A trillionaire in university

Chapter 3: Penelope's High Before the Low

Penelope's High Before the Low

This chapter of my story revolves around an evil girl called Penelope and her wealthy family. It would not be an overstatement to call her the wicked witch of the west. Because that is what she was to me. Now, she's no more than a mere pauper begging at the sole of my feet. But back then, the sun was shining on her face. She wielded her privilege like a weapon, lashing out at anyone who dared to cross her path. To me, she was nothing more than a petty dictator, a spoiled brat drunk on her own power. But oh, how the mighty have fallen! Now, she grovels at my feet like a beggar. Her once-proud demeanor has been reduced to nothing more than a pathetic whimper. How ironic is it that her riches have turned to rags. The tables have turned, and the sun that once shone so brightly on her face has been eclipsed by the shadow of her own downfall. This was not the case in the year 2019; her reign of terror was still in full force.

Since the fire incident, my family and I had been living in a one-room rented apartment with no windows. We would always cuddle up together to provide ourselves warmth, even without blankets.

My father had been grievously injured in the fire lay in a hospital bed. With each passing day, the hospital bills mounted. My elder brother, Jason, rose to the occasion and went out to work. At just eighteen years old, he took on the role of breadwinner, working long hours as a security guard at the local supermarket to pay the hospital bills and put food on the table. My mother also had to work three jobs to make ends meet. Even with the ghastly situation, she still wanted my sister and me to attend school.

Beside me, Laura echoed despite the tears streaking her cheeks. "You and Jason can't do this alone," she added, her voice filled with conviction. "Let me work too. I'm sixteen years old now. I'm not too young to help."

My mother's eyes glistened with tears as she gathered us both into her embrace. "My darlings," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. "You have already done so much for our family. But your education is your ticket to a better future, and I won't let anything stand in the way of that."

"What's the point anyways? We don't have school uniforms, books or pencils. All the students will laugh at us," I said in a bare whisper as tears welled up in my eyes.

"Jessica Raye, you must never care about what people think of you." Her words pierced through like a ray of sunlight breaking through stormy clouds. "Treat their opinion as the sand you walk on- useless. Just go to school in whatever clothes you have and learn."

Then, she turned her weary face to my sister. "Laura, you must be knowledgeable to become somebody in the future. You and your sister must go to school."

I headed on to the public school I was enrolled in. As I walked in my slippers, it flipped and flopped in a very unpleasant manner. All the other students had pristine uniforms and polished shoes. I had worn the only dress I had. It was tattered and a little dirty but it was my favorite. Call it delusion, but I thought I looked cute. I shuffled along, ignoring the looks of disdain students threw my way. I stood out like a sore thumb in a sea of perfection but I didn't care. I sat down in class when Penelope Westwood walked in. The reigning queen bee of the mean girls sauntered into the classroom like she owned the place, her designer clothes clinging to her slender frame.

She wore a form-fitting blouse in a shade of soft pink that complemented her porcelain skin. It was paired with tailored trousers that accentuated her endless legs. She tossed her perfectly coiffed hair. A smirk playing at the corners of her glossy lips. In the social hierarchy, everyone knew she was at the very top.

On that day, she had picked poor little me as her prey. She leaned in to her friends, her voice dripping with disdain as she whispered loud enough for the whole class to hear.

"Oh my gosh, who is that girl and what in the world is she wearing?" she exclaimed with feigned horror. Her words were a cutting indictment of my appearance. They stung like a thousand tiny arrows.

I stood up and tried to defend myself. "They're vintage. My mom gave them to me."

"Those aren't even fashionable vintage, they're just old, dummy," Penelope retorted, eyeing me from head to toe.

The mocking laughter that followed only served to fuel her cruelty. Each snide remark was a dagger aimed at my already wounded pride.

"Look at her feets. She's wearing slippers to school," another student exclaimed with a loud gasp.

They all bust into an uncontrollable laughter again. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as I shrunk back in my seat. I felt the shame pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. In that moment, I longed to disappear, to fade into the background, for the ground to open up and swallow me.

Her perfectly manicured nails tapped impatiently against the desk as she continued. "Did you raid the thrift store before coming here? I didn't know they made dresses that ugly."

Her friends tittered with malicious amusement. Penelope added again, "I'll tell you the truth if no one else can." Her lip curled in disdain as she glanced at my worn slippers. "Those shoes look like they've seen better days. Did you find them in the trash or something?"

"Or did you borrow them from a homeless shelter?" Another voice rang out.

"I bet her family can't even afford to buy her a proper uniform," she sneered. Her words were like venomous snakes poised to strike. "No wonder she looks like she crawled out of a garbage dump."

She made me feel worthless. Just for the thrill of it. How could anyone be so casually cruel, I wondered? With each taunt, each mocking laugh, I felt a piece of my self-esteem crumble away, leaving me feeling smaller and smaller until I felt like a grain of sand. It was as if Penelope derived pleasure from my pain.

I walked back home with tears dripping down my cheeks.