Sexist Professor Kicked Bright Student Out of University Only Because She Was a Woman — Story of the Day

"Women like you are only fit to cook and give birth, not to meddle with science!" mocked a sexist physics professor, targeting a bright female student in class. He stooped so low that he got her expelled using fabricated evidence. However, karma served this arrogant professor a scorching dish...

"The formula, anyone?" Physics professor Mr. Kennedy rumbled, an annoyed smirk flitting on his face as he swept his gaze across the sea of familiar faces. All were boys, except for Abbie, the only girl in class, who chewed on the end of her pen, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Heat prickled Abbie's neck. "I can answer that, Mr. Kennedy!" she exclaimed.

But Mr. Kennedy didn't budge. He scribbled on the board with a flourish that seemed to mock her eagerness. "Let's not rush into things, Ms. Hopkins," he drawled, not bothering to turn around. "This requires some… deep thinking."

Abbie's jaw clenched. Deep thinking? It's basic physics! "But, I know the—"

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"Look," Mr. Kennedy interrupted, finally facing her, a condescending smile plastered on his face. "The answer will come to you eventually. Maybe if you spend a little less time doodling unicorns in your notebook and a little more time focusing…" His gaze swept pointedly at the equations swirling on her notepad.

"Those are formulas, Mr. Kennedy," she gritted out. "Relevant ones, I might add."

Mr. Kennedy's smile faltered for a second, then morphed back into a smirk. "Right, right," he hissed. "Of course they are. But maybe next time, try letting the grown-ups handle the grown-up stuff, okay?"

A ripple of uncomfortable laughter passed through the class. Abbie's fists bunched under the desk. The belittling tone, and the way Mr. Kennedy treated her like a child simply for being a woman grated on her nerves. She'd been patient all this while. But today, she wouldn't stay silent and let his mockery slide.

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"So, men get to monopolize the grown-up stuff in physics class, Professor?" she challenged.

Mr. Kennedy's smirk vanished. He leaned forward, his voice low and menacing. "Listen, girl," he snapped, his eyes glinting with fury. "There's a reason some things are the way they are. You need to dial back the aggression. Maybe join a… flower arranging class?"

Abbie's' jaw clenched so tight her teeth threatened to shatter. "As a student in this class," she forced out, "I have every right to participate in the lecture."

Mr. Kennedy's face flushed a mottled red. He jabbed a finger at her. "Participation is one thing, Ms. Hopkins, but interrupting the flow of a lecture is another. Especially when the answer comes from someone who..." He trailed off, his gaze sweeping over her like a predator sizing up prey.

"Let's just say," he drawled, "some subjects just aren't cut out for the… delicate female mind!"

Abbie felt a surge of heat flood her cheeks. "So, women are too intellectually inferior for physics now?"

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"Strength?" Abbie echoed. "We're talking about Newton's Laws, Mr. Kennedy, not arm wrestling."

Mr. Kennedy snorted. "It's all about perspective, Ms. Hopkins. The kind of mental fortitude it takes to grapple with complex theories, to push the boundaries of scientific discovery… that's a man's world. Look at the history books. Newton, Einstein, Hawking — all men. Coincidence? Not really!"

"Marie Curie," Abbie shot back. "Lise Meitner. Rosalyn Yalow! These are all brilliant women who have made significant contributions to physics, Mr. Kennedy."

Abbie's throat constricted. The classroom seemed to shrink in on her. "So you're saying I shouldn't even be here?" she rasped.

"Oh, I didn't say that," Mr. Kennedy said smoothly. "You're welcome to sit here and listen. Absorb what you can. But some things are just… beyond your grasp."

He locked eyes with her, his gaze heavy with prejudice. "Tell me, Ms. Hopkins," he questioned, "what physical strength is inherent in a woman?"

Abbie swallowed hard. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out.

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Mr. Kennedy's lips stretched into a cruel smile. "Exactly!" he grinned.

