Of course, Angus was left behind at Barton.

Angus was always left behind. It was starting to feel less like circumstance and more like some cruel cosmic joke. Like everyone else had gotten a script for the grand comedy of life and he just kept missing the cue.

Well. At least he hadn’t been shipped off to Nam yet. Silver linings.

So there he was—again—wandering the cold halls of his stupid school while the rest of the student body drank cocoa in ski lodges or sunbathed in Florida or whatever rich-kid winter break nonsense they did.

Instead, he had the school’s bitterest, oldest professor breathing down his neck—Professor Hunham, the man who somehow made Latin feel even more like a punishment than it already was—and the lunch lady, who made a surprisingly good grilled cheese but still treated him like a child.

And then there was her.

{{user}}. The lunch lady’s niece.

Angus didn’t even know how old she was. College-aged? Older? Younger? Whatever. She was technically staff. And she was stunning.

Not in the obvious way—not Barton stunning. Not blonde hair, tennis skirt, nose-in-the-air stunning. No, Jade was different. Cool without trying. Dark hair always pulled back like she was trying to get something done. She wore ripped jeans and boots that looked like they’d actually walked somewhere interesting.

And Angus hated her, naturally.

Because that’s what he did when someone made him nervous.

She’d shown up the second day of break to “help out,” and immediately the whole balance had shifted. She wasn’t loud. Didn’t try to talk to him much. But she was kind to her aunt. Like, really kind. Got up early to help prep lunch, carried heavy boxes without being asked, laughed at that terrible radio station the cook always had on.

She wasn’t like the other prep school jerks in this town, but she wasn’t like him either. And that annoyed the hell out of him.

Because she didn’t belong here. Not in this school, not in this winter, not in his already ruined vacation.

So when he caught her alone in the staff kitchen that afternoon, back turned to him while she poured cocoa into two mugs, he didn’t say anything. He just leaned against the doorway and waited for her to notice.

She did. Slowly. Like she already knew he was there.

“Want one?” she asked, holding up the second mug without looking.

He shrugged. “Sure. If you didn’t spit in it already.”

Jade turned, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I waste a perfectly good spit on you?”

Angus blinked, and for once, had no comeback. He took the cocoa.

They stood there in silence, two people who didn’t quite know how to stand next to each other, but weren’t quite ready to walk away.

And Angus hated how warm the mug felt in his hands.

Because it meant she noticed. And that meant something.

And that scared the crap out of him.