The Halo Effect

03 | new girl

The cold morning air seared through the sheer black fabric of my tights, almost making me regret my decision to wear a suede skirt in January. Dressing up for the first day of term was an unspoken tradition at Cannondale, rooted in flaunting wealth and cementing social standing. I wasn't bold enough to defect from the status quo.

"If you walk any faster you're going to wipe out," Kelsey called through chattering teeth, a few paces behind me as we neared the dining hall at the heart of Cannondale's campus. "There's black ice everywhere."

"Dr. Martens have great traction," I said, dismissing her concern with a flick of my wrist. "Thought you would've known that since you wear yours practically every day of the year."

Appearing at my side, Kelsey rolled her eyes amicably. "Just know when you're down on your ass, I won't help you up."

"Wow, I'm so lucky to have a friend like you," I scoffed and curled my hands up into the sleeves of my black puffer jacket as a gust of icy wind pushed against our backs. With strands of my brown hair slicing up my vision, I threw open the heavy oak door to the dining hall and held it open for Kelsey.

Soft classical music floated from the speakers in the lobby that hosted smartly dressed students, and a draft of warm air carried the smell of maple syrup and toasted bread. We crossed under the massive skylight, the sunlight enhancing the warmer tones of the wood paneling on the walls. Despite its recent renovation, the dining hall was the oldest building at Cannondale. It showcased the prominent hallmarks of Gothic architecture with its ribbed vault ceiling and stained glass windows in the formal dining room.

When we joined the line to check-in, a couple of eyes conspicuously darted in our direction. This was predictable yet amusing.

"It's my bell-bottom corduroys, isn't it?" Kelsey asked in a stage whisper, smoothing her hands over the midnight blue fabric of her pants. "God, I love being a fashion icon."

"I'd say it's a mix of that and wondering where their beloved Macallan is," I answered with a wry smile.

Kelsey hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting around the lobby as though she half-expected Macallan to materialize. She'd departed Roosevelt Hall ten minutes before us to perform her duty as a glorified tour guide, but promised to meet us here. No matter how tired the three of us were, we always arrived at the dining hall before 7:30 AM. That allowed us a full thirty minutes to have breakfast before heading off to our first-period class starting at 8:20 AM. We never wanted to risk being tardy as tardiness equaled a Saturday morning detention. There were very few exceptions to that rule.

Once we swiped our student-ID cards at the check-in stand, we parted ways to acquire our breakfasts. Maneuvering through the throngs of students, I flashed an occasional smile at teammates and other familiar faces in my orbit. I wasn't aware I was searching for Trip until I spotted him across the dining room.

Sunlight shone through the high stained glass windows, casting soft colorful hues across the table at which Trip sat alongside Grayson and a few other senior athletes. He was leaning back in his seat, a casual smile on his face and a mug of what I knew to be black coffee in his hand. Even though the noise from the dining hall drowned out their conversation, I could tell that the other boys at the table hung onto Trip's every word when he spoke. They might have been seated at a circular table, but Trip was the center of attention.

Never being one to stare, I turned away and wished that his smile would quit lingering in my mind like the afterimage of a camera flash.

When I met Kelsey back at our usual corner booth, I set my bowl of oatmeal down on the wood table and slid into the bench across from her.