The bell shrilled, a jarring break in the suffocating mockery as Mr. Kennedy straightened his tie. "Don't forget, class," he called out, "papers are due in two weeks for your thesis defense. And make sure you've actually done some work this time, unlike some!" His gaze flickered pointedly at Abbie.

Abbie scrambled to gather her things, her heart hammering against her ribs. The classroom emptied around her, the snickers of her classmates a fresh wave of humiliation.

She reached for her paper, the weight of it suddenly feeling ominous. Unlike the others, hers remained untouched, ungraded, a painful reminder of Mr. Kennedy's unfairness.

Tears pricked at Abbie's eyes, blurring her vision. She wasn't just angry. She was terrified. This wasn't just about a lecture or a professor with an inflated ego. This was about her future, her dreams of becoming a physicist, being shattered by a man who saw her not as a student, but as a weaker being: as an inferior female.

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"Mr. Kennedy," Abbie called out to him.

He paused, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he busied himself wiping the whiteboard. He didn't turn around.

"My paper," Abbie said, her voice gaining a little strength. "You, uh, didn't have a chance to look at it?"

Mr. Kennedy finished wiping the board with a flourish and turned, a scowl etched on his face. "I wouldn't say I forgot, Ms. Hopkins."

Abbie's heart started to race. "There aren't any edits, Mr. Kennedy," she stammered. "Does that mean it's alright and good to go for the defense?"

Mr. Kennedy leaned across his desk, his gaze cold and unwavering. "It means," he crunched his teeth, "that you won't be defending it!"

The air whooshed out of Abbie's lungs. "What? Why not?"

"But I've put so much work into this," Abbie pleaded. "This is my thesis, Mr. Kennedy. It's important."

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Mr. Kennedy threw his head back and laughed. "Important? You think a little paper is going to make you a scientist?"

Tears welled up in Abbie's eyes, blurring his face. "Please, Mr. Kennedy," she choked out. "Just give me a chance. This is my future you're messing with."

He slammed his fist on the desk, making Abbie flinch. "No!" he roared. "I'm not allowing you to defend this paper. Period. You understand?"

Abbie's voice hitched. "But what about the committee? I can't just be… excluded."

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Mr. Kennedy's eyes narrowed. "You even think of taking this to the committee, Ms. Hopkins, and you'll regret it. I have ways of making sure your little physics dream goes up in smoke. You'll be out of this program faster than you can say 'Newton's Laws' again."

He pushed past Abbie, his heavy steps echoing in the empty room as he tossed her paper in the trash bin. She watched him storm out, then stumbled towards the bin, her legs shaky. The thesis she'd worked hard on for weeks lay discarded in the overflowing trash bin.

Abbie knelt down, gingerly retrieving the file. Tears streamed down her face, hot and stinging. Fear gnawed at her, fueled by Mr. Kennedy's threats.

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The next day in class...

Abbie fidgeted in her seat, the knot in her stomach tightening with every tick of the clock. A nervous glance at the doorway did little to ease her anxiety. Finally, a timid knock shattered the silence, followed by a hesitant, "Ms. Hopkins?"

Abbie rose. "That's me," she croaked, following the voice to a stern-faced woman in a crisp pantsuit.

"The principal would like to see you in his office, Ms. Hopkins. Please follow me."

The walk to the principal's office felt like an eternity. Images of Mr. Kennedy's twisted smile flashed in Abbie's mind, a cold dread settling in her gut. She pushed open the door, her breath catching in her throat.

Mr. Kennedy sat across from the principal, Mr. Cotton, a smug grin plastered on his face. Abbie's heart pounded. This couldn't be good.

Mr. Cotton gestured for her to sit. "Ms. Hopkins," he began, his voice grave. "There have been some… serious allegations made against you regarding your academic conduct."

Abbie's mind reeled. Allegations? What allegations? Her gaze darted to Mr. Kennedy, whose smirk widened.

