Rebuilt For Revenge (Editing)

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Octavia:

My head is pounding so badly, I'm half convinced it's trying to escape my skull. Break finally rolls around, and I swear I've never been happier. The lesson—well, I thought it might be interesting—was a complete nightmare.

Not that any class is genuinely fun, let's be honest.

Sitting in a room for an hour listening to someone drone on about where metal comes from, how it's formed, and some overly dramatic spiel about "deciding which lives to save" is not exactly my idea of a good time. Sure, I get it—saving lives is important, blah blah—but my head literally feels like it's being used as a drum in some heavy metal band thanks to that smoke from the fire earlier.

And if that wasn't enough, someone thought it'd be a brilliant idea to make us do a poster. In groups of three. Because apparently teamwork fixes boredom or something.

"Okay, everyone," she chirped, practically vibrating with joy. "I'd love for you all to get into groups of three and create a poster reflecting everything you've learned today!"

Her enthusiasm should have been illegal.

I raised my voice—not my hand, because apparently that's optional in sarcasm school—"Miss, can I make one by myself?"

"No," she said brightly, rifling through a drawer. "I've already set the groups. It's more efficient this way."

She held up a white sheet of paper like it was the Holy Grail and slipped on her glasses. "Andrew, Scott, and Ben." The three boys leapt up, fists flying in victory, grinning like they'd won some invisible lottery.

"Kate, Sam, and Lee. Niall, Mark, and Nia." The girls squealed like this was some reality show announcement.

Efficiency, my foot. Putting people with their friends doesn't make you efficient—it makes you talk about literally everything except what you're supposed to be doing.

"And finally... Octavia, Freya, and Lewis." My head snapped up like I'd just seen a ghost. Freya and Lewis. Lovely. I could already feel my patience evaporating.

As if on cue, the two lunatics sprinted toward the back like they were late for the Olympics.

"Hey! I'm Freya, and this is Lewis!" Freya squealed, her grin so wide I thought it might split her face in half.

"I can introduce myself, thanks," Lewis said, lightly shoving her shoulder. Clearly, he was the calmer one—or at least pretending to be. I glared at them both. Perfect. Two new sources of irritation.

"Ah! You must be Octavia! What a lovely name! Where did it come from?" Freya practically bounced on the balls of her feet.

I froze. Introductions? Really?

"My... Dad?" I mumbled, which sounded more like a question than an answer. KB had given me the name. 'A stranger gave me this name' probably wouldn't have gone over well.

"Well, your dad has excellent taste!" she cooed, and my jaw twitched.

"And that accent! English, right? I'm so jealous!" She squealed again, practically doing a little victory dance.

Lewis, thankfully, didn't say anything overly cheerful yet. He just got out markers and highlighters, his grin still annoyingly large.

"Let's make this poster the best ever!" he declared. I briefly considered my life choices and whether a low-speed headbutt might improve my mood.

I shuffled to the dinning hall, hoping for some reprieve. Apparently, this place actually had edible food, which, compared to other schools I've seen, is basically a Michelin-star miracle.