The Halo Effect

23 | civility

Trip had the windows in his 2008 two-door Honda Accord rolled down. The wind was unusually warm for the beginning of April and whipped my hair wildly in every direction, but I refused to tie it back. I didn't want to risk having a kink for the remainder of the day.

After adjusting the volume on the stereo, I rested my arm on the center console. My position in the passenger seat had granted me aux cord privileges, though I doubted Trip would've denied it to me. After scrolling through my Spotify and queuing up a few songs, I glanced over at him.

Sunlight shone through the driver's side window and glinted off of Trip's rings as he tilted the steering wheel to change lanes. I wasn't the slightest bit surprised that his driving seemed effortless, and I quieted the urge to reach over and fix the crooked collar of his blue flannel shirt.

This would've resembled a page ripped out of my daydreams if it wasn't for the non-stop bickering in the backseat.

"Headmistress Harvey wouldn't approve of this seating arrangement," Grayson grumbled, sitting directly behind me. I could practically feel his spiffy white Nike Air Jordan's digging into my back through the seat.

"Then it's a good thing that she's not in the backseat of Trip's car," Macallan retorted lazily.

"Remind me why I'm in the backseat of this car?" Grayson asked through a groan.

"Because you're a halfway decent friend supporting Tony D, I'm supporting Jameson, and they're going to look cute," Macallan rattled off, still maintaining her lazy tone. "Besides, if you hadn't crashed your dad's Range Rover, you could've driven your own vehicle to the Diamond Duel."

"That was a low blow."

"Would you prefer if I aimed for your face again?"

"Touché, Macallan," Grayson muttered. "Trip, when does my backseat banishment end?"

"You're liberated in ten minutes," Trip said with a ghost of a grin.

We'd been in Trip's car for less than thirty minutes, Boston's Saturday traffic miraculously light. I'd spent last night at Macallan's house, and Trip had picked us up from there with Grayson abdicating the passenger seat to me. Our weekend privileges allowed us to leave Cannondale with permission, and the four of us certainly wouldn't be the only students at the New England Diamond Duel this evening.

Boston hosted the New England Diamond Duel every spring, a baseball tournament that invited the most qualified teams from high-profile private schools. This happened to include the New Livingston Day School Lions and their esteemed captain, Dallas Gunther.

I hadn't bothered to make the connection until Dad offered to drive Macallan and me after his round of golf with Patrick Gunther. While we'd had several civil conversations since my enlightenment on his relationship status last weekend, I wasn't above picking spending time with Trip over him.

Trip sighed, briefly eyeing me from behind the dark lenses of his Clubmaster sunglasses. "They're failing this exercise in civility."

A subtle laugh escaped me and I smiled at Trip even though I knew he wouldn't catch it. "You thought they wouldn't?"

"Shame on me for being an optimist."

I was busy tracing Trip's profile with my eyes when Macallan leaned forward in a wave of her Glossier perfume and jabbed me in the shoulder. "Chan, this music is ancient."

I twisted around in my seat. "Third Eye Blind's first album is timeless."

"Don't they sing that song about crystal meth?" Grayson asked, balancing a banged-up elbow at the base of the window. His bangs flopped in the wind like the ears of a golden retriever.