"Life is not easy for any of us. But what of that? We must have perseverance and above all confidence in ourselves."
- Marie Curie
Cleo's POV
She was late.
It was Monday-the first day of the week. The busiest morning of all. The streets outside the school were alive with movement. Cars honked impatiently. Students rushed through the gates, their backpacks bouncing against their shoulders as they hurried toward their classrooms.
Everyone seemed to be running somewhere.
Everyone except the one person I was waiting for.
Kiekie was late.
I glanced at the clock above the chalkboard.
7:59 a.m.
We had just entered the classroom after devotion, yet her seat remained empty. My eyes kept drifting toward the door, hoping it would open at any moment.
But it didn't.
A strange knot formed in my stomach.
I tried to calm myself. Maybe she was just stuck in traffic. Maybe she overslept. Maybe-
But none of those possibilities comforted me.
For the past eleven years, Kiekie and I had been inseparable. We weren't just friends anymore.
She was the sister I never had.
And it hurt me-deeply-every time I saw the way people treated her. The whispers. The mocking laughter. The cruel jokes from classmates who should have known better.
Even worse were the things her parents said to her.
Sometimes I wondered how she managed to wake up every morning and still come to school.
My father once told me something I would never forget.
"People will always try to make you feel weak and useless when they know you are stronger than they are. They stop only when you learn to believe in yourself."
He said that to me during one of the hardest periods of my life. So I knew exactly what it felt like to be judged... to be misunderstood.
But this wasn't my story.
Not today.
Today, I wanted to tell Kiekie's story.
Mine would come later in another book I plan to write someday. I've already chosen the title:
Never Give Up.
It will be part of my Belief Series.
But first, the world needs to know about Kiekie.
---
The classroom door opened.
Mr. Randolph walked in.
It was exactly 8:00 a.m.
He was our chemistry teacher-a tall man with graying hair and a calm, disciplined presence. The moment he stepped inside, the room fell into its usual quiet order.
Chemistry was Kiekie's favorite subject.
Which made her absence even more worrying.
I lowered my head slightly and whispered a silent prayer.
Dear Lord... please let her arrive before first period ends.
---
Time moved painfully slowly.
The clock ticked louder than usual, each second stretching longer than the last.
Then finally-
8:39 a.m.
The classroom door creaked open.
Kiekie stood there.
She looked nervous. Anxious. Her hand still rested on the doorknob as if she wasn't sure she should come in.
Even from across the room, I could feel the tension surrounding her.
Her chest rose and fell quickly, as though she had been running. Her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose, and her wide eyes darted nervously across the classroom.
If hearts made sound, hers would probably be beating like a victory drum during a festival.
Unfortunately, I couldn't hear it.
I'm human-not a werewolf.
And besides, my seat was far from the door.
I sat on the third seat in the third row to the left. Kiekie's seat was the second seat in that same row.
But distance didn't stop me from noticing her fear.
You learn things like that in psychology-how to read emotions through body language. Especially the eyes.
And Kiekie's eyes said everything.
Fear.
Embarrassment.
Anticipation.
Mr. Randolph glanced at the clock, then at her.
For a moment, the entire class held its breath.
Finally, he nodded.
"You may come in."
Kiekie bowed her head slightly. "Good morning, sir."
Her voice was soft.
Then she walked quickly to her seat-so quickly it almost looked like vampire speed walking.
A few students snickered.
Our class had thirty-eight students.
Thirty-four were normal.
Four were not.
Amanda. Annette. Danielle. And Chuck.
Those four seemed to hate Kiekie more than they hated the devil himself.
Chuck's father happened to be one of the largest shareholders in Kiekie's father's kernel oil company. That connection somehow made Chuck believe he had the right to humiliate her whenever he wanted.
And he used that right often.
Today was no different.
Because Kiekie was late, they decided to call the principal on her.
Just to make things worse.
But Kiekie did what she always did.
She ignored them.
Quietly.
Gracefully.
She sat down without saying a word.
---
A few minutes later, Mr. Randolph began discussing the quiz we had written the previous Friday.
He had promised something interesting that day.
The student with the highest score would be invited to celebrate his birthday dinner this coming Friday.
Naturally, everyone was curious.
Mr. Randolph always arranged the quiz papers in descending order.
Lowest scores first.
One by one, he called names and handed out the papers.
The room filled with small reactions-groans, sighs, and the occasional celebration.
But one paper remained on his desk.
Kiekie's.
Whispers began spreading through the classroom.
Cruel whispers.
The kind that pretend to be jokes but feel like knives.
Kiekie slowly lowered her head onto her desk.
From where I sat, I could see her shoulders trembling slightly.
She was crying.
And that broke something inside me.
People say you eventually get used to cruel words.
But that isn't true.
Not really.
Words can bruise the soul in ways that time doesn't easily heal.
You only learn to survive them when you gain control over your own mind-when you stop allowing others to decide your worth.
Kiekie hadn't reached that point yet.
And I hated that for her.
Because she was brilliant.
One of the best science students in the entire school.
Meanwhile, I was an arts student. I had inherited my love for writing from my late mother, who was a journalist.
Still, our school forced everyone to study all fourteen subjects.
According to the administrators, "Some students are still in a state of dilemma about their future."
In other words, they believed some of us hadn't figured out what we wanted to become.
---
Finally, after what felt like centuries, Mr. Randolph picked up the last paper.
"Kiekie Johnson."
The room went silent.
She slowly lifted her head.
"Yes... sir?"
Mr. Randolph adjusted his glasses and looked directly at her.
"Highest score in the class."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then whispers exploded again-this time filled with disbelief.
But I didn't care about them.
I was too busy smiling.
I felt proud.
So proud.
I always knew she was amazing.
From the very first day we met.
Back then, Kiekie couldn't even speak English.
She only spoke French.
She had just arrived from Ivory Coast-Côte d'Ivoire.
Since she had been homeschooled there, she rarely heard English being spoken.
Our classmates used that against her.
They mocked her accent. They laughed when she struggled to find the right words.
But the first time I greeted her in French, her entire face lit up.
Her eyes sparkled with relief.
And from that moment, we became best friends.
I helped her learn English.
She helped me improve my French.
Simple.
Equal.
Friendship.
And from the beginning, I knew something about Kiekie Johnson.
She wasn't ordinary.
She was created for greatness.
Edited: January 11, 2023