More Than What They See

CHAPTER 14: The Camp

Rhian’s POV

A week before the event, our teacher stood in front of the class and announced that we would have a two-day camping trip outside town as part of our Science and Homeroom lessons. The whole room erupted in cheers and excited chatter. Everyone started talking loudly about what snacks they would bring, who they would share a tent with, and all the fun things they planned to do. I just listened quietly from my seat, clutching my hands together in my lap. I knew this would be one of the hardest things I would have to face here—being away from the school walls, all together in one place, with fewer people watching and stepping in.

On the day we left, the bus was already filled with noise and laughter. The three of them sat together at the very back, occupying the whole row. They laughed loudly, threw small crumpled papers at each other, and every now and then, they would glance my way and whisper something that made them snicker. I sat alone near the window, pressed my forehead against the cool glass, and tried my best to ignore them. Halfway through the ride, one of the empty wrappers they crumpled flew right and hit my shoulder. I did not turn around. I just picked it up, put it in my pocket, and kept looking outside.

When we finally arrived at the campsite, the air was fresh and cool, filled with the scent of grass and pine trees. But I could not bring myself to enjoy it. While everyone paired up and helped one another, the three of them worked together easily, setting up their big tents in minutes, laughing and giving each other instructions. I stood beside my own small tent, holding the thin poles and ropes, and knew I had to do this all by myself.

Gio walked over and leaned against the tree beside me. “Do you need help? You look like you are struggling so much there. Maybe you should just give up before you hurt yourself.”

“I can manage,” I answered softly, my fingers trembling a little as I tried to tie the ropes tight to the wooden peg. “I have done this before.”

Jace stepped closer suddenly and bumped my hand hard with his elbow. The pole slipped from my grip, and the whole tent collapsed right on top of my feet.

“Oops,” he said with a wide grin. “What now? You just made it harder for yourself. Maybe you really are not strong enough.”

I straightened up slowly, brushing the dirt off my uniform. “It is okay. I will fix it again.”

“Fix it again?” Gio laughed. “You will probably take all day.”

I looked over at Francis, waiting for him to join in. But he just stood there beside them, watching me with a serious, unreadable face. He said nothing, he did not smile, and he did not join in the teasing. He just seemed to be standing there, waiting silently for what I would do next.

“Are you just going to watch?” Jace asked Francis.

Francis shrugged. “It is her problem. Let her handle it.”

But his voice did not sound as sure as his words.

Later that afternoon, while everyone was busy playing games near the open field, I stayed behind to fix my tent again. My hands were scratched and dirty, and my back ached from bending over, but I managed to stand it up properly this time. Just as I was tightening the last rope, I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up and saw Francis standing a few steps away, his hands still in his pockets. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then Gio called out to him from afar.

“Francis! Come on! We are about to play!”

Francis looked at me one last time, then turned and walked away without a word.

That evening, we all gathered around a big bonfire to share food and stories. Everyone was laughing and singing, and I sat quietly at the edge of the circle, eating my simple meal of bread and boiled egg. When everyone finished eating, plates and cups were scattered everywhere. I stood up slowly to collect them so I could wash them before resting.

“Where are you going?” someone called out teasingly. “Cleaning again?”

I did not answer. I just kept walking. As I moved away from the light of the fire toward the water tap, I heard soft footsteps following close behind me. My heart sank. I gripped the stack of plates tighter, thinking they were coming to tease me again. When I turned around quickly, ready to defend myself, I saw that only Francis was there—alone, away from his friends.

“Why did you not stay with the others?” he asked plainly, his voice flat. “Do they not want you there, or do you not want to be with them?”

“It does not matter to me,” I answered firmly and looked away. “I am just doing what I need to do. Someone has to clean up so everyone can rest properly.”

“You always do that,” he said quietly. “You always take everything no one else wants to do.”

“I do not mind,” I said. “At least I know my place.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping lower. “That is not your place, Rhian. You do not have to act like you deserve all of this.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “Then why do you treat me like I do?”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more. But then he pulled back, his face turning cold again.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said sharply. “Just… be careful. That ground near the tap is slippery. You might fall.”

Before I could even reply, he walked back toward Gio and Jace who were already calling his name and waving him over near the fire.

“Francis! What are you doing over there?” Gio shouted. “Stop wasting your time!”

“I am coming!” Francis answered back, but he glanced at me one more time before he disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there holding the plates, feeling more confused than ever. Why did he sometimes seem so different? Why did he warn me, yet never stop his friends from hurting me? I shook my head and started washing the plates, telling myself I should stop trying to understand him.

Later that night, as I lay inside my small tent listening to them laugh and talk loudly from the other side of the camp, I could not sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face—sometimes cruel, sometimes soft, always hiding something. And I knew that no matter how much I tried to stay away, I would keep running into him, and I would keep asking the same question: who really was Francis Jimenez?