Eugene Hansford was one of those suffering geniuses. He was incredibly intelligent on an intellectual level, seeing the way through complex ideas with ease. He could explain his way through anything, simplifying it to an easy, understandable analogy. He was the highest to succeed, colleges of all types ready to accept the junior, for any major he could choose. From business to law, once he learned it, he understood it.

But, for any good thing, there has to be a bad thing just to even out the odds. For Eugene, if it wasn't his lack of social skills like your regular mainstream genius. It was his lack of initiative. Growing up modestly to this day, he learned to do what he had to do. But, hard work wasn't an idea Eugene like so much. He frequented relaxation and alone time to think under two specific trees: the oak tree within his school, James Garfield High, and the sycamore tree in his front yard. He frequented naps, daydreams, and lost-in-thoughts. He was easily bored by the straightforward and rigid learning, often forgetting studying or turning in tedious homework or projects submission dates. In the light of it, the most dangerous enemy to Eugene was himself.

Before you feel all sympathetic towards Eugene, there is another silver lining: his friend Sylvester, whom which was incredibly understanding of Eugene. The out-of-shape-and-proud-of-it Sylvester understood Eugene's level of mentality and how he was a duly noted 'suffering genius'. In turn, Sylvester was Eugene's key to the rest of the misunderstanding world.

Eugene let his fingers run through his long and wavy black hair, it being moderately long and ready for his parents to use fourteen dollars to cut it back short. He sat underneath the oak tree at school, mostly thinking. Innovating, no less. How could breathing generate electrical energy? How could you body heat power the watch on your wrist? Many things people may have never thought of were wildly ricocheting inside his brain, hitting every thinking nerve inside his head. All he really needed was his missing asset, initiative, or he'd be rich, successful, and famous.

And, as if on cue, both his brain and eyes saw and thought the same exact thing. For a genius, that's highly unlikely to happen, for them thinking ahead as much as possible and imagining the unimaginable and not seeing its entity existing in the material world.

Rosetta. The only thing Eugene could be distracted by. He wasn't sure what hooked him: her irresistable charm and beauty, or her intelligence and fun personality. She only talked to him about once a week, where she would ask about AP Calculus and he would explain what she didn't understand simply using l3tt3rs and numb3rs. After that, she'd thank him with a smile, and leave with a novel that she would change once every three weeks. He would answer with a wave and his 'No problem. Any time.' quite frequently, giving him and her an opportunity to speak again. An opportunity to see each other again, face to face, eye to eye.

Rosetta was just that kind of girl that seems like out of a story. Her brown hair was shoulder cut. Skin smoother than a baby's bottom. No makeup, none was needed. Overall nice and friendly, where her quirks were just little things that people were willing to overlook. She was recently nominated homecoming queen, and Eugene voted for her before he got the ballot from the student body.

Eugene, the no initiative suffering genius, for once, decided to take a chance. Sitting at the base of the oak tree, strolling by herself past him in a striped shirt, cardigan, and skirt, he came up with the guts to say her name.

"Rosetta!" Eugene shouted. She looked over, smiling, as Eugene waved for her. She jogged over as he watched her approach.

"Yes, Eugene?" she asked him. Eugene choked up (naturally), regretting any initiative he took. He was a crazy genius, with crazy passion, chasing after a high school girl.

"Umm...you have plans for homecoming?" he managed. She looked up towards the tree's leaves, thinking and seeming to weigh her options. She then clapped her hands together and smiled.

"Nope! Why?" she asked. The dreaded question. Eugene was used to the question why, but for some reason, he couldn't think of a decent explanation like he could usually do. Except, of course, for his attraction towards her.

"Would you like to...come with me, perchance?" he asked, holding his breath. He said it. It was out. So much thinking was done to the simple act and question, drastically overcomplicating the encounter.

"Sure, why not?" she said. Eugene kept his breath held. This couldn't be happening. He decided to ask, just to be sure. No harm in double checking, he thought.

"With me, Eugene?" he asked her.

"Yes. That's your name, right?" she asked. He then exhaled, sighing in relief. He adjusted his hair, running his fingers through it again.

"You want to come with me?" she asked, holding out her right hand for him to take. She was acting like he was her white knight on his noble steed, ready to tackle evil. Eugene thought it was a trick at first, but took it anyway. He closed his eyes, letting his sense of touch do the work. Her hand was so warm and soft, like silk.

"Eugene. Get up." Sylvester said. He opened his eyes, seeing his hand was within Sylvester's grasp. He leaned his head back against the oak tree, realizing his futile failure. She walked by him again, but Eugene took no initiative to say her name.

"Cheer up, sleepy Eugene. You know what can it mean? To a daydream believer and the homecoming queen?" Sylvester said. He knew everything, being so understanding to Eugene. He just sat at the base of the tree for a second longer, until Sylvester pulled him up forcefully, jolting him to his senses. Eugene then followed Sylvester to wherever he wanted to go.

Eugene just kept on thinking and agreeing on how Sylvester was right. How he was always sleepy and had no chance with the homecoming queen. But, probably most of all, how much of a believer he was.

A daydream believer.