When Stella came back for fifth grade, she wasn’t the same.
She still wore the same old white sneakers, still liked purple pens and loitering around the art room—but something in her eyes had changed. Her voice was quieter. Her laugh didn’t come as quickly. And when people whispered this time, she didn’t shrink.
She stared them down.
She had spent a year physically away from everything that once made her feel connected.
She stopped joining clubs. Ate lunch in the faculty corridor. Avoided group activities when she could. She didn’t tell anyone what happened during summer, how her parents worried about her silence, how she overheard them whispering to titas over the phone:
“Nag-iba na talaga si Stella. Hindi na siya yung dati.”
“May galit daw sa sarili... sa mundo?”
But Stella didn’t feel angry.
She felt done.
Done trying to explain herself.
Done pretending Regie’s teasing didn’t hurt.
Done waiting for people to defend her.
So when fifth grade started, she came back to St. Andrian’s Grade School with something new.
Not loudness. Not smiles. But armor.
* * *
The first test came during Science class.
Mr. del Rosario had a seating plan. Of course he did.
And fate—or cruel alphabetical order—placed Stella beside the last person she expected.
Vince.
He looked taller. Not by much, but enough. His hair was messier, his uniform slightly looser, like he hadn’t figured out his new size yet.
He didn’t say hi. Not at first.
Just shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and took out his notebook.
She ignored him.
But on the second day, as they passed their quiz papers forward, he said it—quiet, almost unsure.
“Did you, uh... draw that comic thing in your pad last year?”
Stella didn’t answer.
Because she had. And because she’d seen him glance at it before Moses ripped it up and called her a freak.
She didn’t owe him anything.
But not everyone stayed cruel.
Michael was the first to return.
He sat beside her during lunch one random Tuesday, sipping his boxed juice like nothing had changed.
“Sorry, ha.”
Just that. No explanation. No excuses. But something in his voice told her he meant it.
Then Mia followed.
Then one of the quieter girls from their section brought her a folded origami star with “Nice drawings!” scribbled on it in pencil.
Small things.
But they cracked the ice Stella had built around herself.
Not enough to melt it.
But enough to let in air.
* * *
Still, the fire came back in other ways.
The first time was when Moses made a joke during PE, calling her “bruha” under his breath.
Stella didn’t shout.
She threw the shuttlecock straight at his face.
The class froze. The teacher had barely turned around.
Moses’s nose bled a little.
Stella didn’t even flinch.
She got detention, of course. But that was the first time people looked at her with something other than pity.
Some even looked impressed.
“May angas na si Stella ngayon,” someone muttered in line.
After that, people stopped messing with her directly.
Whispers remained, but they kept their distance. She wasn’t the witch anymore—just the girl with the scary stare and quick temper.
It wasn’t the reputation she wanted.
But at least now, it felt like power.
Vince stayed quiet. But he watched.
When she answered questions in class. When she sketched in the margins of her books. When her hands clenched into fists before she could stop them.
She caught him looking once—during a fire drill, of all things—when they were sitting on the grassy field in neat rows, waiting for the bell.
Their eyes met.
He didn’t look away.
Not this time.
* * *
At home, her parents started noticing the difference too.
“She doesn’t cry anymore,” her mom said softly over dinner. “She used to be so sensitive...”
Stella poked at her rice, pretending not to hear.
“Maybe she’s stronger now,” her dad offered.
Or maybe she just learned crying never helped.
* * *
By the end of the first grading period, Stella had become a quiet force in class.
Not popular. Not liked.
But respected.
And that, to her, was enough for now.
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