Popularity is Just an Equation Read online

  “I promise it won’t take more than two minutes.” She slides out a chair, gripping the metal backrest. With eyebrows raised, she stares, waiting for me to either say yes or turn her down again.

  With a sigh, I glance out the window, making sure we’re in the clear before rounding the corner to meet her at the table by the door. It gives the perfect view of the parking lot, so at least I can shut this down and usher her out the moment they pull in. Nash’s bright yellow Jeep isn’t hard to miss.

  “Shoot, Cherry.”

  She rolls her eyes at the use of my old nickname for her and takes a seat across from me. “The thing is, I kinda need your help.”

  I lean backward in my chair, lifting the front legs off the floor, and fold my arms over my grumbling stomach. “What would I be able to help you with?”

  Piper rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. “This is embarrassing so you have to promise never to repeat it.”

  Once again, I check the parking lot. This is already taking longer than two minutes. “Sure. Fine. Scout’s honor and all that.”

  “The thing is, John dumped me last week.”

  “That’s why he’s been sniffing around our table?”

  Her expression tightens, but she nods. “I’m over it. He can do whatever he wants, but I was hoping you could give me a couple of pointers. Be my personal Yoda to grab the attention of someone else? Someone I’ve been crushing on for a while.”

  My expression flatlines and I swear every muscle tenses up. I wasn’t 100 percent sure, but I swore I saw her checking out Nash this afternoon. “It’s Nash, right?”

  Her mouth pops open, then closes. She gives the most imperceptible nod, spinning that dang ring again. “It sounds stupid. I get that.”

  “Didn’t think he was your type. And honestly, you’re not really his type.” Okay, now I’m being a jerk, but why Nash? Why my best friend? Why do I care?

  “Again, I know it sounds ridiculous. I just want to be bold for once. Step out of my comfort zone. All I’m asking is for a little help to push me in the right direction.”

  Her eyes widen, full of desperation and hope. “Please, Carter?” She reaches across the space between us and lays a warm hand on mine. “I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way. But I’ve thought this through, up, down, and sideways. Without your help, I have no chance of succeeding.”

  My thumb grazes across the skin of her wrist and I can’t deny the slight pull I feel toward her. It’s crazy. This is Cherry. The little girl who would spend hours inventing some crazy game where we were pulled into a magical kingdom with dragons and witches, only to grow bored three minutes into playing and run off on some other adventure. The same girl who I realized was totally out of my league the day I learned the difference between middle and upper class. The girl who dislodged herself from my life four years ago only to come back and try to shove back in like an old withered puzzle piece.

  “I’m sorry.” I slip my hand free and stand. “Even if I gave you pointers, there’s no way it will work out. Nash doesn’t date the way normal people do.”

  “But if you help, he might realize I’m the girl of his dreams.” She stands with me, rolling her lower lip between her teeth again.

  She always did that when we were younger. I used to tell her if she was hungry she should grab a snack and not eat her face. Then she’d punch me and run away giggling.

  “I wish I could help.”

  “Yeah. No. You’re right. I appreciate your honesty. Now I can forget about the crazy idea and move on.” With a breathy sigh, she shoves open the door. “See you around, Carter.”

  I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and pointer finger. I’ve never felt more dickish. All she was asking was for help and I said no. I didn’t even consider it. And why? Maybe if she had it bad for anyone besides Nash…

  Once again, the bell above the door jingles and I glance up, prepared for that crushed look on Piper’s face again. Instead, Nash strolls inside, his eyebrows raised with an amused smile tugging at his lips.

  “What was fire-crotch doing here?” he asks, making Jordan laugh as he slides in behind him.

  “Don’t call her that,” I snap, rounding the counter to finish the work I should have had done fifteen minutes ago.

  See, Nash’s words prove me right. He’s my best friend and everything, but he will never make a good boyfriend. Especially not to someone like Piper. She’s too sweet and sensitive for his level of dickheadness.

