CLAIMER: This plot is by my sister. She never completed her plot. But she told me her idea. She never finished the second chapter of her story. So I took her plot and changed it into Sakura style. But I don't have the heart to steal her exact words for the first chapter, so I have warped it, warped it into my own style and words. All this credit goes to Angela Sun. My dear, beloved sister, the greatest writer I have ever known. And if I ever find a story like this one, almost exactly like this one, with almost the same plot and was made AFTER this story. That story will be demolished under my word. Because I would not like my sister's plot in anyone else's hand but mine.

DISCLAIMER: No, the main characters of this story is not mine to claim, only the plot and my genius.

"Why'd you do it anyway?"

I shrugged.

"Come on, you can tell me."

I shrugged again, then, turning around, showed that I would not give a reply to him. He wasn't special out of all the people at all. So why should I tell him?

"Why won't you tell me?"

Why did I have to tell him? I walked away, but he didn't seem to understand that I wasn't ever going to reply to his questions. That I wasn't ever going to even speak to him.

"Look Sakura, we probably got off in the wrong start, can't you forgive me?"

I kept walking, I began walking faster. I didn't like him at all, and I had never given him permission to call me by my first name. What does he want? He's an idiot, can't he figure it out himself? But no, he has to keep on following me until it's beginning to dig into a dead end of my patience.

I spin around. I glare at him, "What do you want from me?"

He shrugs this time. It's his turn to say nothing. He gives me that cool, composed look. He doesn't blink, not a wink of the eye. He doesn't twitch, he's not afraid of a slap on his cheek. What did he want?

His mouth opens, "I just want to know."

"Know what? Know why two times two is two?" My whole body is heating up.

"No, I want to know why you keep saying no."

My stiff shoulders relax a little bit, and then I feel my body trembling. And then I throw my head back, letting out short feathers of breath, out in a peal of laughter.

He looks uneasy now, "Why do you laugh?"

I stop laughing, but a smile has crept onto my face. A tricky smile.

"Because you're so stupid."

His face screws up, "What?"

I say it again, "Because you're so stupid."

I put my head back again, to laugh. I enjoyed the words slipping out of my mouth. I enjoyed calling him stupid. It was just so fun.

"I'm not stupid."

I glare back at him. I've stopped smiling, "I know that. You're a genius. You know everything about math, you know everything about science, and you can read a million languages. So? What's the point? I'd rather be stupid."

He stares at me, "You're not stupid either."

I roll my head, trying to get the wisps of my hair out of my face, "I know that too. I'm a genius too. So what? Don't we all get stupid sometimes? I'm sure you are right now."

His tongue comes out to moisture his lips. It was hot outside, the sun glowering at us, making us sweat. I just brushed my hand over my forehead, and then turned around. I was tired of talking to such a stupid guy like him. I needed to go home and rest, then work.

But he wasn't tired of asking so many questions. He wasn't going to let me rest until I answered them all.

"So tell me already. Why did you do that?"

I'm not stopping. I'm not stopping because a fool like him wants to know why I did something. What was the point?

Finally, I realize it's pointless. He's just going to keep following me, and at the end, I'll have to give up to his stupid question. So why not just tell him already and have him leave me alone? No, I can't do that either, because if I ever do tell him. He's never going to leave me alone again. Never. So, I guess it's a draw.

"Why do you want to know anyway?"

He stands there, stunned. Perhaps he'll stay stunned forever, and I can make my run. No, I'd rather stay here and watch as the 'genius' stumbles over his words.

But then, he shrugs, "I just do."

I cross my arms, "No one else cares so much."

He looks around for a backup plan, for something to help him. That means the john. But I can see no tension in him, no wobbly knees. So obviously, that plan wouldn't work anyway. What he needs to do is to LEAVE ME ALONE.

"Leave me alone." I say plainly and slowly, making sure he digests every word.

I am finally free at last, and I make my way to my dorm.

But no, he has to say it, "I know it now. I know it all now."

"You want to take over the world."

"Sakura Kinomoto."

I put down my hand, "That's wrong."

The teacher looks at me strangely, "What's wrong?"

I point to the board he had been writing on, "It's all wrong. Everything is wrong."

People stare my way.

I ignore them.

The teacher takes a look back at the board, "I don't see anything wrong. The equation is correct…"

It's all wrong, "You think it's correct because you did the equation right. But the equation isn't right either. It's all wrong. The answer is wrong. The equation is wrong. The work is wrong. It's all wrong."

The teacher is getting impatient, and mad. His face turns red as the students are re-doing the equation, "I'm the teacher here Kinomoto, I know how to do these problems."

I'm getting impatient too, "It's wrong. It's all wrong."

The teacher is almost screaming now, "Tell me than, tell me what's wrong."

I shrug, "Ok, the answer is three."

The teacher roars, "Three! The answer can't be so simple! It should be a square root or decimal or…"

"That's where you're wrong. Why does the answer have to be so complicated? Why not a simple three? And why is the equation so hard too? There's a two-step equation. A two-step equation."

People are confused.

The teacher is red in the face, and he cries, "For heavens sake! I teach math for fifty years and this kid tells me everything is wrong! WHAT is wrong?"

"Everything."

He throws his clipboard to the floor; he pulls at his hair and screams.

I sit back quietly, watching. He's done it all wrong. And I show everybody. He's wrong. I'm right.

And then I became known as the genius. Because I am a genius, I was born as a genius.

Then he had to come along. He had to come too. And he had to be a genius too.

And then he was known as the genius guy. I was the genius girl.

But I don't care that he's a genius. I don't care that I'm a genius. I'd rather be stupid. I'd like to be stupid. But I'm not.

What I care about is that I don't like to be questioned. I don't like people questioning me. Asking me why. Asking me how. Asking me what. Because I hate questions, and I hate answers.

And he had to come along.

He had to come to sit with me during lunch.

He had to be in my classes.

He had to be my partner for everything.

And I would be fine with that.

I wouldn't care.

But he has questions.

He has questions in his mind every second. Every day. He asks me every second, every day. Why.

And then I care. Because I hate questions, and I hate answers. I'd rather be stupid. I'd like to be stupid. So no one has to ask me. No one has to ask me why or what or how. Because I would be stupid and I wouldn't have questions or answers. But I'm not stupid. I'm a genius. I had to be a genius. And he had to be a genius too.

He had to be a genius.

He couldn't be stupid.

He doesn't want to be stupid.

Because he can see things that other people can't see.

And he's like me.

But he's not like me at all.

We're both geniuses.

But I don't want to be a genius at all, and I hate questions. And I hate answers.

And I can see things other people can't see. I can see answers. I can see questions. I can see the why, and the what, and the how. Things that other people can't see.

And he can see it too. He can see that I'm a genius.

But even someone stupid could see that I was a genius.

But he can see farther than that.

He can see something that no one else can see.

"You're stupid."

I wish he were stupid.

"I'd like to be stupid."

I wish I were stupid.

Than we could be living normal lives, we could be living without questions and answers. We could live a life. A normal, stupid, and dull life.

But we don't.

We're geniuses.

And he can see it. He can see what I want to do with my genius. He knows can see what I'll do with my genius later on. He can see why I correct all these teachers, yet I hate answers.

I tell him he's stupid.

"You're so stupid."

I wish he were stupid. So then he wouldn't see it.

"But I'm not."

But he's not. He's a genius.

"I'd rather be stupid."

I wish I were stupid.

"But you're not."

But I'm not. I'm a genius.

He knows what I'm going to do with my genius.

I'm going to take over the world.