More Than What They See

CHAPTER 13: No Change At All

Rhian’s POV

Days turned into weeks, and nothing really changed at all. Francis stayed exactly the same—sharp, cold, and unkind, just as cruel as Gio and Jace. Those quiet moments when I thought he acted differently, the times he spoke softly or carried my bags, they must have just been in my head. I must have imagined them because I wanted so badly to believe that someone would not treat me like I was nothing. Every morning I told myself not to expect anything, but every time I saw him, a tiny part of me still hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would show even a little bit of that kindness I thought I saw. But every single time, he proved me wrong.

One morning our teacher asked me to come up to the board and solve a Math problem. I stood up slowly, holding my chalk tight, and walked to the front. I was almost finished writing the answer when I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could move, someone nudged my elbow hard on purpose. The chalk slipped from my hand, and I made a long, messy line right across the solution I had worked so hard to write neatly.

I turned around and saw Francis standing there, his face blank and unreadable.

“You are so slow,” he said teasingly, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Your hand is shaking like a leaf. Maybe this lesson is just too hard for someone like you. You should just sit down and let those who actually understand do it.”

I looked straight at him, searching his eyes for any sign of regret, any flicker of that boy who spoke to me quietly at the eatery. But there was nothing there. His face was hard and cold, no kindness, no hesitation, no softness at all. This was really how he was. I was just a fool for thinking there was something more.

“I am not slow,” I said softly, picking up the chalk again. “I just need a moment.”

“Whatever you say,” he answered with a scoff, and walked back to his seat.

When class ended, I was still packing my things when Gio suddenly reached over my desk and snatched my notebook right out of my hands. He flipped through the pages quickly, laughing at my notes, then passed it to Jace, who showed it to the other boys sitting nearby.

“Look at how messy this writing is,” Gio shouted. “Does she even know what she is writing about?”

“Bet she copies everything from someone else,” Jace added, waving my notebook around. “No way she can write this much on her own.”

I stood up and reached for it. “Please give that back. It is mine.”

“Come and get it then,” Gio teased, holding it high above his head where I could not reach.

I looked straight at Francis, hoping he would step in and tell them to give it back like he did before. But he just leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and gave a short, dry laugh that hurt more than any insult.

“Let them be,” he said casually, like he was talking about a stranger. “She is used to it anyway. This is nothing new for her.”

My chest felt so heavy it was hard to breathe. I lowered my hand slowly and sat back down. Why did I ever hope he would be different? He was just like the rest of them—cruel, proud, and heartless.

On Saturday, I went to work as usual, trying to push everything that happened out of my mind. But just before noon, the door opened and they walked in again—loud, laughing, and teasing each other just like always. I took a deep breath and forced myself to keep moving, wiping the tables and arranging the spoons and forks. When I stepped near their table to take their order, Jace suddenly moved his arm fast and knocked a full glass of water right over the edge. It spilled all over my uniform, soaking my shirt and dripping down my legs.

“Oops, sorry,” Jace said, though he was clearly trying not to laugh. “Or did you stand close on purpose just to get attention?”

Gio laughed out loud. “Maybe she likes getting wet. Who knows what she is thinking.”

All three of them laughed—all except Francis, though he did not stop them either. I wiped my face quickly, holding back tears, and glanced at him one last time, waiting for him to say something. But he just looked away, staring at the wall like he saw nothing wrong, like I was not even standing there soaked and humiliated right in front of him.

“Just wipe it up,” he said flatly, his voice empty and cold. “Stop being so clumsy. You are making a mess here.”

I turned away without a word. I stopped expecting anything from him that day. It was better to accept that this was how they really were, that there was no hidden kindness, no secret softness, nothing at all—than to keep hoping for something that was never there in the first place. I finished cleaning myself up, took their order quietly, and told myself I would never again let him make me believe in something that was only ever an illusion.