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"According to Professor Kennedy here," Mr. Cotton continued, his gaze flickering between them, "you've violated the university's academic integrity code."

"Violated?" Abbie echoed. "But how? What do you mean?"

Mr. Cotton leaned forward. "It seems there's evidence suggesting plagiarism in your thesis. Apparently, significant portions of your work were copied from other sources without proper citation."

Abbie's stomach lurched. "Plagiarism? That's not true!" she cried, her voice cracking with fear and anxiety. She darted a desperate glance at Mr. Kennedy, silently pleading for him to back her up.

But his response was a chilling silence.

"Furthermore," Mr. Cotton added, "there are accusations of tampering with your classmates' papers while Professor Kennedy was out of the classroom."

Abbie stared at him, aghast. "Tampering? I would never—"

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The blood drained from Abbie's face. Her future, meticulously planned, was crumbling before her eyes. "But Mr. Cotton, you have to listen to me!" she pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes. "These are lies! Mr. Kennedy didn't even check my—"

Mr. Cotton held up a hand, silencing her. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Ms. Hopkins. But for now, I'm afraid you need to leave the campus immediately."

He rose and walked towards the door. "There's an important staff meeting I have to attend. Ms. Johnson here will help you gather your belongings."

The principal cast a final, sympathetic glance at Abbie before exiting the office. Alone with Mr. Kennedy, the air crackled with a malevolent tension.

"Why?" Abbie whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

Mr. Kennedy uncrossed his legs, a cruel amusement dancing in his eyes. "Why?" he drawled. "Didn't you realize? You were an outcast from the very beginning... and I had to show you your place."

The weight of Mr. Kennedy's words crashed down on Abbie. Her dreams, her future, all reduced to a twisted game by a vindictive professor who would stop at nothing to derail her entire academic career.

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Mr. Kennedy rose from his chair, his smile widening. "Consider this a lesson, Ms. Hopkins," he said, his voice laced with venom. "The world of physics isn't for the faint of heart. And certainly not for women who think they can play by their own rules."

He turned to leave, then paused at the door, his gaze lingering on Abbie's disappointed face. "Oh," he added, a feigned concern in his voice, "and do try to pray the investigation goes your way. After all, your precious degree hangs in the balance!"

With that, Mr. Kennedy sauntered out of the office, leaving Abbie alone in a world that suddenly felt cold and unforgiving.

***

The apartment walls seemed to press in on Abbie, the silence broken only by the relentless tick of the clock. Three nights had bled into one another, each a monotonous blur of worry and tear-stained pillows. Sleep offered no escape, her dreams a replay of Mr. Kennedy's cruel laughter and the suspension.

Her phone buzzed on the table, the caller ID flashing her mother's name. Abbie stared at it for a beat, the familiar ache in her chest intensifying. Did she dare answer?

Taking a deep breath, she swiped the screen. "Hey, Mom," she forced a cheerfulness that felt alien on her tongue.

"Abbie, sweetie! How's college? Busy with that thesis, I bet?" her mother Cathy's voice crackled with warmth and pride.

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Abbie's throat tightened. "Yeah, everything's going great, Mom," she choked out. "Just finalizing some things."

Abbie blinked back a fresh wave of tears. How could she tell her mother, the one person who believed in her unconditionally, that her dream was teetering on the edge?

"Mom, I gotta go," she said quickly. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"Alright, honey," Cathy replied, a hint of concern in her voice. "Love you lots."

"Love you too, Mom," Abbie whispered, hanging up before tears streamed down her cheeks like a broken dam.

The silence was shattered by a shrill buzz of the doorbell. Wiping her tears, Abbie trudged to the door. Peeking through the peephole, she saw her landlord, Mr. Henderson, a portly old man with a perpetually worried frown. She braced herself and opened the door.

"Ah, Miss Hopkins," Mr. Henderson said, his voice laced with a forced cheer. "Just here to collect this month's rent."

