Page 33 of Tasty Cherry
“Did we find them out?”
“Not yet. I wanted to be prepared.” Brooklyn pulls an elastic band from her wrist. “Here. I’ll do yours.”
She’s a good six inches taller than me, so she has no trouble gathering my hair and twisting it around. She fusses with it a second, then takes a quick shot of me with her phone. She turns the screen to show me. “Good?”
Geez. She’s made an elegant updo with nothing but a hair tie. “It looks great.”
Owen stumbles in, looking tired. “Hey, everyone.”
“Trouble sleeping?” Brooklyn asks.
“I always have to get used to a new place.” He aims straight for the coffee.
Brooklyn steps close to me to whisper, “I wonder how late Maverick will be.”
I glance at the clock. It’s two minutes past the hour.
Raya walks toward us. “Grab some food. We will provide coffee and pastries today and lunch on Friday due to our meetings. Other than that, you’re on your own. There’s a small shop for basics off the lobby, or you can drive or bus to the closest grocery store about two miles up the highway. It’s a pretty far walk, though, since it’s almost half a mile up the long drive to get to the main road.”
“Who has cars?” Brooklyn asks. “Most of us arrived in rentals.”
“I do,” I say.
Ilsa doesn’t answer.
“I can take us all for a run one evening, if you want.” I might as well extend the offer to Ilsa, even though I’m not sure how close we’ll get. She has an iron shell around her.
“Excellent,” Raya says. “Mila, thank you for being a team player. Grab your plates, and we can review today’s plan.”
We’re all settled at a long white table when Maverick finally wanders in. He nods at us before heading toward the coffee.
“I have a saying,” Raya calls out. “Early is on time. On time is late.”
“He’s neither of those,” Brooklyn whispers.
Maverick shrugs as he fills a white ceramic mug. “Sounds like I’m going to be late a lot.”
Brooklyn shakes her head. I’m sure we’re thinking the same thing. How is he even here? There were hundreds of applicants for these spots.
He takes his time choosing pastries, at one point saying, “I hope nobody’s staring at my butt.”
Raya looks like her head is going to pop off. She grips her pen so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. Her face and neck are bright pink.
Brooklyn, Owen, and I exchange uneasy glances. Ilsa sits ramrod straight, attentive, as if her perfect professionalism will rub off on Maverick.
Finally, he sidles over to the table, setting down his plate and cup, and turning his chair around backwards to straddle it. “Carry on.”
Raya’s voice is hard-edged. “Maverick, you have three strikes before I fire you. Consider today’s tardiness a warning. I’m assigning you to the dish room today. Consider every broken dish a strike.”
He’s made an enemy for sure. I wonder what his game is. He clearly doesn’t want to be here.
He takes a big bite of a flaky croissant, then dusts his hands of the particles. “Here’s what I know,” he says, aiming his words at her like they’re darts. “I’m not easily fired. You know why. Also, I’m really good when I decide to do something. We’ll see what I decide today.”
Brooklyn and I glance at each other again. What does he mean, he’s not easily fired? Is he part of Havannah’s family or something?
I silently pray I’m not put on a shift with him. He’s clearly going to be like the classmate in the group project who drags everyone else down.
Raya stares at him in disbelief. “Maverick, I’m not sure I’m interested in being in your presence any longer.” She picks up her cell phone and taps a quick message. “Henry from the dish room is on his way to escort you to your assignment.”