The Halo Effect

04 | sharks and minions

Even if I'd wanted to save Trip McKenna a seat in AP Government, my plans to do so would've been foiled. The desks were arranged in the shape of a horseshoe with the new seating chart displayed on the SMART board at the front of the classroom.

"New term, new seats," Mrs. Aspen announced from behind her desk. "Earn back the privilege of self-determination by proving you're capable of stepping outside of your comfort zone and sitting next to different people."

A collective groan sounded from students filing into the classroom, but no one dared to protest any further. Mrs. Aspen was the kind of teacher who was perfectly nice until the moment someone attempted to bend the rules.

When I located my school picture on the chart, my lips flattened into a grim line. I'd tragically been assigned to sit between Grayson Kirby and Anthony D'Marco, a nearly unbearable combination of pomposity and overpriced cologne. Just because they looked like Abercrombie models didn't mean they had to smell like the store.

"Sandwiched by two of Cannondale's most eligible bachelors," Macallan stated in a low voice. "You're in for a super fun term."

"Not everyone can have their minion seated next to them," I jabbed, noting that Gianna was assigned to a desk beside Macallan. She'd arrived alongside us, but now stood at Mrs. Aspen's desk, shaking her hand.

"Quit being such a shark, Chan," Macallan retorted. "I love you, but there's no blood in the water."

"Not yet."

"How about you focus on who's seated directly across from you."

My gaze shot across the room, and I realized that Macallan had paid far closer attention to the seating chart. Directly across from my desk on the opposite side of the horseshoe was Trip. A stray brown curl fell over his forehead as he scribbled onto his notebook, and his black denim jacket hugged his toned shoulders a little too well.

After fixing me with an amused smirk, Macallan headed over to her desk in the middle of the horseshoe.

The moment I took my seat, Grayson dropped into the one on my left. The blue of his eyes matched the shade of his polo shirt, regrettably attractive. 

"You, me, and Tony D," he drawled and gave me a stupid wink. "Lucky you, England."

"Lucky me," I echoed, deadpan. I didn't like the glint in Grayson's eyes or how close he was to me. Retrieving my spiral notebook from my backpack, I made a point of dropping it loudly onto my desk. "Make one wrong move, and you'll regret it."

Grayson threw his hands up in mock defense. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, message received. I wouldn't dare."

Most of the AP classes at Cannondale were usually a mix of seniors and juniors, though a select few were open to qualified sophomores. Of the four AP classes I was enrolled in this year, Grayson was in three of them. There wasn't a day of the school week that I could escape him.

"I'm going to explain this to you in lacrosse terms since that's probably the only way to get it through your thick skull," I said, tapping a finger to where our desks touched. "This is the restraining line. Don't cross it because then you'll be offside."

Grayson's eyes flashed with irritation, but he laughed off my words as he wrote the date in perfect cursive on top of a blank sheet in his notebook. "Like I said, I wouldn't dare."

Just as I was about to shoot another cold remark his way, the chair to my right was rattled backward by a large hand.

"Boundaries are important, Grayson. That's what England is saying," came the unmistakable voice of Anthony D'Marco, or 'Tony D' as everyone called him. While the majority of students at Cannondale hailed from the Boston area, Tony D was a true Bostonian and had the stereotypical accent to prove it.