The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (5 page)

Chapter 6

Tristan took his time stuffing his books into his locker. He ambled down the hallway and made a quick detour into the restroom. Not because he needed to go, but because he was killing time. He was supposed to be in Mrs. Baker’s office immediately after school to meet his new Big freakin’ Buddy.
Thanks, Mom
.

He took extra time washing his hands as he studied his reflection in the streaked industrial-grade mirror. His dark brown hair hung long, sweeping across his forehead. It was finally getting to the length he wanted it, and now his mom was harping about him needing a haircut. It helped hide the fact that he had his dad’s identical almond-shaped, brown eyes though.

With a sigh, he hiked his backpack back up onto his shoulder and shoved out the door to head to the office. Time to get this humiliation over with. Like he needed a babysitter. What, did she think he was four? And why did they have to meet at school? Cuz his mom was chicken, that’s why. Supposedly she’d entrusted the school counselor and the program with the details of approving his Big Buddy and the match. Again. Chicken.

He approached the office door and his heart began to race with anticipation. With sweaty palms, he pressed open the silent door. It was after school, so most everyone was already gone. Only one gray-haired secretary remained. She smiled up at him.

“Hello. Can I help you?” She smacked her gum.

He took a step in her direction. “Yes.” Uh oh, his dumb voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “Um, yes. I’m supposed to meet Mrs. Baker?”

She stood. “Just a sec. I’ll get her for you.”

It only took a minute for Mrs. Baker to appear, her face much happier than last time they met. “Tristan! I’m so glad you’re here. Come to my office. I have someone for you to meet.”

Duh. He knew why he was here. He didn’t say a word as he followed her, the sound of her pantyhose rubbing together grating his nerves.

When they got to her office, he paused. She turned around and smiled. “It’s all right, Tristan. Come inside. This is a friendly meeting. Nobody’s expecting anything from you.”

He took a deep breath and stepped inside her office. Time to see what a “Big Buddy” was like.

“Hi, Tristan.” The man stepped forward with a huge grin and extended a hand. “I’ve been so excited to meet you.”

Tristan just stood there. His jaw might’ve hit the ground. There must’ve been some mistake. The Big Buddies from the brochures looked like businessmen and Boy Scouts and shit. They wore suits and penny loafers. Or at least jeans and polo shirts with their hair neatly trimmed.

Tristan swallowed as he took in the Gigantor in front of him. Whatever a mentor was supposed to be, he was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be Incredible Hulk biker dudes on steroids. Seriously, the guy must’ve weighed, like, four hundred pounds or something!

Tristan turned confused eyes to Mrs. Baker. She simply smiled reassuringly. She didn’t seem afraid. “Tristan, I’d like you to meet Michael Smith.”

His eyes flew back to the giant, who was calmly waiting for him to accept his handshake.
Seriously?
Was he being punk’d?

Mrs. Baker rounded to her desk and began shuffling papers. “So, Tristan,” she said, oblivious to his concern. “Michael thought he could spend some time with you here at school this afternoon. Then you could catch the late bus home.” She glanced up over the tops of her glasses. “Your mother has already said it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you.”

He shot a look over at his new “Big Buddy.” They got the
big
part right. He’d let his hand fall back to his side since Tristan hadn’t taken it and turned his attention to Mrs. Baker. Tristan took the opportunity to study him for a moment. He was bald, but he didn’t look old, so he must shave his head. He wore black leather everything except for a faded red T-shirt and scuffed biker boots. And, of course, he was nearly as round as he was tall. And the dude was tall.

“Tristan?” Mrs. Baker interrupted him. “Whad’ya say? Do you want to stay after school and visit with Michael here for a little while and see if you think you can be friends? There’s no pressure. We’re doing this for you. It’s your decision.”

But they both stared at him so expectantly. The big guy’s eyes practically begged like a starved puppy.

He nodded. “Sure. I guess. I’ve already missed the bus, anyway. Nothing else to do until the late bus comes.”

Michael grinned like a kid that had just been handed a piece of candy.

Mrs. Baker smiled. “Great. Why don’t you check in with me in the next few days and let me know how it’s going, okay?”

