Popularity is Just an Equation Page 2

  White papers go flying in the air, raining down like giant confetti. The something turns out to be a someone, and the force of the impact sends them to the ground. Crimson hair fans out around a tiny frame and deep blue eyes the color of denim widen seconds before a loud thud fills the now deserted halls.

  Piper winces as I kneel in front of her. Pink colors her cheeks and I swear she’s stopped breathing.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Of course. Yeah.” Her chin trembles as she rubs her palms down the white cotton of her pants. “No wonder you’re so hot out on the field. You got quite a tackle.”

  I laugh as I grab her hand and haul her up. “My position doesn’t tackle, but we are good at running through people.”

  “You’re telling me.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, dropping her gaze, as the color in her cheeks deepens to match a ripe tomato.

  I glance down and realize her tiny hand is still trapped beneath mine. I step backward, letting her go and smiling to soften the blow. “Oh, here, let me help.”

  We bend down at the same time. My fingertips brush over the paper closest to me and Piper’s eyes widen.

  “I got it.” She shuffles everything toward her, keeping her hands covering most of the writing.

  I do get a glimpse one though, with the word prom scribbled in purple ink.

  “What’s all this?” I ask as we stand.

  “Notes. Mr. Davidson’s tests are insane so I wanted to make sure I’m prepared.”

  She’s totally lying, but I don’t have time to read into it because the late bell sounds above our heads. Late again. If I miss practice because of detention, Coach will never let it go.

  Smiling, I take a step around her. “You good?”

  “Bruised, but I think I’ll survive.” With a small wave, she rounds the corner, her hair fanning out behind her in a crimson wave.

  I shake my head, a smile still curving my lips. She’s all kinds of adorable when she’s flustered. This might be the first time she’s used less than fifty words in one conversation, which has got to be a record for her.

  I guess I can see why that guy John has been all over her since the moment he spotted her in gym. Yes, it sounds weird, but I noticed. Just because we aren’t friends anymore doesn’t mean she’s fallen off my radar. She’s lucky to have found someone who has stuck by her side. Not all of us can say that.

  On a sigh, I straighten my backpack and head toward class, plastering on a huge smile. Fingers crossed it sways Mrs. Bean from slapping me with detention.

  The lunchroom is packed, and vibrating with loud chatter and the sounds of people who aren’t a nervous wreck.

  Today is my first time back since the talk. I spent the rest of last week holed up in the library, too frazzled to face anybody. After a best friend weekend where the girls supplied me with copious amounts of mint chocolate chip ice cream and weepy movies, I felt ready.

  Now I’m second-guessing myself.

  No. It’s not just John, although he’s a big part of the problem. Right now, he’s sitting with a couple of the jocks, laughing and making googly eyes at a cheerleader. Not a care in the dang world. Oblivious to the heartache he’s caused.

  Okay, so it's about 70 percent nerves due to John. The other thirty is because of an insane idea that’s been brewing since the dumping. I haven’t even told the girls yet because I’m aware of how insane it sounds. But after Sunday’s chick flick fest, I’m confident about my plan.

  I plop my tray down on the only available table, keeping my target and John in my sights. I’m sure crazy vibes are wafting off me for all to see, but the timing needs to be perfect.

  “What are you staring at?” Blythe asks as she sits down in front of me, blocking my view of the popular tables.

  “I’ll give you one guess,” Claire adds as she takes a seat next to me.

  Blythe cranes her neck, being obvious. “I thought we were over that jerk.”

  “We?” I laugh, popping the tab on my Coke. I don’t normally drink this stuff, but I need the sugar. Where's a pint of ice cream when you need it?

  She waves off my words, reaching for her sandwich. “You know what I mean. You’ve deleted him from your phone. Changed your status. Unfriended him. You were ready to face today.”

  “I am. I’m fine.”

