Page 3 of Jump on Three

His grin widened. “Making convo while we wait in line. Me, personally, I always get a banana nut muffin. Have you tried them?”

“No.” The texture of muffins made me want to die.

“Are you more of a donut girlie?”

“No.” He raised an eyebrow as if expecting something. I had no idea what.

“Okay, no to donuts and muffins. That doesn’t leave a lot. Brownies?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Not for breakfast. Brownies are strictly a dessert.”

“Ah, a rule follower. I dig.”

He slid his fingers through the side of his silky ebony hair, and my own twitched at my side, curious what that must have felt like to him.

“I like scones.”

His eyebrow popped up. “Okay, cool. I haven’t had a dining hall scone yet. Will have to try.”

Then it was his turn to order, and I realized what a dumb mistake I’d made when the woman behind the counter reached into the case and pulled out my cranberry-orange scone. She handed it to the boy with the ebony hair, and my fingertips dug into my thigh.

“You don’t want that scone,” I blurted.

He spun around, scone in hand. “Yeah, I do. It smells really good. I guess I’m lucky I got the last one, huh?”

I looked at the case, hoping it wasn’t true, that I’d missed a second hiding behind this one, but no. All that was left was a row of chocolate chip scones—and I never ate chocolate before noon. I’d been eating cranberry-orange scones since my sister and I had transferred to Savage Academy last year, and this boy with silky hair had stolen it right out from under me.

The lady behind the counter huffed. “Please order or move aside. There’s a line behind you.”

“I—” Dig, dig, dig… My fingers pressed into my thigh hard. This wasn’t going to be a good day. The pool, my failure, Ivan, the scone thief, gnawing hunger…not a good day at all. “I’ll have a chocolate chip scone, please.”

My unwanted scone in hand, I trotted after the thief. Surely, he would see reason. The bakery made a limited number of cranberry-orange scones because few people wanted to eat them. The chocolate chip, on the other hand, was far more popular.

“Excuse me. I’d really like to have that scone. Can we trade?”

He stopped in his tracks, looking down at my proffered scone wrapped in wax paper, then his gaze flicked to mine. “Normally, I would because I’m a gentleman like that, but something tells me if you want this scone that badly, it must be fucking delicious.”

“It isn’t delicious. It’s basically health food. The cranberries are bitter, and the dough is so dry your tongue will stick to the roof of your mouth. You don’t want it, I promise.”

He cocked his head. “Are you saying I’m not healthy?” He ran a hand over his flat abdomen. “I know it’s off-season, but I don’t have a gut yet. Besides, I’m one of those weirdos who eats all the cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving. Can you say the same?”

“I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

He shot a finger gun at me. “That’s right. You’re Greek, right?”

I nodded, but it was more complicated than that. Greek by birth, but my parents had sent Delilah and me away to boarding school when we were little. First in France, then England, then Spain. I definitely wasn’t American, but I didn’t feel very Greek either. Though...I couldn’t be certain being Greek was a feeling.

“I’ve never eaten cranberry sauce, but I’ve seen it dumped out of a can in movies. If that’s your taste, I can promise you won’t enjoy that scone,” I informed him.

He laughed like I was joking. “My mother would never stoop to buying canned food. Homemade all the way, baby. And I can promise you I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this scone. It’ll be like a taste of home.”

That tactic hadn’t worked, so I leaned back on the manners that had been drilled into me during my years in boarding school. Back then, I’d been called a hopeless case because I couldn’t fall into line the way the other girls had, but as I got older, I’d learned to feign politeness with the best of them.

“Please, please, I’d like to have that scone. Is there anything else I can give you to trade for it? Would you like a banana nut muffin too?”

“No, don’t think so. I’m good with what I have.”

“You won’t like it. It will make you sick.”

---