Abbie's stomach lurched. She fumbled in her drawer, the meager sum she had left feeling pathetically scanty.

Mr. Henderson's eyes narrowed as he took the envelope. "This all you got, Miss Hopkins?"

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Shame burned in Abbie's cheeks. "It's all I have right now, Mr. Henderson. I'll have the rest by the end of the week, I promise."

Mr. Henderson grunted, his expression unconvinced. "Let's just hope so, Miss Hopkins. Rent's due on the first, not whenever you get around to it."

He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "And maybe consider getting a roommate next month. Can't be easy living on a student's budget all by yourself."

With that, he lumbered down the stairs, leaving Abbie staring after him. She slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the emptiness of the apartment.

A roommate? The thought offered little comfort. Right now, all she needed was a way to fight back, a way to clear her name and reclaim her future. But before that, she needed a job. Part-time, full-time, anything.

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The sudden urge to do something, anything, propelled Abbie towards her laptop. She scoured online job boards, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Waitressing, bartending, data entry — anything that could get her some quick cash.

Her eyes snagged on a listing for a sales assistant at a local restaurant. The pay wasn't great, but it was immediate. With a defeated sigh, she hit 'apply.'

The next afternoon, Abbie found herself crammed into a bright yellow uniform, a giant chicken head perched precariously on her head. Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face and parroted the restaurant's slogan to a customer.

"Cocka doodle doo… this is your order!"

The customer, a middle-aged woman with an irritated expression, gave her a withering look. "What was that?" she frowned. "You alright, kid?"

Abbie's smile shrunk. "Uh, y-yes, ma'am. Here's your order," she stammered, shoving the tray towards the woman, who snatched it with a muttered complaint about clumsy waitresses.

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Abbie's cheeks burned with humiliation. The forced cheerfulness of the restaurant felt like a cheap costume, a far cry from the confidence she once possessed in the physics lab. Here, amidst the smell of deep-fried chicken and the blaring pop music, she was just another nameless face, another cog in the fast-food machine.

Leaning against the counter for a moment's respite, she removed the stifling chicken head, the grease-warmed air clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

A sharp voice suddenly sliced through the din of sizzling chicken and pop music. "What do you think you're doing, girl? First day on the job and already slacking off?"

Abbie flinched, turning to see a woman several years her senior, a scowl etched on her face and a damp dishcloth clutched in her hand.

"I, uh," Abbie stammered, "I was just taking a quick break."

The woman snorted. "There's no such thing as breaks around here, girlie. Especially not on your first day. Grab that cloth and get to cleaning this counter. Our Boss Mr. Perry will be here any minute, and you wouldn't want to make a bad impression on your very first day, would you?"

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Shame burned in Abbie's cheeks. The frustration that had been simmering since Mr. Kennedy's accusations bubbled up, threatening to spill over. "Look," she said, "I'm new to this kind of work. Maybe you could be a little kind and—"

The woman cut her off with a harsh laugh. "Honey," she hissed, "nobody needs a fancy degree to wipe down a counter. Every day's a learning experience, right? Now get to work. And make sure the counter shines brighter than a disco ball. Customers don't exactly appreciate eating next to a fly convention."

Abbie bit her lip, the sting of the woman's words sharp. Swallowing back a wave of tears, she snatched the cloth, the dampness a cold shock against her trembling hands. She wiped down the counter with robotic movements, her mind a whirlwind of anger and despair.

Just then, the bell above the door chimed, announcing a customer's arrival. Abbie straightened her uniform, forcing a smile onto her face. She jammed the chicken head back on.

"Cocka doodle doo…" she chirped.

The customer, a young man with a bored expression, gave her a flat look and mumbled something about needing a quick bite before work. Abbie directed him to a booth, her movements stiff and awkward.

As she turned away, the restaurant door swung open again, and a tall, portly man with a receding hairline strode in. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Abbie.