  I take a giant bite out of the white chocolate raspberry muffin I brought from home and didn't eat this morning. It’s from the Jackson bakery. My mom bought a half a dozen this weekend when she heard about the split. Mrs. Jackson has magical baking powers because this thing is a chunk of fluffy heaven guaranteed to lift my mood on a normal day.

  “You look ready to stab someone.” Blythe points a fork my way before digging into her fruit cup. “If you cooked up a revenge plot, you’d better let me in on it. I swear I was seconds away from slashing that douche’s tires after you told me how it went down.”

  “People break up. Let’s not drag him to hell,” Claire mumbles as she picks at the edge of her brown paper bag.

  “Dragging would be letting him off easy. I want him to suffer. He needs to get a large dose of his own medicine.”

  “Calm down, killer.” I wipe my sweaty palms down my jeans as I peer around Blythe. Carter glances up at that exact moment and smiles when our eyes meet. Even from here I can see the vibrant green coloring of his irises. Such a unique shade. Like the most brilliant emerald. He’s got this whole model-who-knows-he’s-attractive-but-plays-it-down look about him. With his angular jaw and dusting of facial hair he could shine on any magazine cover if he wanted to. Talk about glow-up.

  “You’re up to something.” Blythe turns until she has an unobstructed view of John. “I want in.”

  I break Carter’s gaze and sweep over my friends. Claire is being quiet, which is strange. Then again, she’s been shoved into the middle of a group-ruining breakup. As it stands we’ve been exiled to our own table while John’s friends are now sitting a few seats over and John…John is acting as if nothing happened—his usual MO when things aren’t perfect.

  I pick a raspberry out of my muffin. “I’m not up to anything but I do have an idea.”

  Blythe slams her palm down next to her tray, making Claire jump. “Spill.”

  “Well…” I pick out another raspberry, rolling it between my fingers until it stains my skin a light purple. “John said we’re headed in different directions and that’s why we needed to break up. But, what if we weren’t?”

  “What do you mean?” Claire asks, her words slow and drawn out.

  “John wants to be popular, right? He always has, and it’s no secret that our little group is lacking in all things popular.”

  “I resent that, but go on,” Blythe says as she pops a slice of tomato into her mouth.

  “So, what if I beat him at his own game? What if I became popular?”

  “What?” Blythe laughs as Claire focuses all her attention on John across the room. “Like it’s that easy.”

  “I think it might be,” I say, feeling doubt with a tiny dose of guilt creep in. I reach into my bag and pull out the papers I outlined my plan on. Prom is scrolled across the top, marking the ultimate goal.

  Blythe rolls her eyes, clearly not convinced. “How?”

  Tension radiates off me as I suck in a calming breath. “Popularity is just an equation if you think about it. The right clothes plus the right friends and parties.” I point to a small list I made of the most popular kids at our school—the ones who are always the center of attention, no matter the setting.

  “Is that what those check out my rack and spank me jeans are about?” Blythe points a long finger at me. “They look painted on.”

  “It’s part of the equation.” I nod.

  “So, this theory is what—revenge for John breaking up with you?” Claire asks. Her hands are on the table and she keeps twining and untwining her fingers.

  This. This right here is why I considered not telling them. The only reason I am now is because I need an
excuse for why I’ll be hanging out with them less. We’ve been inseparable since seventh grade. If I was a no-show, it would raise a heck of a lot of questions.

  “It’s not revenge.” I reach over and place my hand over Claire’s to stop the fidgeting. “He doesn’t want to be with me anymore, and that’s fine.” It’s not fine at all, but I can’t admit that without coming off as a crazy ex. “But I want to make it clear that his excuse is lame.” I fold the paper and slip it back into my bag before someone outside our circle sees it.

  “I like the idea.” Blythe reaches across the table and steals my muffin. “I hope you outshine him and he comes crawling back on his hands and knees.”

  Claire tears her hands away. “That’s cruel.”

  “That’s high school,” Blythe responds with a scowl.

  Claire turns her pleading eyes my way. “This will end badly—you get that, right?”

