about going outside more?" he asks.

"I am outside."

He chuckles. "I mean without the book."

I shake my head. "That would defeat the purpose."

He shrugs. "Fair enough."

He never tried to change me. He didn't always know what to say, but he was there. In his own way.

And then.. he wasn't.

I was standing there in my crisp white uniform, feeling the cool fabric against my skin as Meemaw adjusted my bowtie. The smell of her perfume mixed with something else, and I couldn't ignore it.

"Hmmm… what am I smelling?" Meemaw said, sniffing the air.

I glanced up at her. "I'm wearing peppermint oil. It's a natural bee repellent," I explained, trying to sound as scientific as possible.

"…you smell like a candy cane," Missy added, appearing in the doorway with that familiar, annoyed expression.

I blinked, immediately defensive. "Do not lick me," I said with a worried look.

She just rolled her eyes and walked away.

On the couch, Georgie, Mandy, and CeeCee were sitting. Mandy leaned forward, sniffing the air and frowning. "Hey, uh, speaking of smells, do I have time to change CeeCee?" she asked, her voice full of concern as she realized CeeCee had made a surprise in her diaper.

"We're still waiting on George, so go ahead," Mom answered without missing a beat, though her tone was a little more tired than usual.

Mandy stood up, holding CeeCee in her arms. "Need some help?" Georgie asked, leaning forward.

"Nooo, uh—well, I am in all white—yes," Mandy replied, and Georgie followed her to the back, presumably to help her.

As they walked away, there was a knock on the door.

Mom got up to answer it, and I could see her face fall the moment she saw who was on the other side. Tom and Wayne stood there, their faces somber, more serious than I'd ever seen them. I could tell something was terribly wrong just by looking at them.

"Mary, we got some bad news…" Wayne started, his voice lower than usual.

Mom's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing as she already had an inkling of what was coming. "Where's George?" she asked, her voice tight.

Tom hesitated for a moment, his eyes filling with something I couldn't name. He looked down, then back at her, his lips quivering slightly. "I'm so sorry," he said softly, his voice breaking as the words hit. "He… he had a heart attack."

Mom's eyes widened as she took a small step back, the weight of the words sinking in. She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. "He's… he's okay, right?"

Tom shook his head slowly. "He's gone," he said, his voice quiet, full of grief.

And that was it. The moment the truth hit.

I watched as my mom collapsed into the doorframe, her hands flying to her face as she sobbed. Missy, standing beside her, looked like she couldn't quite process the words, her face full of confusion and denial. "He's gone?" she asked, her voice cracking in a way I had never heard before.

Tom nodded solemnly, his face etched with pain. "He's gone…"

At that moment, I saw my family break down in front of me. Mom, sobbing uncontrollably, Missy trying to hold it together, the tears streaming down her face. But I didn't cry. I just stood there. I didn't know how to. I didn't know what to do.

I sat down slowly on the couch, my expression neutral, but inside, everything felt… wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Dad was supposed to be here, and yet he wasn't.

No warning. No goodbye.

One minute, he was here—sitting in the kitchen, drinking a beer, yelling at me, Georgie or Missy…the next, he was a statistic. A memory. A hole in the middle of our house.

I've spent my whole life trying to understand how the universe works.

But nothing—nothing—prepared me for what it's like when someone you love disappears.

A month has passed since Dad died, and I can't say I've gotten used to it. Things didn't feel normal anymore. They never would again. It's like the universe shifted in a way that I didn't understand, and now I was trying to adjust to a world where he wasn't here, but every part of me was resisting it.

I was supposed to go to Caltech. They'd even accepted me early—early for the summer program. I was excited, maybe even relieved. I could get away from all this, all of them, and I could finally focus on something that made sense. The idea of it, the certainty of my future, had been a constant source of comfort. But then, Dad died. And I couldn't bring myself to leave. Not with everything hanging in the balance.