"You?" he barked, his voice laced with a fury that sent shivers down her spine. "Get in my office. Now!"

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Abbie froze, the chicken head feeling absurdly out of place on her head amidst the sudden seriousness. Her co-worker glanced at her, a flicker of morbid curiosity in her eyes.

"That's our Boss, Mr. Perry," she whispered to Abbie.

Mr. Perry's booming voice cut through Abbie's paralysis. "Don't just stand there like a lost chicken! Move it!"

Tears pricked at Abbie's eyes. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for whatever awaited her in Mr. Perry's office.

She pushed open the office door and nervously entered. Mr. Perry sat behind a cluttered desk, a half-eaten donut perched on a stack of papers. He didn't look up as she entered.

"M-Mr. Perry?" Abbie stammered.

He finally tore his gaze away from the papers, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Took you long enough, Hopkins," he grumbled. "Shut the door and sit down."

Abbie did as instructed, the creaky chair groaning under her weight. She fidgeted in her seat, the silence in the office thick and suffocating.

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"Alright," Mr. Perry said, slamming a greasy napkin on the table. "Let's get this over with. What's the excuse this time?"

"Excuse?" Abbie echoed, her brows furrowing in confusion. "I don't understand."

Mr. Perry snorted. "Don't play dumb with me, kid. That greeting. Is it so hard to learn?"

"The… Cocka doodle doo thing?" Abbie asked hesitantly.

"Bingo!" Mr. Perry boomed. "Cocka doodle doo! Clucking Good Chicken welcomes you! See? Not exactly rocket science, is it?"

Abbie opened her mouth to explain, but Mr. Perry held up a hand, silencing her. "Save it," he said, his voice clipped. "Look, here's the deal — you wanna keep this job, you learn that freaking shoutout. Got it?"

"But—"

He leaned forward, his eyes boring into Abbie's. "Weekends? Forget about it. Vacation? In your dreams. We work 24/7... is that clear?"

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Abbie's heart hammered against her ribs. Steeling herself, she nodded, a shaky but resolute, "Yes sir."

Mr. Perry grunted. "Good. Now get out there and make with the cock-a-doodle-dooing. And for the love of Pete, try not to scare the customers away."

Abbie rose from her seat, the chicken head feeling heavier than ever. Without another word, she stumbled out of the office, the door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud.

Tears welled up in her eyes. This wasn't just a job; it was an assault on her dignity, a cruel reminder of how far she'd fallen.

Taking a deep breath, Abbie squared her shoulders and marched back onto the restaurant floor. The smell of grease and the blaring pop music still grated on her nerves, but she held her head high.

The days blurred into a monotonous routine. Abbie poured her heart and soul into her job, her forced smile plastered on like a second skin. But the constant strain of the work, coupled with the looming deadline for her thesis defense, chipped away at her confidence.

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During one of her precious fifteen-minute lunch breaks, Abbie sought refuge in the cramped confines of the eatery's restroom. She locked the door and collapsing onto the cold floor, she finally allowed the tears to fall. Wracking sobs tore through her, a raw outpouring of grief and frustration.

"Dad," she choked out, "I'm so sorry. I… I lost."

The sobs came in waves, each one a release of the pressure that had been building within her. Abbie was drowning in a sea of tears, the weight of her shattered aspirations threatening to consume her whole.

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Reaching blindly for a tissue, her hand met only empty air. A fresh wave of despair washed over her. Even fate, it seemed, conspired against her, denying her even the solace of a flimsy piece of paper.

"Great," she rasped. "Just perfect. No tissue! What more do I have to face?"

Just then, a sound pierced the silence of her despair. A hand, pale and slender, emerged from beneath the adjacent bathroom stall, holding a single, crumpled tissue.

Abbie stared at it. Hesitantly, she reached out and took it. "Thank you!" she exclaimed.

A woman's soft voice, muffled by the stall door, replied. "You're welcome. I know these situations very well. I'll be waiting for you outside. Take your time."

