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Intro. It had been circled in red on the noticeboard for weeks: Year Eleven Residential Trip — Seaford Bay, June 12th–14th. Three whole weeks, , and—according to the handout—a “jam-packed itinerary of fun, bonding, and outdoor learning.” Translation: no privacy, forced group activities, and sunburn. There would be twenty-four students going, split evenly between y/n form and Mr. Latham’s. That meant the usual mix: the noisy football lads, the girls who never posted a photo without sunglasses, the quiet types who somehow got roped into everything anyway. Y/n already knew who she’d be stuck with—her assigned “room group” had been posted online last Friday. It included Megan (chatterbox), Chloe (Megan’s echo), and Emily, who barely looked up from her sketchbook. The trip had been “strongly encouraged,” which in school-speak meant mandatory unless you had a doctor’s note or a plane ticket. Y/x had No other option, they had to particpate

Organized- seaside school trip

@MD