Page 4 of Filthy Elites

I don’t wait for him before I walk out of the nurse’s office. I’m glad that once we hit the hallway, there’s not a soul in sight. I glance at the clock mounted on the wall; classes are still in progress.

“We have a few minutes before the next period. Let’s get some fresh air,” Jason says.

If I were smarter, I’d make an excuse not to follow him, but I’m curious about his game. It seems I’m playing it whether I want to or not, so I might as well understand the rules.

“You didn’t answer my question. Did you carry me out of Spanish class?”

“Someone had to. I can’t believe your nose didn’t break. Your face hit the desk pretty hard.”

Way to go unnoticed, Isabelle.

I touch my nose, finding it tender. It would have sucked breaking it again. “Small blessings, I guess.”

Once outside, Jason leads me to a picnic table that’s partially shaded by an oak tree. He sits on the shaded side. No wonder he’s pale. Does he ever get any sun?

I slide onto the bench across from him and then endure his scrutinizing stare without flinching. After a long stretch of silence, he shakes his head and sticks his hand in his jacket pocket.

“Here. Have this.” He slides a fruit bar across the table.

I stare at the snack for a couple of beats without moving, taken aback by the offering. With a frown, I lift my face to his. “I said earlier I had a good breakfast.”

“So? That means nothing.”

I return the snack to him, but before I can pull my hand back, he traps it underneath his, angling his body forward.

“What’s your deal, Nicola Devlin?”

Hating how his touch sends a ripple of pleasure up my arm, I yank my hand free. “I could ask you the same thing,Jason.”

He narrows his eyes. “You remind me of someone.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. He can’t possibly know who I am. I look nothing like I used to. Besides the different hair and eye color, my nose was broken, and the doctors couldn’t fix it back to how it was. It’s different, but not terrible.

“My appearance is pretty ordinary,” I say.

“If you say so. Why did you come to Triton Cove?”

“Oh, we’re playing the third-degree game now?”

He leans back, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. “You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?”

“No. I’m a private person.”

“Or you have something to hide. No one comes to Triton Cove, much less enroll at Maverick Prep in the middle of the semester, if there isn’t some juicy motive behind it.”

Damn it.This dude is like a dog with a bone.

“I missed one week of class. That hardly qualifies as middle of the semester,” I retort.

“What do your parents do?”

“They’re business executives. They live in Europe.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily since I rehearsed it so many times.

His eyebrows arch. “Oh, so you’re boarding.”

I don’t like how that information perks him up.

“Yes.”

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