Abbie emerged from the stall, wiping the last streaks of tears on the back of her hand before coming face to face with a woman standing at the sink.

"Hey there," the woman said gently, her voice laced with a southern twang. "You alright?"

Abbie hesitated, then gave a watery smile. "I wish I could be," she mumbled.

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"Name's Esme," the woman continued, holding out a hand. "You?"

Abbie took her hand, the cool touch grounding her slightly. "Abbie. And…" she took a deep breath, "I just… I got kicked out of university."

Esme raised an eyebrow. "Kicked out, huh? That's rough."

Abbie poured out her story in a rush, the frustration and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiling over.

Esme listened patiently, her gaze fixed on Abbie. As Abbie finished her rant, Esme reached into her purse and pulled out a lipstick, applying a bold red shade with practiced ease.

"Honestly, Abbie?" she said, meeting Abbie's eyes in the mirror. "I'm jealous of you."

Abbie's jaw dropped. "Jealous? Why?"

A wry smile played on Esme's lips. "Because, honey, you're at square one. You get to choose your path from the very beginning. You can create the one you want. You're down, sure, but you're young. You're calling yourself a loser because some jerk told you women are supposed to cook and clean?"

"But what if I can't achieve my dreams?" Abbie whispered, the fear still clinging to her.

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Esme slammed her lipstick shut, the sharp click startling Abbie. "Why not?" she countered. "God created you for a reason, Abbie. Look at you — beautiful, intelligent, and young. You were dealt a crappy hand, but you don't have to fold. Fight back. Prove those tyrants wrong. Show them what you're made of."

A pang of realization washed over Abbie. Esme was right. She had let fear and despair paralyze her. But not anymore.

A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Thank you, Esme," she cried. "Thank you for opening my eyes."

Esme grinned. "Now go get 'em, tiger! Grab those dreams they said you couldn't have and hold on tight. They're yours for the taking."

Abbie nodded, a newfound determination burning in her eyes.

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It was the day of the thesis defense.

An oppressive silence filled the auditorium, punctuated only by the rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner. Three professors were seated at the table — Professor Tyler, Professor Wills, and finally, Mr. Kennedy.

Mr. Tyler, the committee chair, surveyed the room. "Are there any remaining students for their thesis defense?" he inquired, his gaze sweeping over the auditorium.

Mr. Wills, a man with a kind smile, adjusted his glasses, and Mr. Kennedy, pursed his lips, saying, "Guess we're done!"

"Ah, alright!" Just as Mr. Tyler seemed ready to conclude, the doors burst open.

Abbie, her face flushed and hair a mess, stumbled in, clutching a bulging file. "So sorry I'm late!" she gasped, still catching her breath. "Missed the bus and had to run all the way."

Mr. Kennedy, however, didn't miss a beat. He sprang up from his seat, his face contorted in a snarl. "Miss Hopkins! What are you doing here?" he barked.

"I've come to defend my thesis, Mr. Kennedy," she replied.

"I'm afraid you can't," Mr. Kennedy snapped, a little polite this time as the other two professors were watching. "You violated university protocol. Thesis defense requires prior review and prerequisite completion. You can't defend your thesis because you were suspended for breaching the code of conduct!"

Undeterred, Abbie thrust her file forward. "Please, Professors," she pleaded, glancing at the other two committee members. "The suspension was only for two weeks, and it's over now. I've worked so hard on this thesis." Her eyes darted between Mr. Tyler and Mr. Wills, a desperate hope flickering within them.

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Professor Tyler and Professor Wills exchanged a surprised glance. They flipped through the draft, their expressions softening as they saw the meticulous notes and well-developed ideas.

"Hmm," Professor Wills murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "This is certainly a promising start, Miss Hopkins. 'Wireless Power Transmission Applications: A Comprehensive Analysis.' Quite ambitious."