  That was my first thought. There are so many ways this could end, including the plan dying before it gets off the ground. After all, the idea hinges on Carter agreeing to help me. Running into him in the hall last week set the ball rolling. He seemed genuinely concerned about plowing into me, where other jocks might have kept going so they didn’t risk detention for being late. Sure, I might be using him under false pretenses, but he’s done the same to me. I’m the reason he’s gotten out of several of our forced family dinners when he asked me to make up some excuse so he could hang out with his girlfriend.

  Ugh, his girlfriend—the other thorn in my side. No girl in her right mind would want to give up spare time with her boyfriend so he could do a favor for an old friend. Especially not when that favor requires him to be a popularity coach.

  I school the worry creeping its way onto my face and turn toward Claire. “It’s either going to work or not. Nothing bad will come of this.”

  “So, what’s your big plan then, huh?” she asks.

  “I’m going to ask an old friend to give me pointers and an opening. Pretend I like one of them and need help. We’ve been making fun of these popular kids for years, and I’ve seen enough movies to know how it works.”

  “Where's my popcorn? This is going to be epic,” Blythe says. “I’ve wanted to take them down for so long.”

  “No one is taking anyone down.” I wrap an arm around Claire and tug her to my side. “I’m just making a point. John is so caught up in popularity like any of this high school stuff will matter when we’re in college.”

  Claire’s forehead wrinkles, but she doesn’t pull away. “Promise me you’re not going after John. That this is only about proving a point.”

  I hold a hand up in the air. “I promise. There are no malicious intentions.”

  Okay, so that’s a white lie. If all goes as planned, I’ll end up on the other side of the popularity spectrum with him still struggling to climb the ladder. And hey, if this ends up pushing us back together, that’s just a bonus.

  “I still think this is a bad idea, but let’s hear the plan.”

  “So,” I lean forward so no one else overhears. “I’m going enlist Carter Jackson to be my popularity coach.”

  “What?” Blythe laughs loud enough to draw eyes from other tables. “You’re insane. Like Carter Jackson would ever give you the time of day.”

  “Okay, A, rude. And B, our moms are friends. We used to be close in seventh grade before I got stuck with you two. Trust me, he won’t say no if I present it right. I just have to find a time when he’s alone.”

  “Which never happens.” Blythe thumbs over her shoulder to his table where he’s sitting at the center, surrounded by all of his friends, including our quarterback, Nash Anderson.

  As if sensing me, Carter’s eyes flick up and he catches me staring at his friend. Even from across the room I can see the slight tension in his jaw. Yeah, I already know what he’s thinking. I’m just like every other girl tripping over themselves for a chance to date Nash. In all honesty, he’s so not my type. Player is written all over him, and I don’t have the time for games like that.

  I tear my gaze away, with a pit forming in my stomach. Maybe Carter won’t go for this. But I have to try. I won’t let Claire’s apathy or Blythe’s need for vengeance derail me.

  “He works at his mom’s bakery a couple times a week. I’ve seen him there on Mondays when my dad had me stop in to pick something up.” And he was there with Cristy, his girlfriend.

  This guy is really never alone unless he’s plowing into unsuspecting people in the hallway.

  “So, it sounds like you need sticky buns after school,” Blythe says with a sly smile.

  “That sounded incredibly crude.”

  “I meant it to.”

  Claire stands in the middle of our banter and gathers up her untouched lunch. “I gotta head to class.”

  Blythe reclines in her seat, tilting her face up toward Claire. “We have ten more minutes and your class is right down the hall.”

  “Yeah, I know. I have to go to the library first.” She forces a smile, but the tension never leaves her shoulders. “Good luck on this doomed project of yours. Try not to get upset when it fails.”

  I reach for her hand, but she tugs it away. “Claire, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” For a split second, her gaze shoots over to where John is sitting. “I won’t help you with this, but I won’t tell anyone.” With those parting words, she rushes to the double doors leading to the hallway, keeping her head down the whole way.

