Meemaw smirked. “So instead of a Nobel, we get burnt bread.”
The first obstacle was Meemaw. Connie walked into the living room, read the letter over Sheldon’s shoulder, and let out a low whistle. “Well, butter my biscuit. The little weirdo might actually do it.”
Sheldon’s face fell. “Are you saying this isn’t real?”
Sheldon processed this. For a full ten seconds, he didn’t speak. Then his lower lip began to tremble. “So you’re saying… I’m not ready.”
“I prefer ‘boy who needs to learn that toasters don’t go in the bathtub,’ but here we are,” she shot back. “So what’s the plan?”
The Equation for Toast: Phase 1 – Heat Transfer in Colloidal Matrices.
“But,” Sheldon added, pulling away, “I will be ready. One day. I’m going to solve the equation for toast.”
Finally, he looked up. His face was not one of joy, but of profound, almost terrifying, seriousness. “Mom,” he said, “I have been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Physics.”
