Olivia got up, wiped her palms on her pants, and ran on. Not a word. The laughter followed her all morning.

During a break, Olivia sat on a wooden bench, pulling a granola bar from her bag. Tara sauntered over with two other cadets, her arms crossed, her voice syrupy with fake concern.

“Olivia, right? So, like, where are you even from? Did you—what?—win a contest to be here?”

Her friends giggled, one covering her mouth like it was all too funny.

Olivia took a bite, chewed slowly, and looked up. “I applied.” She set her voice flat, like she was stating the weather.

Terra’s smile tightened. “Okay, but why?” she pressed, leaning in. “You don’t exactly scream elite soldier. I mean, look at your everything.”

She waved a hand at Olivia’s muddy T-shirt, her plain brown hair.