Everlasting Fire

"Every setback you face, turn it into a stepping stone."

"Miss Evelyn," calmly exclaimed Mrs. Jones, my Bio cluster and Genetics professor, a look of surprise in her eyes. I met her gaze with apologetic eyes, nervously clutching the strap of my bag on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, professor," I stammered, becoming aware of several curious eyes on me.

Pushing her red-rimmed glasses further up her nose, Mrs. Jones gave me a stern look. "Do you realize that you are almost twenty-five minutes late to class?"

"I know, but someone—"

"No excuses. You must not be late to class. Either be on time or don't come at all."

Dropping my gaze from her to the floor, I acknowledged Mrs. Jones's reputation as a somewhat hot-headed lady. Despite her kindness, she could be intimidating. Being late to her class was unheard of, yet it happened to me. A girl accidentally spilled her drink on me before class, and I had gone to clean up. Unfortunately, I missed the bell signaling the start of Mrs. Jones's class.

"If you were just five minutes late, Ms. Evelyn, it might have been acceptable. However, you were twenty-five minutes late, which is quite significant."

"I apologize," I stammered, feeling uneasy under the scrutiny of many eyes.

"I regret to inform you that I'll have to deduct one point from your academic performance," stated Mrs. Jones.

"No!" I exclaimed. "Please, Mrs. Jones, reconsider. It won't happen again, I promise."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't, Ms. Evelyn. Do you realize your poor performance on the last test?" she inquired.

I remained silent, recalling my struggles with difficult concepts and the limited study time due to my part-time job.

"Do you even remember terms like Centimorgan, Aneuploidy, Monosomy, and Trisomy? You studied these in your AP Biology class in high school," Mrs. Jones questioned.

I sheepishly smiled. "Centimorgan is a... genetic disorder where a person has, um, three copies of a chromosome instead of two," I answered hesitantly.

"That is Trisomy, not Centimorgan," she corrected.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I quickly replied, avoiding eye contact.

"You don't know what that is? Two points will be deducted. I don't want you in my class today," she calmly declared.

I left without further argument, spending the rest of the time studying in the library. Determined not to repeat the mistake, I made sure to arrive early for the next class.

Entering the class, I observed my classmates chatting happily. I took my seat at the far corner, away from the lecturer's view, and focused on my book. While not exceptionally bright, I performed well in most subjects except for Bio Cluster/Genetics.

As the professor arrived, I paid attention to the lecture, taking notes diligently.

Outside of academics, I considered Bella, my best friend at the café, and Mrs. Zoe, the café owner, as my family. Mrs. Zoe, having lost her daughter in a car accident, treated me like her own, and I cherished our relationship. Despite my tardiness, I felt reassured that they would understand.

I observed her scolding a classmate who had spoken rudely to her. Disliking my classmates wasn't about their wealth, as they were all affluent unlike me. It was their behavior and manner of speaking that bothered me. Many people avoided interacting with me due to my lower status, but I wasn't impoverished; Mrs. Zoe paid me well. Some seemed friendly, but I sensed it was out of pity, and I longed for genuine friends. My difficulty in reading people might contribute to this, perhaps fueled by my inferiority complex.

After an hour of Mrs. Zoe's teaching, the class concluded. As I exited, someone shoved me, causing my books to fall. I turned to glare at the perpetrator, Ashley James, who walked past without noticing my reaction. "Can't you walk properly?" I retorted, but she continued on without acknowledgment.

"You're in my way," she sneered, casting an incredulous look my way. "And did you just touch me?!" Her expression shifted to horror.

"I don't touch unpleasant things. I'm pretty sure you pushed me," I asserted. While I wasn't one to conform, I couldn't stay silent when faced with such situations.

"What did you call me?" She moved closer, gripping my arm with her perfectly manicured nails, digging into my skin.

"You're a piece of crap. Get your claws off me," I retorted, wriggling my hand free from her tight grasp.

"Shut up, you...you bitch!" She released my hand and glared at me. "You deserve what you got."

"What do you mean?"

"I firmly told her not to discuss my life, emphasizing that she had no right to comment on it. Without waiting for her response, I swiftly left the classroom.

Despite not caring about others' opinions, certain remarks stung. Losing my parents at thirteen led me to be adopted by my kind uncle and aunt. They provided a loving upbringing despite their financial struggles. Feeling like a burden, I decided to live independently at eighteen, renting a small room and working as a waitress in a café. This change occurred almost two years ago when I was a college freshman.

Ashley's insensitive comments about my life puzzled me. I had done nothing to deserve such treatment. She couldn't comprehend the pain of losing parents, and I hoped she never would. Despite the emotional turmoil, I remained resilient, recognizing my strength.