Am I really going to study here?
Crisha asked herself as she walked quietly across the campus, her eyes taking in every corner of the prestigious school.
Maybe I should just transfer…This place doesn't feel right for me.
She sighed softly. She knew she was only here because of a scholarship—and that alone made her feel out of place.
Crisha Yllanie Palma, a seventh grader, was an ordinary girl given an extraordinary chance. All scholars had already attended the orientation, and she knew exactly what was at stake.
Maintain your grades… or lose everything.
Standing outside her new classroom, she hesitated. She wasn't even wearing her uniform yet, but she forced herself to step inside. After all, she had been placed in the pilot section.
She chose a seat at the back, quietly observing her classmates.
They all look like they come from rich families…I need to be careful.
They laughed easily, talked freely—comfortably belonging.
I don't belong here. I'm just an outsider.
She felt someone staring.
A boy's sharp gaze caught her attention. Startled, she quickly looked away.
"I've never seen her before," one boy muttered.
"Stop it, Raymond," another boy warned with a sigh.
"What? I didn't even do anything," Raymond replied.
But moments later, Raymond stood in front of her.
"Are you a transferee?"
She nodded timidly.
"Where did you study elementary?"
"P–Public school," she answered softly.
"I bet you're a scholar," another boy chimed in.
Again, she nodded. She couldn't deny it—without the scholarship, she wouldn't be here.
Nearby, she heard quiet giggles. Whispered comments. Curious glances.
Embarrassed, she lowered her head.
Everyone here is so pretty…Even the boys…
Then the teacher arrived, calling the class to order.
"Miss Palma."
Crisha froze.
Her heart raced as she stood, hands trembling.
"I—I'm Crisha Yllanie Palma. I studied in a public school for elementary, and I'm here through a scholarship."
"Oh, so you're the scholar," the teacher said kindly, patting her shoulder. "Class, please be good to her. We'll rearrange seats later. You may sit."
Relief washed over her.
I won't cause trouble here, she promised herself.Behave, Crisha.
After the seat rearrangement, she found herself by the window, seated beside a boy.
She wasn't ready to make friends yet—but then someone tapped her shoulder.
"I'm Jason Yale Custodia. Nice to meet you."
"N–Nice to meet you," she replied, shaking his hand shyly.
His warm smile didn't erase her loneliness—but it eased it.
During lunch break, Crisha wandered around the school grounds.
Suddenly, raised voices caught her attention.
She peeked from behind a wall.
A beautiful girl stood soaked, water dripping from her hair.
"Seriously, Kelly?" one girl snapped. "We asked you to do one simple thing. How can we trust you if you won't prove yourself?"
"B–But she didn't do anything wrong," Kelly murmured, clearly shaken.
"Look at me, Kelly," another girl said sharply. "She hurt me, and you won't even take my side?"
"We expected more from you," the first girl added. "Let's go, Claire."
They left Kelly behind.
Crisha's chest tightened.
She stepped closer. "A–Are you okay?"
Kelly stiffened, quickly masking her expression.
"You're new, right?" she asked coldly.
Crisha nodded.
"Then don't interfere when you see things like this."
Kelly walked away.
Crisha stood frozen.
Still… she felt it.
There's sadness behind that coldness, she thought.I know she's a good person.
The bell rang.
As Crisha returned to class, Kelly passed by again—eyes distant, expression unreadable.
Back in the classroom, a girl leaned toward her.
"What's your name again?"
"Crisha."
"I'm Airah Andrea Faustino," the girl smiled.
"N–Nice to meet you."
Another girl spoke next. "Dawn Vienna Montella."
Her smile was polite—but her eyes judged silently.
Crisha stayed quiet.
Her gaze drifted to another boy.
That must be Mark Cielo Villanueva… the grade seven president.
He looked calm. Intelligent. Untouchable.
The day felt endless.
Crisha knew she couldn't afford distractions.
At home, she was needed.
Her father did carpentry jobs when he could. Her mother worked as a helper and took laundry on the side. And Crisha sang whenever she was invited—to help keep the household afloat.
That afternoon, she finally went home, watching expensive cars leave the campus.
Snap out of it. Prepare yourself.
"Mom!" she called cheerfully upon entering.
"Oh, dear, how was school?"
"It was fine," Crisha said. "But I have a gig later tonight."
"Maybe you should rest," her mother worried.
"It's okay, Mom. It helps with expenses."
Her mother sighed. "Alright. Just be careful. Eat first."
Crisha smiled.
She wasn't rich—but she was loved.
And that love was her strength.
You can do this, Crisha.