A painful sounding ring jarred Tristan's subconscious. Frowning in pain and disorientation, Tristan slowly opened his eyes. He was sprawled in the front seat of his car, which was still parked beside the park. Rubbing his temple, Tristan made a half-hearted attempt to locate the source of the annoying noise. He realized it was his cell phone.
"Yeah?" Tristan rasped.
"Tris? They're going to call your parents soon if you don't get here, fast." The clear voice of the school gossip princess, Vivien, quietly warned him.
"What?" Tristan blinked in confusion. "What time is it?"
"9:30." Vivien said.
"AM?" he asked.
"Yes. What's with you?" Tristan could practically see the pursed lips and the pouty frown on the girl's face. "The school is going to call your parents in less than half an hour to tell them you didn't show up yet."
He cursed inside. "All right. Thanks." Tristan swallowed, hanging up. Damn, he must have gotten seriously hammered last night…
It was lucky that Tristan had so many connections. Vivien was sort of an assistant for the school office; she was the one who looked over the class attendance lists to tell the secretaries who were absent and whom to call. It wasn't a difficult job and it let her cut half of first period, not to mention it put her in a gossip hot spot. She was the first one to hear about suspensions, expulsions, etc. Then of course was the fact that she could forewarn her friends about the school phone calls- putting her in the good books for much of the school population.
Tristan wanted to hit something. He was driving pretty fast down the road, berating himself for passing out for so long. He couldn't care less about actually being late but ever since the whole thing with Bowman's dad's safe, his father was watching him a bit more carefully and he would not be happy to be disturbed at work to hear that his son was an hour late for school. Anything that showed people what a disgraceful mistake his son was put him in a massively frightening mood. One trace that their lives weren't perfect and put together would not be tolerated. Funny, considering the Dugrey's were one of the most dysfunctional families there were. Tristan didn't come home for up to weeks at a time, Mrs. Dugrey was chalking up a nice hearty number of affairs, Mr. Dugrey was a workaholic with denial and anger management issues and yet the thing Mr Dugrey chose to freak out about was the fact that Tristan was a bit late for class.
Veering violently into the Chilton student parking lot, Tristan slammed on the brakes at his reserved spot and broodingly strode towards the school.
"Oh, thank God. I crossed your name off their list, but I think they're starting to get suspicious about that." Vivien greeted him.
"Thanks, Viv. I owe you one." Tristan flashed a grin at the girl, his façade flawlessly running.
"Naw, take this as my payback for Bobby's August pool party." She smiled seductively. Tristan chuckled and walked to class. He knew there was a reason he slept with her…
Taking a few calming breaths, Tristan tried to push down his feelings of nausea and ignored the staggering migraine he had, both tokens of the insane hang over from the previous night. Forcing a smile on his face, he opened the door to his class and walked in.
"Late again, Mr. Dugrey?" Ms. Wyrnell clucked. "You were doing so well…"
"Better late than never," he smiled. His brain wasn't functioning properly yet and he was in no mood to come up with a better line.
"Not that you ever grace me with an apology, but I would think your charm would be better spent on your partner. This class was one of the planning ones I put aside for your project. Get to work, you can still get some work done." The teacher said disapprovingly.
Inwardly groaning, he shifted his gaze to the class. Sure enough, he found Tara Elden giving him a death glare from her seat; papers laid out on her desk. It had completely evaded his mind that he had English first period.
"Hey, sorry I'm late," Tristan said, plopping himself down in front of her. He was still so groggy; it was proving near impossible to keep up that he was fine and fully functional.
"Where have you been?" she crossed her arms.
"Around. Did you miss me?" he was going to keep smiling if it killed him.
"Considering you insisted on keeping the notes we made for this project, I've been stewing at the fact that you're an irresponsible jack ass who cares about nothing but himself." Tara bit out.
Insults first thing in the morning when 95 of his lights were still out in his mind was not a good way to go. "Look, I'm sorry. Just leave it already."
"Did you bring the notes?" sighed Tara.
"…No." Tristan shrugged, leaning across the desk.
"What were you planning to do, then?" she grumbled in frustration, her voice rising.
The noise pierced his mind and made his migraine another notch worse. Unable to completely suppress the grimace, Tristan fought the urge to hold his head between his hands. "We have time."
"What happened to you?" Tara frowned.
"Nothing." He shrugged again.
"I can smell the liquor radiating off you! You're hung over, aren't you?" she demanded incredulously. She squinted her eyes and gave him a close once-over. "And it looks like you slept in those clothes!"
"So what, huh? Mind your own fucking business!" Tristan snapped out. "Would it kill you to stop being such an analytical bitch with a pencil so far up your ass that it's irretrievable!"
Tristan's out burst shocked Tara, who stiffened and held up her hand. "Whoa. Sorry."
"Are we going to get this damn project done or what?" Tristan exclaimed.
"Don't bite my head off just because you went to some party and got yourself so hammered you forgot all else." Tara lifted her chin up crossly.
"Don't you even start. Don't try and assume you know anything at all about me." Tristan sharply growled.
"Tristan, seriously, what is up with you?" Tara blurted, her eyebrows raised.
"I'm fine." He said through clenched teeth, trying desperately to regain control of himself.
"You've never been explosive." Tara pointed out.
"I said I'm fine, all right, babe?" somehow, Tristan managed to plaster a smile back on. "Now come on, what did you do while I was gone?"
Deciding to drop the issue, Tara reluctantly showed him the papers she had scrawled on.
The bell rang a few minutes later, sufficiently killing him. How was he going to get through this day?
As the class filed out of the room, Tristan saw Tara looking at him warily. Smiling, Tristan wrapped one of his arms around her and gave her a light squeeze.
"Don't worry about me, babe, I'm fine. Just a bit tired, is all." He said reassuringly.
"You look a bit, uh," Tara began hesitantly. "Okay, I'm just going to be frank, you look like ass and your temper is obviously flaring, and I know this is probably the worst time I could bring this up, but, well, I'm curious… so don't bite my head off. Did you really go to Military School?"
He really must shoot Rory. His eyes darkened subtly as he gave an unconcerned answer. "Yeah, I did, for a few months of last year."
"Why-" she began.
"Please, Tara, don't ask for details." Tristan interrupted, the slightest trace of pleading in his voice.
"…Okay." Tara nodded, noticing the tone and the tired look in his eyes that she was unaccustomed to seeing, she dropped it without question. "…I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Tristan flashed another smile. "I'll be seeing you later, Mary." Clapping her briefly on the shoulder, Tristan walked away.
Tara watched him walk away and frowned. She had never seen Tristan like that before. She didn't think he had ever said please in a serious, non-mocking way before. Come to think of it, it was a rare feat for Tristan to even call her by her actual name. He was so not himself… The arrogant jerk was floundering on the surface but he seemed so out of it. It was as if his ass like comments were strained. For the first time, Tara wondered what went on beneath the surface of Tristan Dugrey.