Popularity is Just an Equation

  Popularity is Just an Equation

  A.R. Perry

  Contents

  1. Some Vivid Nightmare

  2. Nothing but Trouble

  3. Part of the Equation

  4. Cherry

  5. A Little Advice

  6. The Plan

  7. Step One

  8. Real Motive

  9. First Time

  10. Catfights and Queen Bees

  11. Unexpected

  12. Fed to the Wolves

  13. Smitten

  14. Lean In

  15. Fifth Circle of Hell

  16. Not a Date

  17. Call it Quits

  18. It’s all in the Hips

  19. Dropping the G-Word

  20. The Best Actor in the World

  21. A Horror Movie

  22. Knock-Down,Drag-Out

  23. Dream Guy

  24. Prom

  About the Author

  Also by A.R. Perry

  Legendary Books

  Popularity is Just an Equation

  A.R. Perry

  Copyright © 2020 by A.R. Perry

  All rights reserved

  Copyeditor: Anne-Marie Rutella

  Proofreader: Penny Fletcher

  Cover and interior designed by: Lost Atlantis Designs

  All rights reserved. This was self-published by A.R Perry under Legendary Books. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Playlist

  No Right Way To Love You- Rhys Lewis

  Pocket- Moby Rich

  Fake Love- Cemetery Sun

  Bright- Echosmith

  Sorry- Aquilo

  Jealous- Nick Jonas

  Cain- EXES

  Critical Mistakes- 888

  Wish It Was Love- Cemetery Sun

  Lose You Too- SHY Martin

  Here With Me- Elina

  In My Head- Peter Manos

  Sweet Disaster- DREAMERS

  Better Off- Jeremy Zucker, Chelsea Cutler

  Let Me Down Slowly- Alec Benjamin

  Ocean Eyes- Billie Eilish

  Hold On- Chord Overstreet

  Listen on Spotify today

  “I’m sorry, Piper.”

  I blink a few times, convinced I must have fallen into some vivid nightmare in the middle of the cafeteria because there's no way my boyfriend of two years dumped me out of nowhere. Over a plate of square, rubbery pizza, no less.

  As the next words spill out of his mouth in a jumbled rush and the buzz of lunchroom activity whirls around us with not a soul paying attention to the loud cracking of my heart splitting, I realize this is happening. Real time. No take backs.

  “I think it’s for the best.”

  John cups my cheek and I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. Every nerve ending is dead—numb to the core.

  “We’re going in different directions. But I still want to be your friend. Tell me we’ll still be friends.”

  Three weeks ago, we had a conversation about us attending the same college. He was going to study microbiology, and I would take a year to figure out what the heck I want to do for the rest of my life. But, yeah, suddenly we’re headed in different directions.

  “Piper, say something. You’ve never been silent this long before.”

  Say something he says, as if he didn’t just shove a knife into my heart, rendering me speechless. With all the very colorful thoughts whirling around in my brain, talking should be easy. Problem is, the things I want to say will slap me with a suspension, then I'll grounded until graduation.

  So, I pinch my tongue between my teeth and gather up the homework I had been trying to get a head start on. Then I walk away. Out of the cafeteria. Down the hall and right out the scuffed-and-in-serious-need-of-repainting front doors of Center High School. When I reach the edge of the parking lot, I drop my book bag on the grass and scream at the top of my lungs, pointing my face up at the clear blue California sky.

  Dramatic? Sure. But it beats crying and having to finish out the day with a red, splotched face and puffy eyes. I’m the definition of an ugly crier, and I refuse to let him see how much this got to me.

  The impending dumping should have been obvious. For weeks John has been distant. Always finding an excuse to cancel plans. He even skipped hanging out with me last Friday to go to the arcade with a couple supposed cool guys. Like an idiot, I looked past it, figuring it was end of the year jitters or something else equally moronic.

  Now I realize I was the moron. Two years of my life flushed down the toilet. And a month and a half before junior prom, no less. We had this epic plan of how the night would go. All our friends were going to ride in a limo I'd persuaded my parents to rent. It was going to be amazing. I even picked out a dress. A dress that will never see daylight because I won’t be going now. What’s worse than going to prom alone? Oh, right, going alone after being tossed to the curb.

  Ugh. Why couldn’t he wait until summer? Or better yet, why did he ask me out in the first place? He was the one who approached me and wouldn’t take no for an answer when I turned him down cold the five times he asked me out before I gave in. I should have followed my gut and killed all of his hope that sixth time. But nope, I gave in to those big, brown puppy-dog eyes. Look at what that got me.

  Dumped and depressed.

  Great combo.

  “Pipes?”

  I turn as Claire, one of my best friends, rushes across the parking lot. Long golden hair trails behind her as she makes her way to me. Concern twists her delicate features as she’s clutching two paper cups.

  “What happened?” she asks when only a red Corolla separates us.

