Tardiness.

  It is this word—more precisely, its meaning—that ruins my first day at the institute.

  The freshmen are cheerfully celebrating the start of the academic year. Their joyful shouts, echoing since the evening, are one of the reasons I end up in this situation. I don’t join their party and have no intention of doing so. To me, such gatherings are nothing more than noisy and chaotic crowds that only get in the way of focusing.

  Drunken students drinking under the dorm windows keep me awake until morning. The noise, the shouting, and their jokes make me toss and turn in bed. By morning, I am so exhausted that I sleep through my alarm. It is a good thing I always set several alarms, but this time, they play a cruel trick on me. When my roommate, Dimka, finally has enough of my alarm, he kicks my bed and mutters:

  "Either you turn it off now, or I’ll turn you off. Got it?"

  I have no choice but to comply.

  Once I am fully awake, I glance at the clock and feel a wave of panic. I am already twenty minutes late, and it turns out my alarms have gone off three times in a row. No wonder Dimka is so angry—his nerves can’t take that much noise.

  I get dressed in a hurry, listening to his cursing, but I no longer care—I have to get to the institute as soon as possible. I quickly pull on dark blue trousers, a blazer, a white shirt, and a black tie. I have kept this style since my time at the boarding school—simple and practical, which is important at moments like this. I rush out of the room and, after reaching the institute, dash through its corridors. Anxiety churns inside me, but I know—twenty-five minutes late is already too much. Even so, I still hope to catch at least part of the class.

  Reaching the classroom, I stop to catch my breath. The air in the hallway is fresh, carrying a light morning chill. Suddenly, I hear laughter and music coming from behind the door. These are modern hits, which seem odd for an educational institution. Listening closely, I can make out the professor’s voice trying to restore order in the lecture hall.

  When I open the door, I immediately apologize:

  “Sorry for being late. It won’t happen again.”

  “It’s been a long time since anyone apologized to me.” I hear a female voice with a slight chuckle. “Well, alright, I’ll forgive you this time.”

  The room bursts into laughter, and I freeze, trying to understand what is going on. Looking up, I see a scene that is completely unexpected for an economics class.

  The girl standing at the blackboard shatters every stereotype about how a student should look during a lecture. Her style is bold and daring. A black blouse paired with short shorts is an unusual choice for a university setting, while a leather jacket gives her look an even sharper edge. Sneakers and fingerless gloves seem like an extension of her rebellious image and charm. The confidence with which she holds the chalk and writes on the board leaves no doubt—she knows exactly what she is doing.

  Her hair is thick, a warm shade of brown. Among the strands, like tongues of flame, locks of deep scarlet stand out, giving her an air of dangerous allure that mesmerizes anyone who dares to look. Light makeup, with an emphasis on her eyes, makes her gaze even more striking.

  Despite her short height—around one meter sixty—she radiates confidence and strength. Her look is far from university standards, but that is precisely what makes her so captivating.

  How do they even let her into class dressed like that? This is definitely not a typical university style.

  “Who are you?” I can’t hold back my curiosity.

  “I’m a freshman. My name’s Katrin. And you?” The girl is without a hint of embarrassment, as if what is happening doesn’t concern her at all.

  I open my mouth to answer, but at that moment, the professor—whom everyone has apparently forgotten about—speaks up. He is sitting at his desk, barely managing to stay in his chair, occasionally attempting to stand, though his movements are unsteady.

  “It won’t be long. Once I get off this chair, she’ll be out of here in no time. Just wait, you little brat,” the man hisses, shaking his clenched fist.

  However, Katrin pays no attention to his threats, merely smirking. She returns to the board, continuing to draw. Her movements are smooth and confident, and the drawing becomes increasingly complex and vivid. She keeps chatting with her classmates, her voice steady, her body swaying slightly to the rhythm of the music, adding an air of mystery to her actions.

  Shocked by her audacity, I decide to leave and report her to the rector. But just as I am about to, the bell rings for a break. Turning around, I continue on my way. I know some might call me a snitch, but I see her behavior as pure mockery. Katrin has gone too far, and I’m not about to tolerate her arrogance or let her continue humiliating others.

  When I reach the office and am about to knock, I suddenly feel someone grab my wrist. It is Katrin. My heart pounds faster as her fingers tighten around my hand, and her gaze is so piercing it feels like she can see right through me.

  “Planning to rat out?” The girl’s voice is harsh and threatening.

