Mary stared at him. Then she pulled him into a hug, frizzy hair and all.
The clatter of cutlery against the Cooper family’s dinner plates was the only sound Sheldon could hear. Not因为他 was ignoring his mother’s question about his day, but because he was mentally recalculating the trajectory of 1998 DK2, a near-Earth asteroid he’d just read about in Astronomy magazine.
“It’s not a theory, Dad. It’s orbital mechanics. The margin of error is plus or minus four hours.” Sheldon finally looked up, his face pale. “I suggest we start digging a bunker. Or, more efficiently, relocate to Chile. The Southern Hemisphere has a statistically lower impact probability.”
George Sr., who had finally fallen asleep after a double shift at the high school football field, sat up. “Sheldon. It’s eleven o’clock. The asteroid is not real.”
Sheldon sat at the kitchen table, recalculating his calculations. He had been wrong. Or his father had lied. He couldn’t tell which bothered him more.
In the end, Sunday came—and went. No asteroid. No fire. No biblical destruction. Just a quiet morning, the smell of pancakes, and Mary’s hair looking perfectly acceptable thanks to a borrowed curler from Brenda Sparks next door.
