The Halo Effect

12 | charm offensive

The new seating chart in AP Government rivaled those of state dinners at the White House. Those charts prepared for every contingency, creating an intricate web that sought to secure compatibility and prevent conflict.

Mrs. Aspen had banished me to the upper left desk in the horseshoe where I still had Tony D and his obnoxious head of wolfish hair for company. Grayson and Macallan now sat in the middle section with five desks separating them, ensuring that they couldn't actually see each other during class. Our ingenious teacher had also stationed Gianna and Trip in two of those five desks as potential diplomats. The arrangement ultimately allowed her to keep a watchful eye on them from the front of the room while she taught. This had clearly required both skill and strategy.

I might've been more impressed if it wasn't for every soul at Cannondale knowing about what had happened at Winter Formal. The news of Macallan executing Grayson's taunt to hit him was the only drama worth talking about during the last few days, and as much as it made me feel like a selfish bitch, I couldn't help but be relieved that no one was outwardly speculating about anything relating to coat closet escapades. That sliver of the evening only belonged to Trip and me.

Grayson was back on the charm offensive from the moment I'd stepped into the classroom on Monday afternoon. There were no snide remarks or threatening glares. He'd even supplied a cordial response to Macallan during the discussion on Tuesday, earning himself a few startled yet impressed stares.

I understood that Grayson was trying to save face, even though he'd literally failed to do so, but that hadn't curtailed my animosity. Not one bit. He deserved to have those bruises last as long as they possibly could. They acted as blatant reminders of his true colors.

The last two days had kept me on edge so much that I'd welcomed the exam on Wednesday; I'd rather spend fifty minutes in concentrated silence than witnessing Grayson peacock.

"Twenty minutes left," Mrs. Aspen announced from her desk. "All exams must be in the basket by the final bell. You may leave if you finish early."

I cast a glance around the room. The scribbling of pens and turning of pages punctuated the tense quiet. Mrs. Aspen had spaced the desks out for the exam but maintained the horseshoe shape. Thankfully, I was far enough away from Tony D that I couldn't detect his overpowering woodsy cologne.

My gaze briefly landed on Trip, and I almost scowled. He looked too handsome in glasses. It was borderline distracting.

I was checking over the multiple-choice section one last time when Trip stood up and started over to Mrs. Aspen's desk to drop his exam in the basket. He became the second student to turn his in.

Trip's eyes flicked to mine as he went to retrieve his backpack. Realizing that he'd caught me staring, I straightened and abruptly flipped to the next page of my exam. He looked amused, the corners of his lips twitching up in a fleeting smile. It was one look, but it was meant just for me.

Before I could refocus on my exam, Grayson jumped out of his seat and marched to Mrs. Aspen's desk with purposeful swagger in his step. He was quick to intercept Trip at the door and held it open for him.

"I nailed it," Grayson said in a stage whisper to Trip as he shut the door with unnecessary force. 

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. This silent, one-sided competition was maddening. I knew I had dirt on Grayson and that Trip deserved to know that his friend had betrayed his confidence, but my chest constricted every time I thought about telling him. I refused to risk everything with Grayson driving a wedge between us before we even had the chance to become something more than a handful of stolen moments.