I had my reasons. My family needed me. Mom couldn't hold everything together on her own, not with the way she'd been looking at things. And Missy… Missy needed me. Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself. That's what I wanted to tell myself. I always wanted to be close with my twin but.. she always pushed me away. I don't blame her, nobody wants to hear their brother talk about physics and what not for hours—that's not a bonding kinda conversation..

It didn't really matter what I told myself, though. It still felt like I was suffocating here. I kept hoping that if I stayed, if I just sat with my family through the grief, things would somehow go back to normal. But they didn't. In fact, they only got worse.

Missy was furious with me. Not just because I stayed behind, but because I was still… well, me. The same Sheldon. The Sheldon who never understood why people weren't more rational about things. The Sheldon who couldn't let go of his love for science even when it seemed completely inappropriate to talk about it. The Sheldon who kept saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It didn't matter that I was grieving too. It didn't matter that I was hurting. I was still the "annoying little brother," the one who was too busy thinking to just… feel.

Things got ugly. Missy would snap at me, call me names—and she even lost it so badly one day that she just started physically fighting me..I never even understood why. I'd try to reason with her, try to explain that I was just as sad as she was, but she wouldn't listen. She didn't care. And I understand it now. The world was too big, too messy, and I was in the way.

If there was one thing I'd learned since Dad passed, it was that relationships aren't logical. They can't be explained away with a formula or fixed with a solution. They just… exist, and when they break, they don't always heal in ways you can predict. With Missy, it felt like there was no repair in sight. She'd throw harsh words at me, and I'd throw them right back. It was like we were both trying to make sense of something neither of us understood. And because we couldn't understand it, we just hurt each other more.

I remember the last argument we had. It started over something small—some stupid comment I made about how the family was still acting like things could go back to normal if we just followed the right steps. She yelled at me, as usual. Called me insensitive, selfish. She accused me of never caring about how she felt. I told her that I was trying to be here, trying to hold everything together. I told her that if I went to Caltech, no one would be here for Mom, for her. But it didn't matter. She didn't want to hear it. She just screamed at me to go already, that maybe then I'd finally leave her alone.

I stayed silent. I didn't have an answer for her. I didn't have a good one, at least. And the silence was worse than the fighting, because it meant there was nothing left to say.

Some days, it felt like she hated me, and I hated her right back. But I didn't want it to be that way. I never did. The problem was that none of us knew how to handle Dad's death, least of all me. And now, the mess was just growing.

Missy and I hadn't really spoken since. I don't know what to do anymore. I can't fix it. I wish I could.

It was a quiet afternoon. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the world was holding its breath. I was in the living room, hunched over a science experiment, as usual—trying to get the reaction just right, despite the mess I'd made with chemicals. Missy was sitting on the couch, staring at me with that look she always had when she thought I was out of touch with reality. I could feel her eyes on me, but I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I was busy, and at that moment, science was the only thing that made sense.

"How can you even think about science right now?" she finally asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

How could I explain that science was the only thing that helped me process all the chaos around me? It didn't need to make sense to anyone else. It just… made sense to me.

She scoffed and shook her head, but I could see the frustration in her eyes. She didn't get it. She never did. And that.. upset me. For the first time.. I was angry.. and I was about to express that.

I could feel my face growing hot. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and I stood there, staring at Missy. The frustration was bubbling up inside me, and I couldn't keep it in anymore.

"You don't get it, Missy," I snapped, my voice rising slightly. "You think it's so easy for me to just—just feel something, like you do? You think I don't care that Dad's gone? That I'm not hurt, too?"

Missy's eyes widened. I could see her surprise, but there was still that underlying anger, like she didn't know what I was even talking about.

"I'm sorry I don't break down in tears the way you do!" I continued, my voice shaking now. "I'm sorry that I'm not like you, that I don't feel everything the way you do. I'm not you, Missy. I never was."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but it was no use. The words kept coming, like a flood that I couldn't stop.

"Do you know what it's like to feel like an alien? To feel like you don't belong anywhere? No one gets me, Missy. Not you, not Mom, not anyone. They think I'm a freak, a robot, some—some emotionless machine. But I'm not. I'm not!"