  “Whoa. Who put Icy Hot on your taint?”

  “I’ve gotta finish cleaning up,” I grumble as I stoop down to grab the black rubber mat.

  “We’ll help.” Jordan appears on the other side of the counter, rolling up the sleeves of his red button-up.

  It’s almost the same shade as Piper’s hair when the sun hits it.

  Wait. What the hell am I even thinking about right now?

  That crushed expression on her face has got to be messing with me.

  “So, what was Piper doing here?” Nash asks as he leans over the counter and snags a lemon square from the day-old tray I’m about to throw out.

  “She had a question about Mr. Davison’s test last Friday.”

  “She couldn’t text you?”

  “Doesn’t have my number.”

  “She can have mine,” Jordan says as he rolls the yellow bucket and mop out to the front.

  I pause what I’m doing and stare at him. “What?”

  Jordan shrugs. “She’s hot. What can I say?”

  “Since when did you start noticing girls outside the cheer squad?”

  “Since she started walking down the halls in jeans that showed off all her assets.”

  Nash nods in agreement, resting an elbow on the counter. “I’ve gotta agree. She looked fine today. Maybe shaking off the deadweight of her pathetic ex made her realize she could do much better.”

  “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” Jordan laughs as he slaps the wet mop on the ground. “You’ve got to admit she’d be great prom arm candy.”

  Both of them laugh, but none of this strikes me as funny. Here she was a few minutes ago pouring her heart out about how she could be the girl of Nash’s dreams and the moment she’s gone all they can talk about is curves they have no business looking at, let alone talking about.

  I clench my hands into fists, fighting the urge to put an end to this conversation. Truth be told, I still don’t know why it bothers me so much. If it were any other girl, I’d be laughing right alongside them. But if I open my mouth and say what I’m really thinking, I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “Please.” Nash stands up, towering over Jordan by a good three inches. “If anyone’s going to get a crack at her, it will be me. Why waste talent like that on someone who can’t make it past second base?”

  My jaw clenches. I’m sure Piper would be overjoyed to be on their radar, but I’m not so sure she’d appreciate the tone of the conversation.

  “Can we finish up here?” I ask when it’s clear they’ve just gotten started. “I’m starving.”

  Jordan tucks a long finger into the brown paper bag Piper left on the table. I completely forgot about it after she dropped that loaded question on me.

  “Looks like someone already brought you something.” He turns toward me, a smile all but cracking open his face. “Please tell me you’ve got Ginger at your beck and call.”

  “No, you idiot. My mom dropped it off when I told her Cristy bailed.”

  Jordan doesn’t look convinced, but Nash shakes his head. “Freaking Cristy. She’s been all over every ballplayer within a three-mile radius. Be happy you got out of there before the real crazy came out.”

  Yeah, she made quite the spectacle of herself today at lunch. If she wants me to get the message we’re over for good, I received it loud and clear. I know she expects me to sit around moping for our lost relationship. But what if I don't?

  I glance at my two idiot friends who have moved on from the conversation and a
re using the mop and broom as swords. If my mom checks the security cameras, I’ll get grounded for a month because I’m pretty sure she didn’t have custom mosaic tables made to be used to stand on.

  But besides the fact that Nash is a total idiot most of the time, including now, he showed some interest in Piper. I still don’t agree with the whole thing, but that’s up to her to decide. I can’t tell her no. It’s not as if she’ll listen, anyway. She’s never been that type. So, I either let her get eaten by sharks or show her how to swim with them. An added bonus is I’ll have little time to worry about what Cristy is doing.

  A smile stretches across my face as I wipe up the last remaining crumbs off the counter. I can do this for Piper. Tomorrow I’ll catch her in the halls and tell her I’m in.

  So, Carter said no last night. Using his friend as the reason I need help wasn’t the best idea, but he surprised me with that question and I went blank. I can’t deny the crushing weight of his lack of confidence in me either. But he won’t sway my decision. This goes beyond proving John wrong. Now I’m determined to show Carter and Claire and any other person who perpetuates these ridiculous popularity standards that I’m right.

