In little George's room, he was slumped at his desk, tugging at his hair in frustration.
Right next to him, young Sheldon was earnestly explaining a math problem.
The promise of a toy train was enough to make Sheldon put up with George's cluelessness.
Behind them, Missy—who'd sworn up and down she'd supervise—was now hugging a stuffed animal and chatting away with Mike.
The girl's commitment to overseeing George's studying had lasted all of three minutes.
For Missy, an ungrateful gift and a cute guy like Mike didn't stand a chance against each other—no contest.
At the desk, Sheldon finished walking through his solution step by step and asked confidently, "So, got it?"
George stared at the math problem in his book and mumbled weakly, "Maybe... possibly... I dunno... no."
He even blinked his big, innocent eyes for extra effect.
It wasn't that he wasn't trying.
The truth was, these problems felt like ancient Greek to him—the second he looked at them, his brain just fogged up.
If no one else was around, he'd totally pull out the magazine stashed under his desk to wake himself up.
"This is so easy, and I explained it in so much detail—how could you not get it?" Sheldon was starting to question his own existence. Then he looked into George's eyes and saw pure, unfiltered dumbness staring back.
Yup, teaching basic math to these upright apes was way harder than expected.
"Mike, come over here and take a look. This is your job too," Sheldon said, calling in reinforcements out of sheer desperation for that toy train.
Public schools in the U.S. are all about "happy learning," so the curriculum isn't exactly brutal.
Mike was curious anyway—why couldn't George grasp this stuff?
He stepped up, checked out Sheldon's approach, and pointed out, "Sheldon, your method's way too complicated. George just needs to pass this math test. He needs something simple and straightforward."
To Mike, Sheldon's explanation was like trying to prove the philosophical meaning of the number one to George.
Right now, George just needed to know that one plus one equals two—no need to dive into why "one" even exists.
Sheldon wasn't thrilled with the feedback. "Fine, it's all yours. I'll just watch."
"Sounds good," Mike nodded.
Mike knew his own smarts didn't quite match Sheldon's yet, but when it came to teaching George basic math? He felt pretty confident.
The problems in the workbook were just simple two-step operations—plug in the formula, crunch the numbers, and boom, answer.
With a plan in mind, Mike demonstrated the easiest steps he'd come up with.
Then he asked, "How about now—get it?"
George went quiet for a long time before stammering, "Kinda... sort of. Maybe say it again? I might get it then."
He could vaguely tell Mike's way was simpler than Sheldon's, but it still wasn't clicking.
"Alright, let's try another one just like it." Mike hadn't realized how bad it was yet. He picked a similar problem and went through it again.
He figured the formula was right there—if George saw enough examples, he'd memorize it and the steps would come naturally.
Practice makes perfect, right?
After solving another one, Mike asked, "Okay, how about this time?"
Silence.
Mike looked up at George.
Yeah, those clear, blank eyes said it all.
Still nothing.
"Let's do one more same type..." Mike wasn't giving up. He kept hunting for examples.
He explained five problems in a row—the exact same kind—and every time, George's eyes just stared back, totally glazed over.
By now, George's eyes were practically spiraling from the torture.
Mike and Sheldon exchanged a look, both reading the same helplessness in each other's eyes.
Yup, teaching math to upright apes? Mission impossible.
Just when the two brainiacs were stumped into silence, George rolled his neck with a couple loud cracks.
Then he asked curiously, "Mike, why'd you stop? I was just about to get it."
Faced with George's apparent thirst for knowledge, Mike forced an awkward smile. "It's getting late, and you're tired. Let's pick it up tomorrow."
Truth was, after all that time, George still couldn't grasp one simple problem.
Getting his math grade to passing in two days? Yeah, that wasn't happening.
No typo edition here! First release of this novel.
Yeah, Mike had thrown in the towel.
As Mike left, the room was down to just George and Sheldon.
Sheldon, still obsessed with that toy train, wasn't ready to quit. "George, want me to go over my method again?"
Mike's explanations—at least George kinda followed a little. Sheldon's? Straight-up alien language.
So George shut it down. "Nah, I—"
He started to say no, but then his eyes drifted to his feet under the desk. Inspiration hit, and he grinned. "Actually, I got it."
Now it was Sheldon's turn to be shocked. "You really got it?"
"Yup. Just wait till the test—you'll see." George was suddenly radiating confidence. Then he waved him off impatiently. "I need to review on my own now. You can go."
"Fine. Hope I get my train," Sheldon muttered. Happy for the peace and quiet, he headed out.
As far as Sheldon was concerned, as long as he got that toy train, he didn't care how George magically learned math.
Meanwhile, a little car with its high beams on was crawling down the road.
In the passenger seat, Grandma Connie spoke up. "It's dark out and there's no traffic—speed up a little."
As the local pastor, Jeff wasn't old, but he drove like a total grandpa.
He'd bought a red sports car because Selena pushed him to, but he barely ever drove it.
"No way, I have to follow the rules. There's an intersection up ahead—the light's about to turn red."
It was Jeff's first real time behind the wheel, and he was equal parts excited and nervous.
Watching him creep along and almost miss the green light was making Connie nauseous. She barked, "You've got three seconds—plenty of time. Floor it!"
Jeff's cautious driving was driving her nuts. She was having one of her random crazy moments.
"Is that okay?" Jeff asked quietly, though deep down, a wild side was itching to come out.
After all, he'd just lost his wife and his money—this guy needed to blow off some steam.
"Do it—hit the gas!" Connie yelled, loving the chaos.
"Ahhh!" With a whoop, Pastor Jeff slammed the accelerator.
Screaming with excitement, the car blasted through the intersection... at a blazing 20 miles per hour.