Ch 2
The new school year had just officially begun in the small town of Medford. It was 1989, and being the very first day of school, it was early enough that the students had not yet settled into the repetitive activities that would become unbreakable habits for the next nine months. Old friendships were enthusiastically being renewed in the halls, and completely new friendships were slowly being forged.
This year, the high school was being attended by my little brother, Sheldon. He was just nine years old, having directly skipped four entire years of middle school education. It was undeniably impressive, even if it was a social disaster.
I had connected the dots a little while ago and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this Sheldon was the exact same Sheldon from the television show. I realized this universe was quite literally the Young Sheldon reality. Therefore, the main story of this world must logically revolve around his daily life.
I did not watch the actual show in my past life. I only knew a little bit about the basic plotlines from random YouTube shorts that used to pop up on my feed.
This morning, Medford High School was a completely chaotic ecosystem. The air was filled with the deafening sounds of slamming metal lockers, raging teenage hormones, and thick clouds of aerosol hairspray.
Sheldon and I stood awkwardly near the heavy main entrance doors of the high school. We quickly formed a tiny, isolated island of strange sartorial perfection amidst a completely chaotic, constantly moving sea of faded blue denim, oversized denim jackets, and aggressively loud rock band t-shirts. Georgie strategically chose to come to school early with our dad, and he must already be safely hiding inside his classroom.
But I was stuck with Sheldon, it seems.
Sheldon wore a crisp, perfectly ironed plaid button down shirt paired with a meticulously knotted bow tie. To complete the socially disastrous ensemble, he clutched a heavy brown leather briefcase in his small hands that was quite literally nearly half of his overall physical body size.
I stood casually right beside my little brother, wearing a standard, well fitting button down shirt and a basic pair of blue jeans. I looked exactly like an average, completely unremarkable teenager who was simply trying his absolute hardest to blend seamlessly into the background noise.
My carefully chosen outfit was admittedly rather boring and entirely understated when directly compared to the wildly expressive and highly colorful wardrobe choices of the older high school students who were currently walking past us in the increasingly crowded morning hallways.
The older students of the late eighties and early nineties crowd were absolutely crazy about bright, obnoxious fashion. They eagerly wore whatever bizarre, neon colored clothing trends they confidently chose to call high fashion at this specific point in cultural history.
Mary crouched down right in the middle of the busy hallway to carefully adjust Sheldon's shirt collar. Her warm eyes were swimming with a complex, heavy mixture of immense maternal pride and deep, unavoidable terror regarding his high school experience.
"You remember exactly what we talked about on the car ride over here?" Mary asked him. Her gentle voice was trembling just slightly with a layer of barely concealed nervous energy as she looked at her genius nine year old son.
"Yes, Mom," Sheldon stated clearly and confidently, calmly surveying the crowded, noisy hallway around him. "If someone asks me a question today, I will make sure to answer it as politely as I possibly can."
"I will absolutely not point out their glaring grammatical errors during casual conversation, and I will definitely not inform them if they happen to possess a sub-optimal cranial capacity for their age," he finished reciting his mother's strict behavioral guidelines.
"Exactly. Have a wonderful day, my sweet baby," Mary said with a soft, genuine sigh of relief. She leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his soft cheek and then finally turned her attention toward me.
"Mom, I am absolutely not letting you kiss me in front of the entire high school," I warned her quickly. I took a subtle, defensive half step backward in order to preserve my incredibly fragile sense of teenage dignity.
Mary just smiled warmly at my reaction and did not actually try to force the affectionate, embarrassing gesture upon me. "Will you be okay today, Charlie?" she asked instead, her eyes searching my face for any signs of lingering discomfort.
"Yes, Mom, I will be perfectly fine," I replied confidently, doing my best to ease her lingering worries. She was clearly still not letting go of that terrible garage accident that happened just a month ago. Her constant hovering was mildly annoying, but I knew it came from a place of genuine love.
It was entirely understandable why she was acting this way. According to Missy, the scene had been completely horrifying. There had been a massive amount of blood pooled on the concrete floor when they finally found me. I had remained completely unconscious for an entire day after the impact.
Waking up in that hospital bed with no immediate memory of who I was had terrified her. She spent the following weeks treating me like I was made of fragile glass. Reassuring her now was simply the least I could do to repay her endless patience and deep maternal concern.
Mary's smile widened slightly at my calm tone. "If anything bad happens, just call your dad immediately. And thank you so much for taking care of your younger brother."
