Chapter 1
From my first year of high school until now, she had been calling me stupid for fifteen years.
At class reunions, in all kinds of group chats, whenever she had any chance to speak, Linda Warren would say, "Vivian? The dumbest student I ever taught."
In fifteen years, I never once talked back.
It wasn't that I didn't dare.
It was that there was no need.
Because the following month, she was bringing her son to our research institute.
She was coming to meet my advisor, Charles Lane.
Charles was her advisor too.
She didn't know.
The last PhD student Charles supervised was me.
*****
Back in my first year of high school, I ranked third in the whole grade on the placement test.
I scored a 98 in Math, an 87 in English Literature, and a 95 in Spanish.
My name was listed third on the hallway bulletin board.
Linda, my homeroom teacher, stood at the front of the class and read out the top ten names.
When she got to my name, she paused.
"Vivian Shaw, third in the grade," she said.
She looked up at me.
I thought she was going to praise me.
She snickered.
"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes," Linda said.
Everyone cracked up.
I was sitting in the third row, cheeks burning.
Linda smirked, "Don't blame me when you slip back to your usual self next time."
She put the report card aside and changed the subject.
No one thought there was anything wrong with what she said.
Not even me.
At the time, I thought maybe she was trying to push me to do better.
On the first monthly exam, I ranked fifth in the grade.
Linda glanced at my score.
"Not bad," she said.
She didn't say anything else.
On the midterm, I ranked second in the grade.
Linda barely glanced at my score.
"Who's sitting next to you?" she asked.
"Emily Donovan," I replied.
"Hmm," she said.
She didn't say anything else.
But the next day, I was moved to the back row.
The reason? The students sitting in front said I was always fidgeting during class.
I wasn't fidgeting.
I asked the student sitting in front of me.
He said, "I never said a word about you."
From then on, I was stuck in the back row.
Whenever I aced an exam, Linda always had something to say.
She'd say, "Vivian, making progress again?"
She'd smile.
But that smile wasn't genuine.
It was more like she didn't buy it.
"Did you get a tutor or something?" Linda asked.
"No," I replied.
"Then how do you keep scoring so high?"
She stared at me.
She said, "Back when you started, you were ranked thirty-eighth in the grade.
"Did you get a peek at the questions before the placement test?"
I started to say something, but the words wouldn't come.
"No," I managed to get out.
"Alright, you can go," she said, waving me away.
As I walked out of the office, I overheard Linda talking to the homeroom teacher from the neighboring class.
"I always feel like there's something wrong with Vivian's grades," Linda said.
I was fifteen that year.
I had no clue how much a teacher's random suspicion could wreck a student's confidence.
At the end of my first year of high school, I ranked first in the grade.
I thought for sure she'd finally acknowledge me this time.
She was reading out the grades in class.
When she got to my name, she paused.
"Vivian, first in the grade," she said.
Linda looked right at me.
"But—" she paused.
"The questions were pretty easy this time. Everyone did well," she said.
The whole class fell silent for a moment.
Then she went on reading the rest of the names.
Emily ranked eleventh in the grade.
When Linda called out her name, her voice softened noticeably.
"Emily, you've made great progress. Keep it up," she said.
She beamed at her.
"Emily has really worked hard this semester. You all should take a page from her book," Linda said.
I sat in the back row, watching her smile.
That smile was for someone else.
Not for me.
*****
During my junior year of high school, something happened that I still remember to this day.
It was the National High School Math League.
Each school only had two spots for the competition.
I came in first on the school's qualifying exam.
I scored 152 out of 160.
James Carter from the class next door got second with 141.
Emily was third with 128.
The spots should've been mine and James's.
When the results came out, the list read:
[James Carter.
[Emily Donovan.]
My name wasn't there.
I went to find Linda.
"Ms. Warren, about the competition spots—" I started.
"I know what you're here for," she said.
She never even looked up at me.
"After considering everything, Emily is a better fit," she said.
"But I got first place—" I protested.
"Grades aren't the only thing that matters."
She finally looked up at me.
"Competitions need mental toughness and the ability to handle stress. You're just not the type for this," she said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're just way too anxious. When it comes to the real competition, you'll freeze up."
I stared at her.
"I scored 152 on the qualifying exam," I said.
"I told you, it's not just about the scores," she replied.
Her voice went icy.
"You can go now," she said.
I stood there in the doorway, refusing to budge.
"Is there something else?" she asked.
"Emily only scored 128," I said.
Linda set her pen down.
"Vivian," she said.
She looked at me.
"Do you even know how to do as you're told?" she asked.
I left.
That night, when I got home, my mom was in the kitchen cooking.
She asked me about the competition.
I told her I wasn't selected.
She paused.
"Weren't you first place?" my mom asked.
"Ms. Warren said I'm not the right fit because of my personality," I replied.
She went quiet for a long time.
Then she finally said, "She probably has her reasons."
I stayed silent.
That year, Emily won third prize in the provincial math league.
James took first prize.
I didn't get anything.
Because I never even got the chance to compete.
Later, I found out that Emily's mom was Monica Donovan.
She was the deputy director of the city's education bureau.
At the parent-teacher conference, I found out something else.
Linda stood at the front of the class, reading out each student's ranking.
When she got to my name, she said, "Vivian's grades fluctuate a lot. She's just not consistent."
I was sitting in the third row. They'd moved me back for the parent-teacher conference so the parents could sit in the back.
My mom was sitting right next to me.
I could hear her breath catch.
After the meeting, Linda kept a few parents back for a private conversation.
My mom was among them.
I waited outside the classroom door.
Ten minutes later, my mom walked out.
Her eyes were red and puffy.
"Mom—" I started.
"Let's go," she said.
She took my hand and led me out.
Once we were outside the school gates, she finally spoke.
"Ms. Warren said," she began.
She paused.
"She said your brain doesn't work right," my mom said.
I froze.
She said, "She told me not to waste money on tutoring.
"She said you'd be lucky to even get into a community college."
I stood at the school gate, staring at my mom.
She tried to smile.
That was the kind of smile one put on just to keep from falling apart.
"It's alright, sweetie. I don't believe a word she says," my mom told me.
She squeezed my hand.
"I know you're smart, honey," she said.
That night, I was in my room, working on some problems.
I heard voices coming from the living room.
My mom was on the phone.
She said, "Her teacher says she's not smart enough.
"I know that's not true, but when the teacher says it...
"I'll find a way to cover the tutoring costs."
Her voice got softer and softer.
Finally, I heard her sigh.
I crumpled up my test paper in frustration.
From that day on, I never said another word to Linda unless I absolutely had to.
*****
It wasn't until after I graduated that I found out what really happened during my senior year.
When it was time to choose colleges, my mock exam scores were always in the top five of the class.
With grades like mine, I could've shot for a top-tier university and, at the very least, gotten into a solid one.
But on the recommendation form, Linda put down: [I suggest you apply to a state college.]
My mom saw the form and paused, uncertain.
"Should we play it safe?" she asked.
I refused.
I put down one of the best schools down south on my application.
I got accepted.
But something went wrong with my admission.
I didn't make the cut for early admission.
They ended up sticking me in some obscure major.
At the time, I had no idea why.
It wasn't until my sophomore year that I went back to my high school to pick up my files.