Page 51 of Wylder and the Almost Rockstar
“What’s that?” She followed her nose from one station to the next, passing up the cereal line, the pancake platters, and the omelet station until she landed in the line for the breakfast of the day. The school chefs offered special meals at dinner each night, with the standard daily staples always available. It appeared they did the same for breakfast. Last time it was French toast. This time it was something she’d never smelled before.
“What is that delicious smell?” Wylder asked the lady behind the counter.
“Biscuits and gravy,” the chef replied.
Wylder wrinkled her nose. “That looks revolting.” She stared down at the white lumpy gravy. “No, I’m talking about that spicy, sausagey smell.”
“It’s the sausage in the gravy. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s a southern delicacy. You should give it a try.” The lady scooped up a spoonful of the goopy stuff and handed the spoon to Wylder. She’d try anything at least once, she popped it into her mouth.
“That’s divine. I’ll have that with extra gravy.”
“How many biscuits you want, hon?” The lady smiled.
“Two.” Wylder glanced at the biscuits. “Well, they’re kinda small, better make it three. I went running this morning, so I’m ravenous.”
“If you like spicy food, try topping it with hot sauce, it’ll change your world.” The chef placed the plate on Wylder’s tray.
“I’ll try that, thanks.” Wylder went through the line and added some eggs and a few Danishes to her tray—for mid-day snackies between classes later.
“Large iced vanilla latte, please? With an extra shot.” Wylder placed her drink order and waited for Logan to join her.
“You should try the biscuit goo, it’s delicious.” She eyed his plate of egg-white crepes with spinach.
“You’re going to have a heart attack by the time you’re twenty-five.”
“Hey, I ran at least three miles this morning, I can eat whatever I want.”
“You ran two laps around the lake? Good for you, Wylds.” Logan shuffled through the line behind her, grabbing an orange juice and a bowl of fresh fruit.
“Um, not quite two.” Wylder grabbed some hot sauce. She wasn’t about to tell him she’d only managed to run down to the lake and walked back.
“Go grab our seats, I still need coffee,” Logan said.
She swiped her meal card and headed for their regular table.
“She’s here again?” Diego whispered. “I thought she was joking when she said she went running this morning.”
“It was her idea,” Devyn said, scooping up a bite of cereal. “Said she couldn’t sleep.”
“I like breakfast.” Wylder took her seat. “Why don’t you guys ever wake me up to come with you?”
“We don’t want to die.” Killian deadpanned.
“Did you know they have something different every morning?” Wylder dug into her biscuits. “This is amazing.”
“Yeah, the daily breakfast is usually a heart attack on a plate,” Devyn said. “So, right up your ally. You going to come running with us tomorrow?”
“Well, let’s not get crazy.” Wylder reached for the saltshaker.
“Cook is a crook. Cook is a crook.” The chanting started up again, and Wylder dropped her fork against her plate.
“Knock it off!” Killian barked at the jerks behind them, just as Logan pulled his seat away from the table. A trash bag full of garbage fell from his chair, scattering around Logan’s feet. He kicked it away and sat down with an angry scowl on his face.
It was getting to him. As much as he tried to shrug it off, the jerks laughing at his expense was too much.
“Ignore them, Logan,” Killian said. “They don’t matter.”
“I know.” Logan lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth.
