Tristan considered the SWAT excursion to Sturbridge to be a success. The perfect fusion of academic nourishment and student leisure was a feat he believed would give him a competitive edge during his college interviews. As president of the SWAT team, Tristan would never take complete credit for the accomplishment. It was a group effort. It never could have happened without the team. But privately, folded neatly in the dark pit of his ambition, Tristan felt selfish pride over the execution. And with Damian Fitzgerald knocked down from his pedestal once again, privileges as team captain revoked, exposed for his involvement in some ridiculous pool party, Tristan was feeling more optimistic than ever.
Damian Fitzgeraldās downfall was a ladder to his own success, and he was already eagerly plotting his next move of ascent. Maria was a challenge he had yet to tackle. Sheād beaten him out for the position of student council president, and although he acknowledged they worked well as a team, he was reminded of his resentment at every meeting when she sat at the head of the council table, this afternoon included.
Heād just begun to head back to the dorms in order to change for practice when a heavy clatter pulled his attention. Just across the hall, a studentās book bag appeared to have snapped at the straps, plummeting to the ground and spilling the contents across the floor.
There was nothing Tristan wanted to do less than waste the sparse, precious time he had in between student council meetings and cross country practice, but he had an image to upkeep. Tristan crossed the hall, shifting his bag behind him so he could have a clear reach as he knelt to gather the scattered items.Ā āAre you alright? I have a spare bag in my room if you need one.ā He gestured to the broken strap of the bag.