  “What was that about?” Blythe asks.

  “No clue.” I peek past Blythe and catch John staring at Claire’s retreating back. He’s sporting a deep frown, making the skin between his eyebrows wrinkle, and doesn’t seem to notice any of the antics going on around him.

  A sharp pain slices through my stomach, forcing a quick inhale. Maybe I’m imagining things, but there’s something in his expression. I want to say longing, but even then, that might not be right. He's probably pissy that I got her in our divorce. Since the middle of freshman year she has been tutoring him in various subjects. Now he’ll have to do his own work.

  I brush my hands down either side of my head, flattening my hair. Whatever is up with the whole Claire and John weirdness will need to wait. I no longer get to be jealous. He dumped me.

  But I’m going to make him realize it was a mistake.

  I’m going to become the person he’s always wanted to be.

  Popular.

  And I think I figured out the perfect angle.

  Cristy was a no-show today. I’m not crying about it or anything, but between helping customers, manning the register, and cleaning, I’m beat. Toward the end of the afternoon rush I tried calling my mom, but she’s out doing her weekly spiritual quest or whatever it is she does. Mental health day is what she says. I call bull. No one needs to spend an entire day at the spa, not when money is as tight as it is.

  Yeah, my parents don’t think I know, but the whole neighborhood can hear them arguing about it late at night. It’s one of the main reasons I plan on moving out of state for college. Distance between me and them would be a welcome change.

  I toss the rag I was using to wipe down the counter into the red bucket with sanitizer water and check the time. The guys should be here soon. I’m starving after the grueling practice Coach ran us through, and at this point, I’m tempted to dive into the muffins.

  The bell above the door chimes as I’m bent down rolling up the mat so I can mop. When I stand my for-customers-only fake smile is replaced by a confused frown when I see a petite redhead standing just inside the door.

  “Hey.” Piper gives me a shy finger wave with her free hand. In the other, she’s juggling a drink tray with a brown paper bag sitting on top.

  “What’s up?” Cocking my head to the side I lean against the counter with my fists.

  “I was in the neighborhood and randomly remembered you loved that burger place on Roseville Road when we were kids.” She takes a step forward and sets the drink carrier on a nearby table
. “I got two of everything for you and, you know, whoever you’re working with tonight.” Her gaze darts around the empty room before landing on me again.

  A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch her nervously spin a giant stone ring around her middle finger a couple of times. In the past week, we’ve interacted more times than the past few years combined. I’m kind of stunned into silence, knowing she somehow remembers my favorite burger joint from more than four years ago. Truth be told, it’s still a favorite place to eat. The exact spot the guys and I planned on heading to after I got off work.

  Shit.

  I glance at the clock on the far left wall. They’re going to be here any minute. They don’t need to find us together. Not with the way she’s dressed.

  My gaze travels down the length of her, taking in the tight pink tank that's showing an ample amount of cleavage and the dark-wash jeans that hug every curve. Mouthwatering is the first word that comes to mind. If my brain is going there, I can only imagine the crude things the guys will be thinking.

  “Anyway...” She tugs her lower lip between her teeth seeming as if she wants to say more. Instead, she lets out a heavy breath and backs up. “I’ll let you get back to cleaning.”

  “No. Wait,” I blurt out right as her hand reaches for the door handle. Here she is trying to be sweet and I’m being a perv thinking about the way her body looks nothing like it did when we were twelve. “That was really sweet. Thank you.”

  She tips her chin downward and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess the gesture isn’t entirely selfless.” Her wide gaze once again meets mine. And for a moment I’m stunned by how blue her eyes are. “Can I ask you a question?”

  My expression crumbles as tension sets in. She can’t be here when the guys show up. It will get back to Cristy faster than light courtesy of pot-stirring Jordan and I don’t need that kind of drama.

  “Oh, um, I need to finish closing up. My mom hates when I fall behind schedule.”