  “John dumped me.” I take the coffee she went to go grab when he said we needed to talk.

  “What?” Her blue eyes went wide, making them appear unusually large behind her purple cat-eye glasses. “No way. A couple days ago he was asking what color dress you planned on getting for prom. There has to be a mistake. You misheard him.”

  “There’s no mistaking ‘I think we should break up.’” I pop off the white plastic lid from my cup and blow on the fiery liquid. A nifty trick I learned freshman year after burning my mouth so bad I couldn’t taste a thing for a week. Never knew coffee could rival lava until that day.

  “I’ll talk to him. Maybe he fell and bumped his head this morning or something.”

  I stop her with a wave of my hand. “Don’t. He made things pretty clear. I’ve already been dumped. I don’t want to come across as pathetic.”

  Claire chews on her glittery lower lip as the bell rings behind us. She doesn’t need to say a word. This breakup sucks for more than me. Our friends are close and now there will be a giant divide—people will pick sides. There’s no way around it.

  But I can’t focus on that now. We need to head to class and I have to pull myself together between the curb and the front steps. I won’t let anyone see me weak. Especially John.

  “Come on.” I loop my arm through hers. “We can’t be late or Mr. Davidson will give us detention.”

  When I pull her, she gives in, walking beside me in silence.

  There’s comfort in knowing this is as shocking to her as it is to me. It means that maybe John did bump his head or something. If this had been a plan, someone would have spilled by now.

  “I still can’t believe
he dumped you,” she says as we walk up the deserted cement steps.

  “You and me both, sister.” When we are a few feet away from the front door, I stop, tugging on her arm until she’s looking at me. “Can we not mention this to Blythe until the weekend?”

  Claire’s eyes once again widened, and I understand. Blythe is our other best friend. Keeping this from her goes against every friend code there is, but if we tell her, she will make an enormous deal out of it, then make a scene. Right now, a scene is the last thing I want.

  “She’s going to freak out when she finds out we sat on news of this magnitude for three days.”

  “I know.” The second bell rings through the halls and I sigh. “I just need a second to process this. Blythe needs immediate action. If we told her today, she’d rally her band friends to slash his tires by the final bell.”

  Claire snorts because she knows I’m right. Blythe is a loose cannon and as much as I love that about her, now is not the time to unleash it.

  “Okay, but you gotta tell her this weekend.” We walk into the building and past a few other students who are testing the limits of our teachers. “And you might want to consider making your death-by-chocolate brownies. It might be the only thing that saves you from the wrath of Blythe.”

  “Good call.”

  With the silent support of Claire, I walk into class and manage to avoid glancing in John’s direction as I divert from my normal spot between him and Claire, instead making my way to a seat in the back of the room. These seats are reserved for the “cool kids” but today I don’t care about social order or whatever other rules I’m breaking.

  Now I just have to figure out a way to avoid John for the rest for the year. Should be super easy, what with our three classes together and practically joint life.

  I slump forward, letting my forehead smack on the cold wood of the desk.

  This is going to be the longest three months of my life unless I do something drastic.

  Unless I beat John at his own game.

  I rush into the classroom right as the late bell sounds. Mr. Davidson gives me a reproving look as I grin and slide down the aisle to my seat. At least once a week I’m late because I take the lunch period to catch up on schoolwork in the deserted library on the other end of campus. So far, I’ve dodged detention. Most teachers are too worried about upsetting the Cougars’ star running back. Mr. Davidson is a wild card, though, so most of the time I try not to play with fire. Unfortunately, my last-minute meeting with the guidance counselor ran over.

  Cristy, my newly-minted ex, glances my way and I hold back the flinch her big baby blue eyes cause. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since she broke up with me over tacos at my favorite restaurant. I’m so not ready to be around her. But I guess I have little choice since we’re in this class together.

  When I reach the back of the room, I come up short, noticing two things out of place. One, Cristy switched seats with a guy I think is in band. And two, someone is in my seat. I can’t see her face because she has it smashed against the desktop and her crimson hair is draped around her like a fiery blanket.

  “Mr. Jackson, do you plan on taking a seat so we can begin?” Mr. Davidson asks from the front of the room.

  A few people snicker, and from the corner of my eye, I catch Cristy’s smirk. At this point, I’m certain she would love nothing more than for me to burst into flames, but she might settle on taking a chunk out of my popularity status. Not that being popular means much besides the teachers taking an easier time on me in class. Being the golden boy of football has its perks.

  I turn toward Mr. Davidson when it’s clear whoever is in my spot doesn’t plan on giving it back. “I wouldn’t want to delay your lesson. Nothing's as fulfilling as decolonization and independence.” This wins me a begrudging smile as I take the only open seat in the second row by the window.