I stepped back, my chest heaving as the words caught up with me, the rawness of what I'd just said hitting me harder than I expected. It was like I'd cracked open a dam I didn't know was there.. however, I was far from done.

Missy stood silent for a moment, her mouth slightly open, as if she didn't know how to respond. I didn't know either.

I could feel the words tumbling out faster than I could stop them, the anger mixed with the hurt that had been simmering for weeks.

"And it doesn't help," I started, my voice shaking, but growing stronger with every word, "that you're constantly screaming at me, telling me to shed a tear and making me feel bad for not showing a sad enough reaction to this whole thing—"

I took a breath, but it wasn't enough to calm the storm inside me. My hands were trembling, but I didn't care anymore.

"I AM BOTHERED, MISSY!" I shouted, the words catching in my throat. "Our dad's gone and he's never coming back… IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?ME TO BREAK DOWN ABOUT THE WHOLE THING? You will NEVER understand me!" I shouted, my voice louder than I intended, the frustration bursting through. "Or how I react to what goes on in my life every day! So STOP telling me how to deal with my emotions, BECAUSE THAT'S NOT YOUR JOB!"

The last word echoed in the room, and for a moment, everything was still. Missy didn't say anything. She didn't even move. But I was done. I couldn't stay in that room anymore, feeling like I was suffocating under her judgment.

I stormed toward the door, my anger fueling every step. I didn't care if it seemed childish. I didn't care what Missy thought. I yanked the door open, slammed it behind me, and stood there, in the hallway, breathing heavily. The sound of the door slamming reverberated through the house, and for a few seconds, it felt like the world had gone quiet.

I leaned against the door, my hands trembling, my mind racing. I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing. I just knew I couldn't be in that room with her anymore.

I had said it all. And now, I had nothing left to give.

What people don't understand is that… in my own little way, I did have a connection with Dad.

It wasn't loud or obvious. We didn't bond over sports or crack jokes in the kitchen. But it was there—in the way he'd leave the light on in the garage for me when I stayed up late working on equations… in how he'd bring me snacks during my study binges without saying a word. It was subtle. Quiet. But real.

And it hurts more than anything knowing that I'll never get to feel that again.

The topic of death… it makes me so mad. Because death doesn't make sense. There's no formula to solve it. No experiment to reverse it. Just this giant, cruel void where a person used to be.

I hate that I always have to connect everything back to science, but my brain doesn't know how else to cope. And I keep thinking—what if science allowed us to bring people back? What if I could design something, build something, that would undo what happened?

But I can't. It's impossible. It's fiction. And that reality stings deeper than any truth I've ever had to accept.

I would give upanything—my future at Caltech, every paper I've ever published, all of it—just to hear his voice again. To watch him walk through the front door, sweaty from work and complaining about traffic.

But the world had better plans. At least, that's what people keep telling me.

I'm just a misunderstood little alien boy in a big man's world—full of responsibility and emotions I will never understand, no matter how hard I try.

And that bothers me.

I never feel like I belong here. Not in this house. Not in school. Not even in the world, sometimes. I watch people connect so easily—like it's second nature. But for me, every interaction feels like solving a complex equation I was never taught.

Sometimes… I wish I could be normal.

Kids my age haven't graduated high school. They haven't been accepted to Caltech or asked to attend Harvard. They don't spend their days in labs or writing research papers. Most of them are just starting high school—going to football games, getting crushes, dancing at parties.

They live. They laugh. They make mistakes and don't overanalyze every second of it.

But that's not me. No matter how much I wish it was. No matter how hard I pretend that science is enough.

If my dad were still here to hear me saying all this, I think he'd give me one of those looks. The kind Arnold Jackson used to give Willis when he said something totally arbitrary.

Meemaw would probably chuckle. Make some reference from the 50's that I don't understand. Call me "Moonpie" with that smile of hers.

Missy would call me a freak.

But maybe—just maybe—seeing that look from my dad right now.. that would've been enough to make me feel a little less alien. It feels like I need him now more than ever..