He nodded and strode out without bothering to see if the guy followed.

He made it as far as the picnic tables outside in the open field area before he realized that he was definitely not alone.

He spun around, suddenly angry. “Look, I don’t need a babysitter or a Big Buddy or . . . whatever! You don’t have to waste your time with me!”

Michael stopped and studied him. “Okay. Fine.” He nodded toward a bench. “Mind if I sit?”

Tristan threw down his backpack and shrugged. Michael sat and steepled his fingers in thought as his beefy forearms rested on the table.

After ten minutes, and finally bored with beating up the grass with the toe of his tennis shoe, Tristan sat as far on the opposite side of the picnic table from Michael as possible. He rustled through his backpack and found his iPod, but cursed the dead battery. He chanced a quick glance. The big man was stock still and totally silent, apparently lost in thought. He almost seemed . . . prayerful? Nah.

Eventually, Michael cleared his throat. Tristan glanced over, trying his best to act uninterested.

“So, Tristan,” he started, using his huge thumb to trace a scratch in the table, “since we have some time to kill until the bus comes, I was thinking, what harm would there be in a little conversation? I don’t know about you, but I’m bored.” He looked over, his blue-green eyes intense. For the first time, Tristan felt something akin to intimidation. Only it wasn’t threatening or scary. Simply . . . larger than himself.

Tristan could only nod.

Michael smiled. The intense stare was gone. “Cool. Is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

Tristan blinked. He couldn’t think of anything specific. What would a grown-up ask? “Where do you work?”

“Gentry’s Tattoo Studio. I’m a tattoo artist.” His smile communicated that that was only one of his many talents. But it was
way
cool.

Tristan smiled. “Really? Awesome!”

“Thank you. Anything else?”

“You married? Kids?”

He shook his head. “No and no. My work keeps me too busy.”

Tristan tilted his head. “So why do you do this?”

“You mean be a Big Buddy?”

He nodded.

“Honestly, this is my first time. I just knew there was a very special kid out there who needed my help.” He leaned in just a fraction. “And, I think it’s you.”

Tristan swallowed. “Oh.” Somehow, the way he said it didn’t make him feel like a charity case or some loser to be babysat. It was almost as if Tristan himself mattered. Not just any kid that he’d have been paired up with, but Tristan.

“So,” Michael leaned back. “Now you know a little bit about me, let me ask you something. What do you do for fun?”

Oh, that was easy. “If it has two wheels and a motor, I’m all over it,” he answered with a grin.

“Well, well, well,” Michael grinned in kind. “I think we’ll get along just fine. I happen to know a thing or two about bikes. Maybe we can get together sometime and . . .”

He didn’t have to say anymore. Sold.

Braelyn pulled up in the driveway and stepped out of her car. She’d gone for a pedicure after school and a quick trip to the grocery store to kill some time since Tristan would be with his new Big Buddy. But she was anxious—more than she cared to admit—to find out how it went. She hoped Tristan at least gave the guy a break the first day and that she’d made the right decision to not be there for the first meeting. She didn’t want it to be awkward for him.

She rounded to the back of her SUV to pop the hatch and hefted the first few bags. Through the front windshield she caught a glimpse of the open garage. Weird. Whenever Tristan had it open and was tinkering inside, he had his music—and she used the term lightly—blaring. There was the metallic clank of tools being thrown around. So he
was
in there. She hurried with her load of groceries and headed his way with a smile.

“Tristan! Sweetie. How’d it go today with your . . .?” She let the question slide off her tongue as she nearly toppled headlong into the biggest, scariest–looking man she’d ever seen.

Before she could get another breath to scream, Tristan popped out from behind the behemoth man in black leather with a grin. “Mom! Hey!”

She shifted startled eyes to her son. “Tristan?” She peeked back to the man. He was smiling at her. She noticed now that he had greasy hands and was holding something that appeared to be a part of a motor in his hand.

Tristan stepped closer. “I’m glad you’re home. You’re late.” He hiked a thumb toward the big guy. “This is my new friend. Michael.”

“Michael?” she echoed, the heavy bags slipping a little in her grasp.

