Page 36 of Off Script

“Got it.” Tristan offered a thumbs-up. With his confirmation, LeeAnn left her coaching behind and knocked briskly on the door.

Just as Tristan got his breathing under control, they were given the okay to enter. Around the polished conference table, five people stared back at him. Aside from one or two thin-lipped frowns, overall, it was too early to tell how this talk would go. Nevertheless, Tristan stayed humble and pleasant as he took the last empty seat at the table. LeeAnn didn’t abandon him, stationing herself at the back of the room.

“Hello, everyone. I want to thank you for making time in your busy schedules to talk to me. First, I want to say how truly sorry I am for any trouble my personal situations have caused you or this brilliant organization.”

“To be fair, they’re not entirely personal. Quite public, actually,” one of the stuffier board members pointed out, giving him a severe look that worked quite well with his Mr. Potato Head glasses. Luckily, Tristan remembered the man’s real name and refrained from calling him after the toy namesake.

“Well, Mr. Johnson, I think we’ve all had things in our lives that we wish weren’t public get out through the family grapevine or friends gossiping. My team has already released statements about my relationship with Jada and how I tried toprotectmy co-star at that bar.”

The board president, Sharon Michaels, let out a sympathetic sigh. “You know we love you, Tristan. The kids love you too. But just like we tell the teens in our program that violence and anger isn’t the answer, we can’t condone it with our sponsors either.”

“I know, and I’m going to do my best to live by that philosophy from now on. I can’t change how my past actions have been perceived. I can only change my behavior going forward. And if anything, talking about my experiences with the mentees will only back up what they’ve learned here so far.”

While Tristan believed he’d conveyed accountability, the room devolved into a weighty silence. Time to pull out the big guns.

“I’ve also been thinking about the annual gala. After our discussion about having it as a fair, I reached out to a few people. They’re willing to give us a two-week stay instead of a weekend event. My formerGarciaco-stars are also willing to put in an appearance and make donations. We’re even thinking about doing a celebrity matching campaign. We could advertise it on social media.”

Tristan might not like throwing his money around, but he knew plenty of stars who would love the chance to make a big show of their generosity. With Juan totally embarrassing Tristan the other night, it had been easy to strong-arm the chef into participating, along with the rest of his former TV family. The mention of more big-time donors did the trick with the board, based off the murmured gasps and eyebrows shooting up around the table. LeeAnn proved to be the loudest.

“Oh come on, guys! Even celebrities who’ve beenconvicteddon’t put in this much redemption work!” She urged them.

“Okay, LeeAnn.” Sharon Michaels held back her laughter. “We won’t be cutting ties with you, Tristan. You’re passionate and full of too many good ideas.However—”

“I know, I know. I’ll be on my best behavior,” Tristan promised.

Tristan’s chest felt a million times lighter as he and LeeAnn excused themselves from the rest of the meeting. Since Tristan also had a meeting with Doug later that day, he had planned on going home and crashing for a bit, but then LeeAnn pointed out a program was underway in the activity room. There wasn’t an outright “go or else,” but putting in extra face time would help his case. The second Tristan poked his head into the community center’s main room, several of the teens shouted in surprise. As they abandoned whatever project they were working on, the room devolved into excited chatter. His mentee, Sam, gave him the biggest welcome as he waved him over.

“Big T!” the boy exclaimed. With a bit of glittery paint on his cheek and his ecstatic demeanor, he looked much younger than fourteen.

“Hey, everybody!” Tristan waved back at the energetic group. “Sorry to interrupt, Mei-Xing,” he added to the program facilitator. As the head of activities at the center, Mei-Xing always found ways to tie life lessons into art therapy and whatever else she thought the kids needed.

“That’s okay. We’re just talking about setting goals for the future.”

Looking at the tables covered in glue and various magazine clippings, Tristan whistled. “In a very hands-on way, I see.”

“Yes. We’re making vision boards,” Sam added, barely managing to hide his disdain as he wrinkled his nose.

“Would you like to join us, Tristan?” Mei-Xing prompted him. They both knew if Tristan joined in, the less-enthused kids might perk up a bit.

“Sure, sounds great.” Tristan agreed, then nudged Sam on the shoulder.

“Scoot over, champ.”

Sam did so with minor grumbling. Stealing a peek at his vision board, Tristan noticed the landscape was fairly bare. Sam’s images included a Jaguar sports car, Chadwick Boseman as T’Challa, and pink glitter paint that spelledU-m-m.Before Tristan could ask the meaning behind Sam’s few selections, Mei-Xing handed him extra supplies.

“Well, of course, weallknow how successful you are, but your vision board can be about more than just professional or financial ambitions. It can be about your relationships, spirituality, anything. It’s basically an artistic way to express what you want for yourself.”

Uh-oh. Now Tristan got some of Sam’s reluctance. With his own complicated past and current relationship disasters, Tristan tried not to think about the future in any real depth. Honestly, he was kind of afraid to. For him, self-reflection often led to disquieting thoughts. Like, why bother planning a lifetime with someone who could change their mind and leave? There was no sense in trying to map out his love life, or his entire career, either, when projects came and went all the time. But perhaps his current circumstances were an indication that he should reevaluate his devil-may-care approach to life. Reading the conflicted expression on Tristan’s face, Sam snorted.

“See? How can you plan anything when shit always hits the fan?” Sam whispered to him, out of earshot of Mei-Xing.

It was no surprise Sam felt the same way Tristan did. The kid had been with Bright Futures for two years, and over that time, Tristan had gotten to know him well. Sam usually pulled off a tough guy act with everyone else but had opened up to Tristan over time. His dad had died years ago and his mom was often in and out of rehab—just like Sam had been in and out of juvie since the age of twelve. But once he’d joined the Bright Futures program as part of his probation, he’d matured so much.

Tristan had been glad to play a small part in that, from visiting when Sam was locked up to talking to him about potential colleges. Not that Tristan himself had gone to college, but stressing the importance of finding a career path was paramount to Bright Futures’ mission. And given a choice between well-meaning facilitators like Mei-Xing or a movie star who could relate to his family trauma, Sam often took Tristan’s perspective to heart. Over the course of their relationship, Sam had become much more dedicated to graduating high school and getting involved with a better crowd.

“That may be true, but we can give it our best shot,” Tristan insisted, as he sorted through the clippings.

“Any pictures of your new bomb-ass girlfriend in there?” Sam asked while carefully gluing a cheeseburger to his creation.

---