I glanced down at Sheldon, who was currently intensely analyzing the varied, unpredictable behaviors of the passing high school kids like they were lab rats. "Well, someone had to step up and do it," I replied mildly to my mother.
Georgie had already outright declined the responsibility of even being seen in the same hallway with Sheldon, let alone physically guiding him to his new classes. He was desperately hoping that absolutely nobody at the high school would ever figure out that the strange nine year old freshman was his biological brother.
Of course, that childish plan of his was completely impossible from the very beginning. They both shared the exact same last name on the school rosters, and this was Medford. In a tiny, close knit Texas town like ours, personal anonymity was practically an urban myth. Gossip naturally traveled faster than a wildfire through dry brush.
Everybody simply knew everyone else around here. It would only take a few short hours before the entire student body realized the tiny genius with the briefcase belonged to the Cooper family. Georgie was just delaying the inevitable social fallout, leaving me to handle the immediate awkwardness of the first morning.
Mary reached out, affectionately ruffled my hair, and then finally walked away toward the exit.
My hair was something that I was actually very proud of in this new life. Charlie possessed incredibly thick, long, good looking hair that he had most likely inherited directly from our mother's side of the family tree.
I quickly fixed the strands she had playfully messed up, making sure my hair looked perfect once again. I then turned to Sheldon, gesturing down the long hallway, and quietly told him to follow me closely.
I had promised my mother that I would personally accompany Sheldon for his very first day. I needed to show him exactly where his classrooms were located and actively help him out if anyone decided to bother him today. We made our way inside the school.
The fashions worn by teenagers in 1989 were remarkably diverse. There was a dedicated crowd who wore trendy hippy fashions featuring bell bottoms, tie dyed shirts, and large peace symbols. The girls in this particular clique occasionally even went braless. Another crowd preferred western blue jeans, heavy cowboy boots, and rugged work shirts. There was also a conservative crowd of boys who wore neat corduroy pants, tucked in button down shirts, and polished black shoes. The conservative girls matched them by wearing modest knee length skirts, button up shirts, and highly practical shoes. Finally, there were the religious kids. They were only a handful in the entire school, with the boys wearing plain black pants, white shirts, and ties, while the girls wore dull gray dresses.
Hair length was a very significant social indicator in 1989. There was a remarkably strong correlation between a specific social clique and their preferred hair length. Almost all of the teenage females had long hair that reached down to their shoulders at an absolute minimum. Their chosen styles ranged widely from perfectly straight hair to a wild, heavily hairsprayed wind blown look. Long hair was also incredibly common among the teenage boys. Some kids even sported actual tattoos or temporary fake tattoos to look rebellious.
"That guy is clearly breaking the school dress code," Sheldon stated loudly. He pointed a small, accusing finger at an older kid with tattoos covering his arms. From the glazed look in the teenager's eyes, he was also quite obviously a pothead.
"Yeah, about that," I muttered quietly, quickly pulling Sheldon's arm down. "If you actually want to survive your time in high school, you must never, ever snitch on somebody."
"But why? He is clearly breaking the established rules," Sheldon complained, looking genuinely confused by my instruction.
"Just listen to me, Sheldon. Please do exactly as I said," I sighed deeply, desperately hoping that he would not bring the topic up again. Naturally, I was very wrong to assume that.
"I smell ammonia. Excellent, they must have thoroughly cleaned the hallways," Sheldon remarked. I could easily tell he was secretly terrified of the massive new environment, and his natural coping mechanism was to intensely observe and comment on absolutely every little detail around us.
I even had to escort him into the boys bathroom. It was exactly as disgusting as one would expect from a crowded public high school restroom.
Sheldon stood rigidly near the doorway, absolutely refusing to touch any surface. When we finally walked back out into the hallway, Sheldon took a deep shuddering breath and muttered that it was a genuinely horrifying experience.
A few minutes later, the situation got even worse. "Hey, look, that girl is pregnant," Sheldon stated loudly, pointing his small finger directly at a passing senior without a single ounce of social tact.
I immediately grabbed his arm, forcefully pulled his hand down to his side, and fiercely admonished him under my breath about how we absolutely do not point at people in public.
“Congratulations” I said to placate the situation.
This kid is going to get me beaten up before the school day is even over, I thought to myself miserably. I seriously began to question why
I had ever accepted my mother's request to watch over him.
“This is our homeroom class”