Chapter 37 – The Equation on the Board
It had been a few days since Jake's twelfth birthday, but the high of it hadn't worn off.
Between FaceWorld's explosive growth, Caltech classes, and whatever this thing was with Haley Dunphy, Jake barely had time to catch his breath. But one thing was certain—he was loving every second of it. Caltech was exhilarating. The minds here were razor-sharp, the air smelled like chalk dust and whiteboards, and the energy of innovation buzzed in every hallway.
Jake was walking through the physics building between classes when he overheard a voice that stopped him cold.
"No, you don't understand. Dr. Cooper refuses to attend the quantum symposium unless they agree to serve warm apple juice."
"I thought he was on sabbatical?"
"He was. But he showed up Tuesday and started lecturing an entire 300-level class he wasn't even registered for. And the professor let him."
Jake paused near the vending machine, his brow furrowed.
Cooper? he thought. Sheldon Cooper?
That name wasn't one you easily forgot—especially if you'd lived in a world where The Big Bang Theory had aired. Jake's mind started spinning.
No way. That can't be this world's Sheldon Cooper… right?
He tapped into his internal memory banks. Sheldon, theoretical physicist. Eccentric. Hyper-intelligent. OCD tendencies. Loved trains. Lived with Leonard Hofstadter. Dated Amy Farrah Fowler. The Big Bang Theory had only started airing in 2007, which meant that Sheldon—if this world aligned with that one—was still just… living his life. Off-script.
Jake's curiosity flared.
There was no way he wasn't checking this out.
---
The Hunt for Dr. Cooper
He skipped lunch, wandered past the theoretical physics department, and began scanning nameplates on the office doors.
Dr. Raymond,
Dr. Chen,
Dr. D. Evans,
and then—there it was.
Dr. Sheldon L. Cooper
Plaque clean. Office door closed. No sound inside.
Jake hesitated. The hallway was quiet except for the distant whir of a copier and a soft hum from a vending machine down the hall.
He gave a soft knock.
No answer.
He waited, then slowly turned the handle.
Unlocked.
Jake peeked in. The office was empty. Papers were neatly arranged on the desk, stacks of books about quantum chromodynamics, and in the far corner—what looked like a small replica of a vintage train set still in its box.
Of course.
Jake stepped in, heart pounding slightly—not out of fear, but the strange, delicious kind of excitement you get right before something big.
That's when he saw it.
---
The Equation
It took up nearly the entire whiteboard. Dozens of symbols. Greek letters. Loops. Tensors. A monster of a formula halfway through being solved, with certain sections crossed out and others trailing off into "???"
Jake narrowed his eyes. The equation looked familiar—not in specifics, but in structure. It was a hybrid, some kind of attempt to reconcile parts of loop quantum gravity with dark matter modeling. It was obscure, unsolved, and just… there.
Left behind, like an invitation.
Jake stepped closer. The markers were still fresh, uncapped, balanced on the eraser ledge. It wasn't a complete equation. It was a challenge. Whoever had started this had hit a wall.
Jake didn't stop to think.
He picked up the black marker.
The first step was adjusting the third loop integration. Whoever started it had missed a curvature offset in the secondary tensor layer. Sloppy. Or maybe just rushed.
Jake moved to the red marker, adding annotations. His hands moved fast, the room slipping away as the mathematics pulled him in like a trance. Logic snapped into place like magnets. Two minutes became ten. Ten became thirty.
He didn't realize someone had entered the room behind him.
---
"You're standing too close to my board."
Jake froze mid-symbol.
The voice was deep, nasal, and unmistakably clipped with a clinical rhythm.
He turned slowly.
There, standing in the doorway with a brown lunch bag in one hand and a narrowed gaze under arched brows, was Dr. Sheldon Cooper.
The real deal.
Same tall frame, same cardigan, same odd, analytical intensity in his eyes.
"Hello," Sheldon said flatly, stepping further inside. "You're standing too close to my board. That's where I stand when I think."
Jake blinked, gripping the marker. "Uh—hi. Sorry. I didn't think you were here."
"I was retrieving lunch," Sheldon replied. "A tuna salad sandwich on wheat bread, no crust, no mustard. The cafeteria insists on adding dill. I have informed them numerous times that dill belongs in pickles, not protein entrees."
Jake slowly stepped back, unsure whether to apologize or finish the last line of the equation.
Sheldon took in the board. He tilted his head slightly.
"Did you do this?" he asked, pointing at the changes Jake had made.
Jake nodded once. "Yeah. I saw where the integration was breaking down and thought I'd… try something."
Sheldon stared. Then walked slowly up to the whiteboard, sandwich still in hand, and studied the symbols like a detective at a crime scene.
After thirty seconds, he said, "Your notes corrected the tensor degradation error. I hadn't seen it."
Jake held his breath.
Sheldon turned to him, squinting.
"You're the child prodigy everyone's whispering about."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "They're whispering?"
Sheldon ignored the sarcasm. "Your name is Jake Harper. You created a social media platform. You are currently enrolled in Caltech courses well above your supposed cognitive range. Yet here you are. In my office. Touching my markers."
Jake smirked. "I'll buy you new ones."
"That's not the point," Sheldon snapped. "They were in color order."
Jake glanced at the tray. "You had them yellow, red, blue, green?"
"No. Red, green, yellow, blue. It matches the buttons on the original NES controller. For aesthetic consistency."
Jake raised both eyebrows now. "You organized markers based on Nintendo?"
"Don't be absurd," Sheldon said. "Also based on Nintendo."
---
The Connection
For a long moment, Sheldon studied him.
"Why are you here?"
Jake considered lying—but figured that was pointless.
"I overheard someone mention your name," he said honestly. "And I recognized it. So I got curious."
Sheldon narrowed his eyes. "Recognized it?"
Jake smirked. "I'm good with names."
Sheldon nodded once, turning back to the board.
"You're better with math," he said. "This formulation's been giving me problems for four weeks."
Jake couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. "It's elegant. Just needed a new angle."
Sheldon sat at his desk, placing his untouched lunch beside his books.
"Would you be interested in working on it further?" he asked.
Jake blinked. "You want me to help?"
"I wouldn't say 'help,'" Sheldon said. "That implies inferiority. I'm offering collaboration. Tentatively."
Jake walked closer, scanning the board again.
"Deal," he said. "But I get to bring my own markers."
Sheldon hesitated. Then nodded. "Just not pink. Pink is for fools and theorists with no backbone."