Mr. Kennedy sputtered, indignation coloring his cheeks. "Objection! This is completely irregular! She doesn't meet the criteria—"

"Professor Kennedy," Professor Tyler interrupted. "This is a majority decision. Miss Hopkins, we'll allow you to proceed with your defense, based on this draft."

A wave of relief washed over Abbie, momentarily erasing the memory of her morning scramble. She met Mr. Kennedy's furious glare with a determined chin lift.

"Thank you, Professors," she said, "I won't let you down."

Mr. Kennedy slumped back in his chair, defeated but not for long. He would have his questions, his barbs, ready to trip her up at every turn. He wouldn't let her have an easy victory.

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A hush fell over the room as Abbie unfolded her notes, the familiar scrawl a calming presence amidst the storm of emotions churning within her.

Just then, a silhouette at the front of the auditorium caught her eye. It was Esme, the woman from the restaurant restroom. Esme winked and gave Abbie a thumbs-up, a silent message of encouragement that sent a warm wave of gratitude washing over Abbie.

With a deep breath, Abbie met Professor Tyler's gaze and began. "My thesis explores the applications of wireless power transmission technology, specifically focusing on improving its efficiency and safety in charging electric vehicles and powering portable devices."

Her voice grew stronger with each sentence. She spoke with passion and clarity, weaving complex scientific concepts into a compelling narrative. Her eyes sparkled with infectious enthusiasm as she presented her research findings, the culmination of countless sleepless nights and unwavering determination.

As Abbie concluded, a confident smile graced her lips. "By implementing these advancements," she finished, "we can create a cleaner, more sustainable future for our planet!"

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A beat of silence followed before Professor Wills leaned forward, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. "Excellent work, Miss Hopkins. Very well-organized, concise, and clear. You've presented a compelling argument for the potential use of wireless power transmission."

Professor Tyler nodded in agreement. "Indeed. We don't have any questions, Miss Hopkins. Your thesis speaks for itself."

Abbie met his challenge head-on. With a steady breath, she launched into a clear and concise explanation, dissecting the law's components and its role in electrostatics.

A flicker of surprise crossed Mr. Kennedy's face, quickly replaced by renewed fury. "Very well," he conceded. "But can you tell me the year it was discovered?"

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Abbie didn't hesitate. "1785, on the 1st of April." She paused, a playful glint in her eyes. "At precisely 12:40 in the afternoon, I believe it was raining outside at the time."

Professor Wills chuckled. "Impressive, Miss Hopkins. Quite impressive."

Mr. Kennedy, however, remained unconvinced. His lips thinned into a disapproving line as he fired another question, this one even more technical. But Abbie was ready. Her response was flawless, delivered with an unwavering confidence that left Mr. Kennedy sputtering.

"Spectacular, Miss Hopkins!" Professor Tyler boomed, leaning back in his chair. "Your memory is truly astounding."

Mr. Kennedy's face contorted in annoyance. He gnawed on his lower lip, clearly searching for a chink in her armor. Finally, he barked out, "Volume, page number, and paragraph where Joule-Lenz Law is described in your Electricity and Magnetism textbook!"

Abbie met his gaze with an ever-confident grin. "Volume two, page 250, paragraph three, Professor Kennedy."

Mr. Kennedy opened his mouth to speak, but Professor Tyler cut him off.

"Enough, Mr. Kennedy," he snapped. "Miss Hopkins has clearly demonstrated a thorough understanding of the subject matter. And frankly, wouldn't it be a bit… ridiculous to expect her to recall such specifics? Page number and volume, seriously?"

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"With all due respect, Professors," Abbie interjected, "I don't think Mr. Kennedy would find it ridiculous at all. Because let's be honest, all he truly cares about is undermining my defense, isn't that right, Mr. Kennedy?"

Her gaze met Mr. Kennedy's head-on, challenging him to deny it. His jaw clenched, but he remained silent.

