Chapter 2
Bailey Taylor, the archivist, was an old friend of my mom's.
She quietly let me take a peek at my comprehensive evaluation.
That was when I saw what Linda had written.
It read: [This student struggles to learn, never takes the initiative to study on her own, is just average in class, and doesn't work well with others. Not recommended for top universities.]
I stared at those lines.
I read each word, slowly.
[Struggles to learn.
[Never takes the initiative.
[Not recommended for top universities.]
My hands were shaking.
"Ms. Taylor," I said.
"Yeah?" she replied.
"I was always in the top five of my grade during every mock exam in my senior year."
Bailey went quiet.
"I know," she said.
She looked at me.
"But this evaluation was written by your homeroom teacher, and the school made it official," she said.
I stood there in the records room, staring at that file.
There was Linda's signature.
There was also the school's official stamp.
The date was the end of the first semester of my senior year.
Back then, I thought she was just making comments.
It turned out that she'd put it in my file.
It was all written down.
And it was official.
I flipped to the last page of the file.
There was a letter tucked inside.
On the envelope, it said: [To: Professor Charles Lane
[From: Linda]
It was dated twenty years ago.
The envelope wasn't sealed.
I pulled it out and took a look.
The first line read:
[Professor Lane, I'm Linda, your master's student from the class of 2003.]
The last line said:
[I hope you'll give me another chance.]
I didn't know why this letter was in my file.
But I remembered one name.
Charles Lane.
*****
It wasn't until my second year as a PhD student that I finally figured out who Charles really was.
I didn't go searching for him.
He found me first.
That year, the university hosted the Young Scholars Forum, and I sent in a paper about computational neuroscience.
After the forum ended, a man in his sixties approached me.
"Are you Vivian?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"I've read your paper," he said.
He handed me his business card.
It read: [Charles Lane.
[Center for Advanced Brain and Intelligence Research.
[Researcher.
[PhD advisor.]
"Would you be interested in coming to my lab for your PhD?" he asked.
I was stunned.
"Professor Lane..." I said.
"I've looked over your resume," he said.
He adjusted his glasses.
"You got placed in a random major for your undergrad, but managed to transfer into computational mathematics by yourself, and you won a national scholarship for your master's," he said.
He looked at me.
"Your mathematical intuition is outstanding. You're better than most students I've ever mentored," he said.
That night, I sat in my dorm and Googled Charles.
When I saw the list of his students, my heart skipped a beat.
It read: [Master's program, Class of 2003.
[Linda Warren.
[Finished the coursework.]
She hadn't graduated.
She just finished the classes.
Linda spent three years on her master's but never got her degree.
I stared at the screen for a long time.
She used to be Charles's student.
She never made it to graduation.
And now, Charles wanted to take me on as his PhD student.
My hand, still holding the glass, froze halfway to my lips.
The next day, I went to Charles's office.
"Professor Lane, I have a question for you," I said.
"Go ahead," he replied.
"Do you remember Linda Warren, your master's student from the class of 2003?"
Charles took off his glasses and wiped them.
"Yeah," he said.
He looked at me.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"She was my high school homeroom teacher," I said.
Charles was silent for a few seconds.
"Your homeroom teacher?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.
He set the cloth down.
"I remember her," he said.
He said, "She wasn't cut out for research, but she was always very proud.
"I suggested she change directions, but she refused. In the end, she failed her thesis defense."
Charles looked at me.
"So she ended up teaching high school?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Is she a good teacher?"
I kept quiet.
He didn't push it.
He said, "Vivian, come do your PhD with me. You're nothing like her."
I did it.
I spent four years working on my PhD.
I published two papers in top journals and one in a Nature journal.
When I graduated, Charles wrote in my recommendation letter:
[Vivian is one of the most gifted students I've ever had in my thirty years of teaching.]
I stared at those words.
And I remembered another line.
Linda had said, "Vivian? The dumbest student I ever taught."
After I got my PhD, I stayed at the research institute.
I became an associate researcher.
I was a core member of the research team.
Charles put me in charge of the lab's recruitment interviews.
It was September, graduate school application season.
The class group chat suddenly lit up.
Someone sent a message: [Ms. Warren's son is applying to grad school this year. He's going for neuroscience.]
Right after that, Linda herself chimed in: [Henry's first choice is the National Center for Advanced Brain and Intelligence Research, Professor Charles Lane's group.]
She added a smiley face.
She added: [I was Professor Lane's student back in the day, so Henry's basically following in my academic footsteps.]
The group chat was full of compliments.
[Ms. Warren, your son's got this in the bag.]
[Great teachers raise great students, and Ms. Warren was Professor Lane's student herself.]
I watched the messages scroll by.
I didn't reply.
Because this year, I was the lead interviewer for Charles's research group.
*****
The class group chat was buzzing for three days.
Linda was all over the chat, posting message after message.
[Henry's always been good at math. Takes after me.
[Professor Lane used to say I had real academic potential, but I decided to go into teaching.
[After a lifetime of teaching, I've mentored students everywhere.]
Someone chimed in: [Ms. Warren, you're being too modest. If you'd kept going for your PhD, you'd be a professor by now.]
Linda sent a smug emoji.
She replied: [Well, not necessarily. I really enjoy working with students.]
I scrolled through the chat history.
And then I stopped at one message: [Professor Lane used to say I had real academic potential.]
I remembered what Charles had told me.
He said, "She wasn't cut out for research, but she was always very proud.
"She failed her thesis defense."
She claimed Charles saw her as someone with academic potential.
But Charles said she wasn't cut out for research.
'So which was the truth?' Vivian wondered.
It didn't matter anymore.
The real thing now? She was bringing her son.
She brought her son to meet Charles and interview for a spot in our research group.
I opened my laptop and looked over this year's applicant list.
It read: [Henry Warren.
[Entrance exam score: 362.
[Rank: 11th.]
This year, our group was only admitting three students.
Only the top ten from the entrance exam would be invited to the interview.
He missed the cutoff by one spot.
But if the advisor was willing to make an exception, it wasn't impossible.
Linda clearly knew that.
She posted in the class group chat: [Henry just missed the cutoff by a little, but I'll talk to Professor Lane about it. After all, I was his student.]
She added: [Next week, I'll take Henry to the research institute to have a look around, and maybe pay Professor Lane a visit while we're there.]
I set my phone down.
She was coming next week.
She had no idea who was waiting for her here.
She had no clue about the recommendation Charles wrote for me.
It read: [Vivian is one of the most gifted students I've ever had in my thirty years of teaching.]
She was even more unaware that the advisor from her unfinished doctoral program had taken on her "dumbest student."
I poured myself a glass of water.
I took a sip.
Then I brought up a snapshot of my old student file.
That comprehensive evaluation.
It read: [Struggles to learn. Not recommended for top universities.]
There was Linda's signature.
Then and there was the school's official stamp.
I'd held onto this photo for ten years.
Now, I could finally put it to use.