Third grade should have been easier.
They had the same classroom, the same old teachers, and mostly the same classmates — except this time, the boys had grown louder, and the girls sharper with their words.
Stella started noticing it during the second week of class.
It began with whispers.
Not the usual teasing, not even the sing-song “Stellaaaa likes Vincenteeee,” but something colder.
“She talks to herself.”
“Witch daw siya sabi ni Moses.”
“She cursed Mia’s pencil case!”
Stella didn’t understand where it came from — or how fast it spread.
One moment she was handing in a neatly written math quiz; the next, her seatmate Mia had scooted away, arms crossed over her drawing book like Stella might hex her.
* * *
The real problem? Regie.
He wasn’t like Vince. Vince was annoying but never cruel.
Moses was smart — too smart for a third grader — and he liked power the way other boys liked Beyblades. He liked how people listened when he laughed at someone, how the girls followed him when he decided someone was weird.
And now, for whatever reason, he had picked Stella.
Maybe because she always finished early. Maybe because she never cried when teased. Maybe because she didn't try to be liked.
“She draws ghosts in her notebook,” he said one recess, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Sabi ng lola ko, witches do that.”
Stella stood there, holding her Hello Kitty lunchbox like a shield, lips pressed tight.
Vince, standing by the basketball court, didn’t say a word.
* * *
The thing is, he did try.
Once.
He cornered Moses behind the library shelves, voice low and tight. “Lay off Stella.”
Moses just sneered. “Why? Crush mo siya?”
Vince said nothing. Just shoved a little too hard when he walked past.
But Moses didn’t stop.
If anything, he got smarter — whispering things only when the teacher turned away, blaming things on Stella when she had no way to defend herself.
Someone’s pencil went missing? “Maybe the witch took it.”
The class pet hamster died? “She was staring at it weird yesterday.”
Stella started eating lunch alone.
Even Michael, who had always hovered near, seemed unsure now. He gave her a weak smile across the room but sat with the others.
No one ever really said the word outcast, but she felt it every time she walked into class. Every time her chair was mysteriously moved. Every time her art supplies were “accidentally” borrowed and never returned.
* * *
One rainy afternoon, Stella stayed behind to fix her music sheets.
She liked this part of the day — when the corridors were quiet, and the world felt less sharp.
She didn’t expect anyone to be around.
But Vince was there, kneeling beside her desk.
He wasn’t messing with her things. He was tucking something in the side pocket of her bag.
“Hoy!” she blurted, startling him.
He jumped back, cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t—! I mean—!”
Stella frowned, grabbing her bag. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, already backing toward the door. “Don’t tell anyone.”
When she looked inside her bag later that night, she found a folded tissue with three chocolate coins inside and a tiny post-it note.
“They’re dumb. You're not.”
No name.
But she knew the handwriting.
She had seen it on detention slips. On messy group activity sheets. On apology notes tucked into her folder from years ago.
Vince.
She never said thank you.
Not because she didn’t want to — but because by the time she looked up the next day, he had already joined Moses and the others at the back row, laughing like nothing had happened.
And maybe that’s what hurt more than the teasing.
That even the boy who once sat beside her — who once said sorry in crooked handwriting — could pretend like she didn’t exist.
That was the year Stella stopped raising her hand in class.
That was the year she learned silence could sometimes protect you better than truth.
And that was the year she realized: Being different had a cost.
So the next year, fourth she transferred to another school, hoping for a new start.
Somewhere she could just be a girl who liked books, questions, and quiet mornings. Somewhere she wouldn’t have to choose between standing out and staying safe.
She didn’t say goodbye to anyone.
Not even to Vince.
Especially not to Vince.
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