“That’s just autonomic function. This is transcendence .”

“I’m grounded.”

“A rival,” Sheldon said. “And a calculator I’ll never own.”

She didn’t mean it, but the word lodged in Sheldon’s brain like a splinter. He didn’t cheat. But he did something worse. He lied.

Sheldon clutched the calculator to his chest. “Mr. Stan, I will teach you. I will teach you until you dream in postfix.”

“You’re breathing fine,” George said.

“That’s a logical fallacy,” Sheldon said. “Survivors, by definition, cannot be shot again. Unless he’s using ‘shot’ in the sense of a vaccine, which seems unlikely.”

George looked at the calculator. Then at Sheldon. Then he took a long drink of beer and said nothing.

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