Rebuilt For Revenge (Editing)

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Octavia:

"Your turn, Ty," I said, stepping back as he squared up with the dummy. "Try not to break it in the first five seconds, yeah? They don't grow on trees."

"Neither do dummies," Hallway Man cut in, his voice sharp as he loomed nearby with his arms crossed.

I blinked at him. "Uh... yeah. That was kind of the point. But thanks for the fun fact, Professor Wikipedia."

A few students snickered. Hallway Man's glare swung back to me like a heat-seeking missile.

"Do you want detention?" he asked, tone dead serious.

I tilted my head. "Thanks for the invite, but I've already got plans in the cafeteria after school. Rain check?"

More laughter. He pinched the bridge of his nose like I was personally shaving years off his life.

Meanwhile, Tyler was pounding away at the dummy, fists thudding hard enough to echo across the room.

I leaned toward Hallway Man, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. "Be honest—ever tempted to use me as the practice dummy? I feel like you'd enjoy it."

His eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't tempt me."

I grinned. "Noted. You glare at me enough as it is, I'd probably combust on the spot."

"Trust me," he muttered, voice low so only I caught it, "if glaring worked, you'd already be gone."

I chuckled, clapping my hands. "Ooo, sarcasm. Careful, sir, or people might start thinking you have a sense of humour."

For the first time, I caught the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth before it disappeared. He turned back to Tyler, barking, "Enough. Switch."

And just like that, it was my turn

**********

"I can't believe you did that," Tyler said, shaking his head as we pushed through the double doors.

"Hey, he was asking for it," I replied, throwing a lazy wave over my shoulder to Hallway Man, who was still glaring like I'd personally ruined his entire week.

With Tyler on my right and Dante on my left, I felt like I was strutting down the corridor in some knock-off version of Mean Girls.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath, "this is literally a scene from Mean Girls. All we need is slow-motion hair flips and dramatic music."

Two sets of eyes immediately shot me looks.

"You're so weird," Dante deadpanned.

"Thank you, Dante. I can now die in peace—my lifelong dream has been achieved. I am, officially, weird." I fist-pumped the air while Tyler was too busy retelling the whole 'dummy disaster' like it was some epic battle.

Honestly, the way he described it, you'd think I slayed a dragon instead of accidentally breaking school property.

We swung open the cafeteria doors, and there they were—the boys and, unfortunately, two girls draped over them like accessories. I mean, they were technically clothed, but... let's just say fabric was involved the same way lettuce is technically part of a cheeseburger.

Their arms were practically strangling Calum and Tom as they leaned in close, batting eyelashes like they were auditioning for a mascara commercial.

"Get a room," I said flatly, hopping onto the table. Every pair of eyes turned on me. Some curious. Some annoyed. Some... desperate.

Yeah, I knew that look. They wanted me to do what none of them could—get rid of those girls.

"Excuse me, would you mind leaving?" I asked sweetly. "You're clearly not wanted at this table."

Two identical heads snapped toward me, eyes sharp.

"And who the hell are you?" the one latched onto Tom snapped, clutching him tighter.

"I'm none of your business. Now please leave."

Her friend smirked. "Bitch, I think you're the one who needs to leave. You're clearly the problem here." Both of them rested their heads on the boys' shoulders, trying to look smug. The effect failed when Tom shoved one off him like she was a fly.

I rolled my eyes, leaned forward, and said louder this time, "Can you please leave? I'd like to enjoy my lunch without worrying about projectile vomit every time I look at you."

Gasps rippled through the table.

"Good one, Ov," Tyler chuckled.

"Ov?" I echoed.

"Yeah," Tom piped up, shrugging like it was obvious. "We decided to give you a nickname. If that's alright."

I hummed. Honestly? I couldn't stop them even if I wanted to. "Fine. Ov it is."

One of the girls pointed a manicured finger at me. "Do you even know who we are?"

"Not really. Just got here," I replied. "But for now, I've been calling you Bitch One and Bitch Two. Easy to remember."

Their smirks faltered before snapping back in place.

"We're the Thompson twins," one said proudly. "Daughters of Mayor Thompson. Dandy and Cathy."

I let that sit for a beat. Then I smiled. "Wow. Congratulations. Your dad's good at smiling and cutting ribbons. That still doesn't solve the problem of you ruining my lunch. So, again—please leave."

Frustration finally cracked their faces, and I knew what was coming even before one of them picked up a fork.

Sure enough, it whizzed straight at me.

And then—snap. A hand blocked it inches from my face.

"What the fuck, Dandy? Who throws forks at people?" Tyler's voice was sharp, angrier than I'd ever heard. He turned his hand over, four little puncture wounds closing in seconds.

My eyes widened. "That's... actually kind of sick."

"Why thank you," Tyler said proudly. "It took a while to get used to the regenerating thing. I feel like a snake when I start shedd—"

"Literally nobody asked," Xavier cut in, crunching into his apple like this was dinner theater.

Before I could even throw a comeback, my head slammed down against the table. Pain bloomed across my forehead, white-hot and throbbing.

I stayed there for a beat, breathing through it, then slowly lifted my head again. "Seriously?"

Dante's voice thundered across the cafeteria. "What the fuck is wrong with you two? Just leave already!"

The girls froze, wide-eyed. Dante didn't raise his voice often—but when he did, it carried. The whole room was watching now.

"Oh, haven't you just signed your death warrant," I muttered, grabbing both of their heads in my hands before they could react.

Gasps echoed as I pulled them down hard against the table—crack.

Silence fell. Blood streamed from one of their noses. The other clutched her face, sobbing.

"Oops," I said cheerfully, even though my own head was pounding like a drum.

Dante's gaze lingered on me, eyes scanning like he was trying to decide if I was okay—or if I'd completely lost it.

And then the bell rang.

Perfect timing.

I stood, straightened my shirt, and bolted for the doors. Every pair of eyes followed me—shock, horror, excitement, disapproval. Take your pick.

Miserable people. Honestly.

I swung into the hallway, tossed a cheerful wave at Hallway Man and Ms. Flowers as they passed, and grinned at their confused faces.

"What? Can't a student wave politely at their teachers?"