A ripple of surprise ran through the room. Professor Wills leaned forward, eyebrows raised. Professor Tyler, however, remained stoic.

Taking a deep breath, Abbie reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder. "I've done some research of my own, Professors," she said, placing the folder on the table. "Extensive computer research, thanks to my so-called 'lack' of 'fundamental skills' just like how Mr. Kennedy often puts it!"

Mr. Kennedy shrunk in his chair, a flash of unease crossing his face.

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"This file," Abbie continued, her voice ringing with confidence, "contains a list of every woman who has taken Mr. Kennedy's physics class over the past ten years. Not a single one has passed his final exam."

A beat of stunned silence followed. Professor Tyler opened the folder, his eyes scanning the pages. Professor Wills leaned in, his expression grim.

"This is…" Professor Tyler began, his voice tight with suppressed anger.

"Unacceptable!" Professor Wills finished for him, slamming the folder shut. He turned to Mr. Kennedy, his gaze cold and hard. "Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr. Kennedy?"

Mr. Kennedy opened his mouth, then closed it again. His face was pale, his eyes darting between Abbie and the two professors.

Professor Wills stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the table.

He then turned to Mr. Kennedy, his voice dropping to a low growl. "We are done here, Mr. Kennedy. Consider this our formal notice of non-cooperation. There's enough evidence against you, and we will ensure it's addressed."

For illustration purposes only | Source: YouTube / DramatizeMe

A tinge of fear flickered in Mr. Kennedy's eyes. "Wait," he stammered, rising to his feet. "You can't do this. This is outrageous!"

Professor Tyler stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "We will personally contact every young woman you denied an education, Mr. Kennedy. You will answer for their lost futures."

With that, the two professors stormed out of the room, leaving Mr. Kennedy sputtering in their wake. He cast a venomous glare at Abbie before following them, his pleas for them to stop echoing down the hallway.

A stunned silence descended upon the room. Then, a figure emerged from the back — Esme, her face alight with a proud smile.

"Well done, Abbie!" she said, her voice warm and genuine. "I knew you could do it."

Abbie stared at her, a wave of relief and gratitude washing over her. "Esme! How… how did you know I'd be here?"

For illustration purposes only | Source: YouTube / DramatizeMe

Esme chuckled. "It's not a very big city, Abbie. And hunting down the only university offering a Master's degree in physics wasn't exactly a challenge."

"Speaking of challenges," Esme added, her eyes twinkling, "I have a proposition for you. A tempting research project you won't be able to resist."

Abbie stared at her, hope blooming in her chest. Could this really be happening?

Taking Abbie's hand firmly, Esme finally offered, "Professor Esme J. at your service!"

Abbie's jaw dropped. "Professor Jones?! The one with the groundbreaking nuclear physics research?" she gasped as Esme simply nodded with a smile.

Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She threw her arms around Esme, burying her face in her shoulder. "Thank you," she choked out. "Thank you for everything. This feels like a dream!"

For illustration purposes only | Source: YouTube / DramatizeMe

Esme hugged her back, her touch warm and reassuring. "Congratulations, Dr. Hopkins," she said with a wink. "Now, let's get out of here. We have a future to build!"

Together, they walked out of the auditorium, heads held high and a newfound sense of purpose etched on their faces. Abbie paused for a moment and gazed at the clear blue sky.

Abbie pulled out her phone and dialed her mom's number. The sound of her mother's voice, warm and familiar, filled her ear.

"Mom!," she began. "There's something you need to hear…"

A few moments later, a tearful laugh escaped Abbie's lips. "Next week, Mom! Graduation! You have to be there, okay?"

Her mother's voice, choked with pride, crackled through the phone. "Abbie, honey, I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. More than you know!"

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pixabay

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A rude saleswoman mocked and scammed a plus-size customer with a defective bra for double the price. She thought she would get away with fooling more unsuspecting customers. But one unexpected visitor arrived to teach her an unforgettable lesson. Here's the full story.

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