  “No. Because I’m not a rat, I’m a decent person, unlike some.”

  I am sure I won’t let this girl win our verbal battle. Her eyes show mockery and disdain, as if she has already decided I am too weak to fight back.

  “Oh, you mean me? Sure, sure, Nerd.” Her laughter feels like a blow to my self-esteem. I can feel her words leaving a mark that won’t be so easy to erase.

  “Just because I’m a straight-A student doesn’t mean you should call me that.”

  “I didn’t call you that. Your outfit did. Look at yourself—you just need glasses to complete the look.”

  These words hurt, but I can’t let her see my weakness.

  “The break is almost over, I don’t have time for you and your insults. I have to see the rector.”

  “Yeah, please. I won’t stop a respected person from snitching on others.”

  Stepping back, she knocks on the rector’s office door. Hearing the permission to enter, she opens it with an innocent, almost playful smile. That is her final mockery before I step into the office.

  I enter the office with a confident posture, although inside, I am still burning from her words. I try to show that her threats and mockery don’t affect me.

  “Yes? What brings you here?” the man behind the desk asks, his face strict and unreadable.

  “The bullying of the lecturer from room 105.”

  “Who bullied him? You?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

  “No, a first-year girl named Katrin. I don’t know her last name. She smeared glue on his chair, and he got stuck to it. He’s still sitting there,” I explain, though my voice still betrays my emotions.

  “Alright. You may go. I’ll take care of it,” the rector reassures me, and I have no choice but to leave.

  I still haven’t gotten over what has happened, but I know I have to move on. Just before I leave, I hear the rector, sounding irritated, making a phone call. His voice wavers with tension, as though he is struggling to stay composed.

  As I step out of the office, I slow my pace, expecting to see Katrin with her self-satisfied smirk, but she is nowhere in sight. The silence of the corridor hangs heavily in the air, leaving an odd feeling of foreboding. The bell rings, signaling the start of the class. I absentmindedly head toward the lecture hall but notice that the students are moving in the opposite direction—as if following an unspoken agreement.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Where are you going?” I ask them, feeling a growing sense of confusion.

  No one replies. The silence only intensifies my discomfort.

  Suddenly, someone grabs my wrist. Turning around, I see Katrin. Her gaze is filled with confidence, and her eyes sparkle with triumph—as if the game is already over, and I have become part of her plan. She tugs me toward the third floor, not caring about my resistance. Her grip is strong, like that of a predator unwilling to let go of its prey. I feel the protest rising in my chest, but I can’t break free.

  “Due to a minor incident, we’ve been moved to a different classroom. They’ll give us a different lecturer temporarily,” she says, not looking back. Her voice is calm, as if everything happening is just part of an ordinary day. But beneath the apparent serenity, there is mockery. Her words are like a spark to the anger that has been smoldering deep inside me.

  “A minor incident that YOU caused!” I can’t hold back my rage. Katrin stops and turns to me with a playful, yet cynical expression.

  “Nerd! I just wanted to have some fun,” she says, feigning offense and speaking so easily as if this is just another prank.

  “It’s funny when everyone’s having fun, not when there’s a victim,” I step closer, responding to her.

  I yank my arm out of her grip, putting all my emotions into the movement. The girl only smiles, tilting her head slightly as if studying my reaction, like a predator toying with its prey.

  “Oh, are you upset because you missed all the fun? Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you, and next time, I’ll wait for you!” She winks at me.

  Before I can respond, we enter the classroom. Katrin, as usual, drags me by the hand to her desk. I try to resist, but it’s too late—she sits next to me. Now I have to spend forty minutes with her, and I doubt I can keep my composure.

  However, to my surprise, she doesn’t bother me and just stares at her phone screen as if everything around her is irrelevant. Maybe she’ll leave me alone, and I’ll be able to study in peace?

  But just as the lecture starts, the very same lecturer, the one whom Katrin has tormented in the previous classes, walks in.

  “Katrin Kamenskaya and Maxim Krylov, both of you, with me, to the rector’s office,” he calls us.

  The tension grows, but I just smirk and glance at Katrin. She doesn’t even look at me—all her attention is fixed on the phone screen, as though she has no doubt that she’ll get away with it. We stand up and follow the lecturer. Katrin, as always, takes my arm.