  After I pull out my history book and flip to the page on the board, I angle my body toward the person who’s stolen my preferred seat. She sits up as Mr. Davidson starts his lesson. I should have recognized that red hair. Piper’s lips are pinched to the side, and she’s sporting some serious frown lines. We’ve known each other since we were preteens. At the beginning of seventh grade my family moved here. One morning at the local coffee shop Piper’s mom stuck up a conversation with my mom and the rest is history. Most of that first year was me begrudgingly allowing Piper to show me around town and the school. After a while, we became sorta friends, but by the time we hit high school we said no more than a few words to each other.

  She’s a sweet girl and everything, but we’ve always just been into different things. Though, I’m assuming her childhood fascination with fairy tales has worn off by now. In any event, I’ve never seen this expression on her face. Every other time we’ve hung out or I saw her in the halls, she’s always sporting an adorable smile.

  Okay, yes, she’s cute. I’d have to be blind not to notice that, but still, she’s always been like a kid sister to me. Hell, at this point I would give anything to have a sibling if it would take the heat off me. My dad has all these plans for my future and never once asked my opinion on them. If he had, the answer would always be football.

  I run a hand through my hair and try to focus on the board. Cristy’s abrupt dumping has my brain all kinds of confused. Here I am thinking about how adorable Piper’s smile is and how my dad won’t stop breathing down my neck when I should be paying attention to the lesson.

  As if sensing that my attention is elsewhere, Mr. Davidson turns to me. “What are your thoughts on this, Mr. Jackson?”

  My jaw tenses as I glance around the room, searching for any clues about what he’s talking about. When I come up with nothing and the silence between us stretches for a bit too long, I let out a breath and smile. “I think we can all agree my talents are on the field. Asking me to ineloquently sum up your solid lesson plan would be an injustice.”

  “Go Cougars!” Someone shouts from the area where my normal seat is.

  The seat I picked allows me to fade into the background of the other students. That's why I picked it.

  There are a few snickers around me as Mr. Davidson shakes his head. “Well then, Mr. Jackson, I would suggest you keep your attention on the lesson and out of the clouds, because Friday’s test will account for a third of your grade.”

  As a whole, the class groans. Mr. Davidson doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase phoning it in. All his tests are killer, but when he makes it count for a large portion of our grade, he aims to knock us all down a few pegs.

  “Awesome,” I grumble, letting my gaze wander over to Piper only to catch her staring at me.

  Her expression is even more pinched than before, and she’s rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. After a few seconds of our awkward staring contest, a smile softens her features and pops her full bottom lip free.

  A little weirded out by our silent exchange I twist around to the board, and force my eyes to focus on Mr. Davidson with laser precision.

  That girl is weird. I mean, I’ve always kind of thought so—what with her oversize clothing and armloads of bracelets—not to mention her whole who-gives-a-crap attitude. But who in their right mind goes from pounding their head on a desk to smiling as if they’ve won the lottery in a matter of minutes?

  See, I remember the reason we’ve been nothing more than friends. Even though I don’t necessarily care about my popularity status, I don’t want to nuke it entirely by pursuing that level of crazy.

  It’s easier to put her into the little sister box than to deal with the Titanic level of backlash a romantic relationship with somebody like her would cause.

  And here I go again not paying attention to a single word Mr. Davidson is saying. Not only would she be bad for my day-to-day life here at school, but she’s also detrimental to my schoolwork. Something I can’t risk if I ever hope to get out of my house and this state altogether. Low grades equal no playing time, which would mean no scholarship.

&
nbsp; Focus is key and it’s clear that Piper Greenly is nothing but trouble.

  By the time class ends, my brain is buzzing. At this pace, I won’t make it to practice, let alone through it. The season is over, but it doesn’t mean practice is. Coach is dead set on winning state next year, which means we won’t be getting any downtime.

  As soon as the bell rings I rush out of the classroom, keeping my gaze straight ahead and away from the two sources of my distraction. Piper should be easier to avoid. We’ve gone most of this year with a hello here and there, not counting the recent dinner I was forced to go to with her family.

  Cristy, on the other hand, will be trickier. Not only is she in two of my classes, and centered in my group of friends, but she also works at my mother’s bakery a couple of times a week. I didn’t mind when we were dating and would sneak off to the walk-in to make out during slow times. Now, though? Being stuck with her for a four-hour shift will be a nightmare.

  Maybe I can convince my mom to let her go. It’s not as if we need extra help. In fact, we could use the extra money.

  When the bell rings above me, I glance up and realize I’m headed toward the locker room and not to geometry.

  Great, just what I need. Late to history class is one thing, but two classes? I’ll be lucky if I can sweet-talk my way out of detention.

  Hiking the strap of my backpack higher on my shoulder, I spin around and head back the way I came. The halls are emptying since most students have focused long enough to make it to the right class. That’s why I decide to pick up steam a bit and work out some of my pent-up energy. I must be too focused on the sound my feet make when they hit the linoleum or the way my muscles tingle just a little like they do on the field because the second I turn the last corner before my class I slam into something. Hard.