It was later in the evening. The house had that stillness it always got after dark—quiet, but not peaceful. I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, pretending to read but mostly just… thinking. Wondering. About everything and nothing.

The door creaked open. Missy stepped in, awkwardly, like she wasn't sure if she should be there.

"Hey," she said softly.

I didn't respond right away. I just looked at her, surprised she even bothered. But something in her eyes looked different. Calmer. Like she wasn't here to argue.

She came in and sat on the edge of the bed. Not too close. Just enough.

"I was kind of mean earlier," she admitted. "Okay, really mean."

I looked down at my hands. "You weren't wrong. I just… didn't know how to take it."

Missy nodded slowly. "Yeah, well… I didn't know how to say what I was really feeling either."

We sat in silence for a moment. Then she spoke again.

"You're not the only one who feels alone, y'know."

I glanced at her. "But everyone understands you. They always have."

"Maybe. But that doesn't mean I feel understood," she said. "It's different. You're smart in ways I'll never be. But you're still my brother. And I don't want to fight with you anymore."

That sentence hit me harder than I expected. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I miss him too," I whispered.

She nodded. "I know."

I shifted slightly on the bed, the edge of my book pressing into my side. "Do you think he'd be proud of us? Even like… this?"

Missy smiled faintly. "I think he already was."

For once, I believed her.

She leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder. I didn't move. I just let her. And in that moment, things didn't feel so distant. Or foreign. Or impossible.

For once, life felt… good. Until this happened.

The next day felt almost normal.

Missy and I actually ate breakfast together without arguing. Mom didn't look like she'd cried yet. Georgie made a joke that wasn't at anyone's expense. For once, the air in the house wasn't so heavy. There was even sunlight pouring through the kitchen window like the world hadn't completely fallen apart.

Then came the knock.

I was sitting at the table, working through a few quantum mechanics problems, when I heard it. Three short, even knocks. Not urgent, but definitely not casual.

Missy glanced at me. "You expecting someone?"

"No," I said, standing up slowly.

Mom beat me to the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She opened it—and froze.

I couldn't see who it was from the table. But I could hear her voice.

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper."

That voice. My heart stuttered.

I stood, cautiously stepping into the hallway, and there she was.

Paige.

"Paige, what a wonderful surprise! It's been so long— how are you doing?!" Mom says, being overly nice to Paige—of course she's being nice.. ugh.

Same familiar smirk, same sharp eyes that always made me feel like she could read my entire mind without effort. Her hair was longer now. She wore a jacket tied around her waist and held a stack of notebooks close to her chest. She looked exactly like herself, and yet, completely different.

"Hey, Sheldon," she said, with a softness I hadn't heard from her in years.

I froze, every neuron in my brain suddenly firing in chaotic, disorganized ways I couldn't begin to map out.

I couldn't even say a word..

She looked down, then back up at me, her voice suddenly smaller.

"I heard about your dad. I'm… I'm really sorry."

My throat tightened. I didn't know what to say.

"But that's not the only reason I came," she added.

There it was—that tension. The question lingering in the air like static.

Why was she really here?

And why did my stomach suddenly feel like it was doing complex calculations without me? And why did I ALWAYS have to relate all my real life situations to science or math?

"Why are you… uh…" I started, suddenly hyper-aware of how my voice cracked halfway through. "It's… it's been a while."

Paige gave a faint smile. "Yeah. It has. You look great! You got tall… and your voice is deep too. Compared to the last time I saw you…"

I felt my face flush slightly—something that rarely happened unless I was around Bunsen burners.

"Yeah… puberty, you know?" I said, awkwardly shifting on my feet.

She chuckled, and for some reason, that sound made my stomach twist in a way I couldn't logically explain.

"Puberty looks good on you, Cooper."

I nearly short-circuited. There was no scientific response tothat.

I hated how nervous I felt. I'd presented in front of entire college lecture halls. I'd debated professors twice my age. But this? This was different.

