Dreams of Genius scholar

Sharp Beginnings

The classroom hummed with quiet tension, the kind that always settles right before a test begins. Pens clicked, chairs creaked, and someone coughed into their sleeve. At the front, the teacher, a tall woman with the kind of posture that could command an army, walked steadily between the rows, dropping test papers onto desks with crisp, rhythmic thuds. Each sound landed like a challenge.

When Leo Archer received his paper, his pulse quickened, not from fear, but from a strange spark of recognition. The questions looked oddly familiar, as if he’d seen them before in a dream or an old notebook buried in his memory. The longer he stared, the clearer everything became. His nerves began to settle, replaced by a quiet confidence that straightened his shoulders.

The first question read: “How much does your leg shorten when you stand on it?”

It looked simple enough, but Leo knew better. Behind that question lay layers of physics waiting to be peeled apart. His brain switched gears instantly. Mass, gravity, stress distribution—the mechanics fell into place like gears locking in a clock. He pictured his leg as a living structure, bending slightly under weight, then rebounding. Equations and concepts connected fluidly in his mind. His pen moved with certainty, the answer taking shape almost effortlessly.

From there, the rest of the test flowed like a calm river. One problem after another, solved and set aside. Nine questions down in what felt like minutes—until he reached the final one.

The tenth question was a beast: “When using a pencil eraser, you exert a vertical force of 11.00 newtons at a distance of 3.00 centimeters from the joint between the wood and eraser. The pencil is held at a 25.5° angle to the horizontal. How much is the pencil compressed lengthwise?”

Leo leaned back for a moment, smirking. This wasn’t a basic problem; it was a puzzle wrapped in physics poetry. Torque, bending, Hooke’s law—all dancing together in perfect chaos.

He imagined the pencil flexing under pressure, the wood and graphite straining against each other, and then began to write. Line after line of calculations flowed out of him, the kind that made sense even before they were complete. When the numbers finally settled, he couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t just the right answer—it was elegant.

From beside him, Ethan Drake cast a sideways glance, his jaw tight with either disbelief or frustration. To him, Leo probably looked like he was just doodling nonsense on his paper. If only he knew.

When the bell rang, Leo stood, test paper in hand. The teacher watched him approach with the same sharp gaze she reserved for underachievers. “If you don’t start taking your studies seriously, Archer,” she said, her tone a mix of irritation and weary concern, “you’re going to ruin your own future.”

Leo met her glare with an easy grin. “Noted, ma’am,” he said lightly, handing over his paper. Inside, though, he was almost giddy. He knew he’d nailed it.

The hallway outside was quiet, washed in yellow light from flickering fluorescent tubes that buzzed faintly overhead. A few students lingered, leaning against graffiti-scratched lockers, chatting half-heartedly. Most just looked tired.

Leo’s eyes landed on the heavy door marked Library, a place he usually avoided. Normally, once class ended, he was out the door in seconds. But today, something tugged at him. Curiosity. Maybe pride. Maybe both.

He pushed the door open.

Inside, the air felt completely different, cool, still, and smelling faintly of old paper and polished wood. The soft rustle of pages and the gentle scratching of pens filled the silence. It was almost sacred.

Rows of books stretched out endlessly, some spines faded, others gleaming new. His gaze landed on two titles sitting side by side: Precalculus and The Lord of the Rings. He chuckled under his breath. The universe had a sense of humor, logic and fantasy, shoulder to shoulder.

He reached for Precalculus, the heavy book cool in his hands. As he opened it, something clicked. The equations didn’t look like meaningless squiggles anymore. They made sense, clear, logical, almost beautiful.

He flipped through page after page, linear functions, inverses, matrices. The words felt alive. Trigonometry, which used to feel like a foreign language, suddenly unfolded in his mind, sine, cosine, tangent, all moving in perfect rhythm. Even complex numbers, once the monsters of math, revealed their patterns, elegant and precise.

For the first time, Leo didn’t just understand—he enjoyed it.

He was so absorbed he didn’t notice someone approach until a soft tap landed on his arm.

“Um… sorry,” a voice said.

He turned, startled, to see a girl about his age standing there, her cheeks flushed pink. She wore short pants and a yellow cropped T-shirt, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders. She looked both nervous and determined.

“Can I ask you a math question?” she asked, eyes hopeful.

Leo blinked, amused. “What makes you think I can answer it?”

She smiled sheepishly. “You just looked so focused—like you actually get this stuff.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright then. Let’s hear it.”

She unfolded a neatly written sheet. “Prove the Law of Sines for a triangle.”

Leo grinned. “Classic. Okay, picture this—you’ve got a triangle with sides a, b, c, and angles A, B, and C. Drop a line from angle A straight down to the opposite side—call that point D. Now, here’s where the fun starts. The ratio of each side to the sine of its opposite angle? Always the same. That’s your Law of Sines: a / sin(A) = b / sin(B) = c / sin(C). It’s how you solve any triangle, even when you don’t have all the info. Pretty neat, huh?”

The girl’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “That actually makes sense now!”

“Glad to help,” Leo said, scribbling a quick sketch on her page.

She smiled brightly. “Mind if I keep this? It’s perfect.”

“Go ahead.”

She turned to leave, then stopped halfway and looked back. “By the way, I never got your name.”

“Leo Archer,” he said.

“Nice! I’ll add you on Messenger later. Thanks again!” she said, flashing him a grin before hurrying off.

Leo chuckled to himself, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t even get her name. Smooth, Archer. Real smooth.”

Still smiling, he headed for the front desk. The librarian, a composed woman with silver glasses and eyes that seemed to read more than just books, looked up as he approached.

“Hi,” Leo said, flashing his best attempt at charm. “Mind if I borrow this Precalculus book? Gotta work on my math game.”

She adjusted her glasses, unimpressed but kind. “You’re welcome to. But please, keep your voice down next time. The library’s for quiet study.”

Leo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. Sorry about that. Got a little too into it.”

She gave a small nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I can tell.”

Book in hand, Leo left the library, feeling oddly light, like something inside him had just clicked into place.

He made his way to his next class, Polish. It was known around school as the chillest subject on the roster. The teacher didn’t try too hard, the students didn’t pretend to care too much, and somehow, everyone was okay with that.

As Leo slid into his seat, the familiar laid-back buzz of the class settled around him. For the first time in a long while, he felt at ease, not because things were easy, but because for once, he actually wanted to learn.