  In the rector’s office, the lecturer begins to speak with a trembling voice, recounting the horrors he has endured because of her antics. His words thunder, breaking the silence. He doesn’t hide either his anger or his helplessness.

  “What is this girl doing?!” he exclaims, looking at us with disdain. “I just don’t understand how people like her even make it into university! Can you imagine what she did in the classroom? This isn’t a prank; it’s outright bullying!” His face is burning with anger.

  He continues, not hiding his fury:

  “When I sat at the desk, this... this Katrin, instead of listening to the lecture, got up, turned on loud music, and started giving her own ‘lecture.’ It was unbearable! I tried to stop her, but the chair was old, without wheels, and I literally got stuck to it! Could I get up? No! And she, apparently, thinks it’s funny!” The lecturer is so angry that his voice is cracking, turning hoarse. He goes on to describe how Katrin has behaved with complete disrespect for him and the other students.

  “And not a shred of shame in her eyes!” he adds, barely holding himself back. “She caused chaos, and I was stuck in the chair, trying to figure out how this was even possible!”

  The culprit, as always, shows no signs of regret. She sits there with a blank expression, not even glancing at the lecturer. A strange feeling overwhelms me, a mix of irritation and pity. He clearly isn’t amused, but for Katrin, this is all just a game.

  “Well, are you going to expel her?” the lecturer demands, finishing his emotional outburst, and looks up at the rector, leaning on the desk.

  “No.”

  The lecturer is stunned, unable to believe that nothing will come of it.

  “No, then no. Can I leave now?” Katrin asks with icy calm, as though nothing extraordinary has happened. Her eyes are cold, devoid of any empathy. A sense of emptiness fills me at the thought that she will walk away scot-free once again. The lecturer and I exchange incredulous glances. I can’t understand how such audacity can be forgiven.

  “Yes,” the rector replies, and Katrin, without even acknowledging us, leaves the room, leaving us in complete confusion.

  The lecturer can’t hold back any longer:

  “How can it be ‘no’? Are you kidding me? Can you really forgive such behavior?” His voice booms with fury. “This is outrageous!”

  I fully share his feelings. The situation is too absurd to simply ignore.

  “You can, if she’s a gold medalist. The only one who scored the highest marks in the whole country this year, do you understand?” The rector tries to justify her. “There are always few students like that, and universities fight for them. She just had a little fun.”

  “And now what? Tomorrow she’ll pour something on my head, or do something even worse? Where’s the limit?” The man keeps shouting, his words sounding like the echoes of a real tragedy.

  “I’ll talk to her. She’ll behave more restrainedly.”

  I know his words won’t calm the lecturer down.

  When we leave, I still can’t understand how she manages to score such results on her exams. There’s no way to cheat—every room has cameras. Why does she need such high marks? Maybe someone hacks the database, but something tells me that Katrin is just playing with us, like a cat with a mouse.

  In the following weeks, she ignores me, and I don’t try to speak to her. But fate keeps throwing us together—in the cafeteria, in classes, when all the seats are taken. Every time I go outside, I see her with her friends, smoking. Smoking women have never attracted me, and Katrin is the complete opposite of my ideal.

  My ideal.

  A woman should be beautiful—not in appearance, but in character. I don’t care about looks; for me, a person’s inner world is more important. Maybe it sounds romantic, but I believe that sincerity, care, and loyalty mean more than attractiveness. True beauty is in how a person perceives the world, how they treat others, how deeply they can love. We live with character, not appearance, and that is what defines happiness. Perhaps that’s why I’ve still never met anyone I would want to share my first kiss with.

  Katrin is everything I’m not looking for. It seems like she cares only about the external world, approval, and attention. There’s no sincerity, no depth in her—just a carefully constructed facade. Every step she takes looks calculated, as if she has spent her whole life practicing wearing a mask: beautiful, vibrant, but fake. I’m not even sure if there’s anything real about her, anything to respect.

  But in the past few weeks, it seems she has decided to change her role. Now, Katrin pretends to be the perfect student: diligent, restrained, always with a smile that never reaches her eyes. Sometimes, her true self slips through in the form of biting comments or bold behavior, but even then, she never crosses the line. This pretense irritates me even more—as if she wants to deceive everyone around her, including me.

  Thank you for checking out The Rebel!

  I’d love to hear your thoughts ??

  ?? Did you expect this kind of beginning?

  ?? What would you have done in the teacher’s or Maxim’s place? ??

  — Ofelia ??