"I didn't mean to just show up out of nowhere," she said, her fingers tightening around the notebooks she was holding. "I know it's weird. I just… I've been thinking about you."

I blinked. "Thinking about me?"

She shrugged, looking off to the side. "We've both been through a lot. I guess I just wondered how you were holding up. And maybe…" She hesitated, then looked back at me. "Maybe I needed someone who'd understand how I feel too."

There was a long pause.

I wasn't sure what emotion I was supposed to show. Curiosity? Gratitude? The overwhelming confusion currently hijacking my central nervous system?

All I could do was nod and mumble, "You wanna… come in?"

She smiled, the real kind this time. "Yeah. Thanks."

And just like that, Paige stepped back into my life.

Just when I thought things were finally leveling out—when I believed, for a fleeting moment, that maybe with the help of Missy… and a few real-life experiences under my belt… that I'd start feeling less misunderstood—

There she was.

A reminder of the past. Of competition. Of confusion. Of the one person who understood me in a way no one else ever had… and yet somehow still made me feel like I was never enough.

And now she was here.

Smiling. Standing in my doorway. Bringing with her a flood of feelings I wasn't prepared to analyze.

Maybe life wasn't looking up after all.

Maybe it was just getting more complicated.

We were sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by the mess of papers, books, and half-built science projects I hadn't touched in weeks. But none of it was the focus.

Paige was here.

And I wasn't talking about science.

"Remember that time we got kicked out of that lecture because we were arguing over string theory too loud?" she said with a laugh, picking up one of my old notebooks. "I swear, we were like little married professors."

I chuckled—lightly, naturally. "Yeah, well, the real problem was the professor waswrong."

"Oh, totally," she smirked. "But you didn't have to tell him that mid-sentence."

"It was a moral obligation."

She laughed again. It felt nice.

Too nice.

I smiled, nodded along, made jokes about Georgie's parenting attempts and Missy's soccer games, and even let myself be a little sarcastic. For once, I felt… almost normal. Maybe even likable.

But internally, I was squirming.

The silence between science topics felt too quiet. My brain kept firing off theories I wanted to discuss, experiments I'd been reading about, equations I'd scribbled in the margins of my notebook.

But I didn't say any of it. I couldn't.

I kept hearing this voice in my head telling me to stay cool, be relatable, be "Sheldon"—but the version of Sheldon people could handle. Especially her.

Because the way Paige was looking at me… it wasn't like the old days. It wasn't rivalry. It wasn't even sympathy.

It was soft. Warm.

Like she saw something in me she actually liked.

And I didn't want to mess it up by being me.

What I didn't know however, is that just outside my bedroom, Missy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

Georgie stood beside her, holding CeeCee on his hip, trying not to let her drool on his flannel.

Missy whispered, "What the heck is going on in there?"

Georgie tilted his head. "Is that…Sheldon? Laughin'? Crackin' jokes?"

Missy nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing at the door. "I haven't heard him mention the Higgs boson once."

"Or black holes. Or quarks. Or that one time he built a particle accelerator in the garage and blew out the power," Georgie added.

CeeCee made a little coo, chewing on the collar of his shirt. Georgie bounced her gently, eyes still on the door.

"He's acting like an actualhuman," Missy muttered. "Like… a normal, socially functioning fourteen-year-old boy."

Georgie gave her a look. "Kinda creepy, right?"

Missy nodded. "Totally creepy."

They listened again as Sheldon's muffled voice came through, followed by Paige's laughter.

Missy shook her head. "You think he's trying to impress her or something?"

Georgie snorted. "He better not be. That boy don't knowhowto impress a girl. Trust me—I had to teach him how to use deodorant."

Missy smirked, but it quickly faded into a thoughtful look. "Still… I've never seen him act like this."

Georgie shifted CeeCee on his arm. "Yeah. Me neither."

For the first time in a while, they were both wondering the same thing:

Was Sheldon actually changing?

Or just hiding?

Would you guys like a Chapter 2? Or is this a good note to end it off on? You decide!