The man put the part down on the workbench and stepped in to grab the bags from her. “Here, let me.” He handled them all effortlessly. “I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.” His soft voice sounded sheepish. “Tristan said it’d be all right if I came over this evening and helped him a little on his bike. I hope you don’t mind.”

She shook her head as if to clear some cobwebs. Reason was starting to sink in. “So, you’re his Big Buddy?”

He looked like he might’ve blushed. “Yes, ma’am. I can see I’m probably not what you were expecting. I don’t think I’m what Tristan expected, either. But I think we’re getting along great.” He glanced at her son. “It’s a match made in Heaven, I’d say.”

One glimpse of her boy told her all she needed to know. He’d found someone special to hang out with. Just what she’d hoped for. She could get over his brutish appearance. Obviously he was a nice guy. “Oh.” She nodded. “Well, that’s wonderful.” She glanced again to her son who looked happier than she’d seen him in a long time. Too long. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Michael?”

He grinned in answer, crinkling his eyes with laugh lines. “I’d love to, Mrs. Campbell.”

She started toward the house, but peeked over her shoulder. “It’s
Miss
Campbell. It’s just Tristan and I.”

Michael nodded like perhaps he already knew that and followed her inside with the bags.

The house felt like a sauna. Even though it was fall, Texas could still get mighty hot. Ninety degrees in September was something fairly new to this Hoosier girl, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She must’ve forgotten to leave the AC turned down. She went to the hallway and checked the thermostat. The house was a balmy 86 degrees. She made a face. She’d left it set for 75. She turned it all the way down then pivoted back toward the kitchen to unload the food and start dinner.

“Mom,” Tristan whined, “why’s it so hot in here?”

“I don’t know.” She tucked the milk and yogurt next to the eggs and pulled out some ground beef for spaghetti. “The repair guy was out the same day as the plumber for the sink. He said it was all fixed.”
Guess he’d lied.
She cringed thinking how easily these contractors ripped her off.

Michael washed his hands at the sink then reached up and felt next to the vent. “Doesn’t feel like it’s blowing cold, ma’am.”

She reached up as well. Warm air brushed her hand with a lazy whir. She wouldn’t have the money for another repairman until she got paid in another week and a half. She turned to the cabinet and grabbed a pot for the noodles, willing the tears away.

“Tristan, sweetie, why don’t you open some windows and prop open the door? It might circulate the air better.” She cursed her wavering voice. She set some water to boil then turned to face her company. “Would you excuse me while I go change my clothes?”

Michael studied her with the sweetest expression of compassion she’d ever seen. She dashed the tears from her cheeks as she rushed out and locked herself in her bedroom.

When she returned better composed and cooler in a pair of shorts and a tank top, Michael had the noodles boiling and the meat cooking and was regaling Tristan with tales of someone named Kristoff the Crusher.

“He’s even bigger than me!” he said.

“No way!” Tristan looked like he couldn’t believe it as he pulled plates down and set the table.

Braelyn stood in the doorway and watched, flabbergasted that her son—
her
child—was setting the table.

They both glanced up when she took a step into the room. “Who’s this Crusher?” she asked as she got the pitcher of tea from the fridge.

Tristan rolled his eyes. “He’s a wrestler, Mom. You wouldn’t know.”

Of course not. She wasn’t cool enough. “Oh. What about him?”

“He came into Michael’s work for a tattoo.” Tristan looked mightily impressed, hero-worship clear in his eyes already.

“Tattoo?”

Michael glanced up, obviously concerned at her reaction to his occupation as he moved to grab a jar of sauce. “Yes, ma’am. I work at Gentry’s Tattoo Studio as a tattoo artist. It’s a very respectable place,” he hurried to reassure her.

Well, she was a mother and a teacher, but she wasn’t a stick in the mud. She smiled. “Cool.”

He nodded.

She took over the cooking. “Thank you for starting dinner.”

“No big deal.” He shot Tristan a strange expression. “So, I also know a little bit about air conditioners.”

She glanced up from stirring.

“Would you like me to take a look?”

He seemed so earnest. But she didn’t want to take advantage of the guy. He was already doing so much just by being Tristan’s friend. She shook her head. “No. It’s all right. I’ll have someone come take a look at it in a couple days.”