  I’m going to prove my theory is correct. So what if I don’t have a popular boy to show me the ropes? Maybe that comes later. Today I’ll do a mini-test. Before the lunch bell rings, I’ll walk by the jock table with my head held high and see how many fish I catch. If Carter won’t help me, I can guarantee there’s another guy who will. And these microscopic cutoff shorts should do the trick.

  I paired them with rainbow sequin UGG boots because hey, I can’t completely kill who I am. Also, I’m certain none of the guys will be looking at my feet.

  I hop down the winding staircase to the sound of my mom thumping around in the kitchen. At least once a week she gets this idea in her head that she can be Martha Stewart. Spoiler alert—she can’t. Her episodes end with burnt food and a mess our poor housekeeper has to spend hours cleaning up.

  “Hey, Mom.” I pop my head into the kitchen as she scoops out a heap of flour. “What cooking show did you watch last night?”

  Most of these spastic episodes happen after an interminable night of insomnia. She’s been battling it since I was a kid, and cooking shows are her primary outlet.

  “A Kids’ Baking Championship marathon was on. Figured if a nine-year-old can cook gourmet waffles, why not me?”

  “Because they have skills?” I grin, reaching around her and grabbing a flour-covered apple. “Try not to burn down the place while I’m at school.”

  Her mouth pops open as she glances at the clock above the stove. “Is it seven-thirty already?”

  “Yup.” I smack a kiss to her cheek as I round the counter on my way to the refrigerator. “I’m giving Claire a ride after band practice so I’ll be home late.”

  At least, I think I am. She’s been distant ever since the outburst in the cafeteria yesterday. All Blythe and I get are one-word responses. But I’d rather wait around and catch up on homework than assume she doesn’t want a ride and make her bad mood even worse.

  My mom’s hand runs over my fishtail braid as I lean into the fridge. “What on Earth are you wearing?” She pinches my exposed thigh, and I yelp.

  “They’re called clothes, Mom.” I playfully shove her hand away when she tugs on a loose strand hanging from my shorts.

  “I’d call them scraps of material hardly big enough to be a rag, but what do I know?”

  “Come on. They aren’t that bad.” I tug on the edge, covering my thighs enough so my fingertips reach the hems. Before buying them yesterday I made sure they were dress code approved.

  “Hey, no judgment. Cutoffs were popular when I was a teen, too. I’m just wondering why my daughter, the lover of all things floral and flowy, is suddenly wearing them.”

  “People evolve. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?” I ask as I backstep toward the foyer.

  She nods, her thin fingers sliding the heart pendant up and down the silver chain I gave her for Mother’s Day last year. “Just don’t evolve into someone you don’t recognize.”

  I laugh, rolling my eyes. If I admitted what this metamorphosis was about, she’d tell me how I was going about things all wrong. That if I want to experience popularity, I need to come from an honest angle. Problem is, I don’t actually want to be popular. I just want to prove a point.

  “Love you, Mom.” As I slide out the front door I blow her a kiss.

  I’m all nerves and bottled-up energy, the last thing I need is for her to get in my head. Her free-spirit, healing crystal vibe isn’t for me. Wishing something into the universe won’t make it so.

  My brand-new gray Jetta GLI revs as I reverse out of our long driveway. For my seventeenth birthday, my parents surprised me with it. Before I had been driving one of their cars to school every day, and I had to beg for the entire summer to convince them I needed a car of my own. Enter Crystal. Yup. I named her. She’s got leather interior with heated seats, pink ambient lighting because I begged for it, and Navi. Mom argued that it was too much for a first car, but all it took was puppy eyes from me to win Dad over. I don’t use them often, but this was a matter of life and death. Working around their schedules is torture and don’t even get me started on the bus. A reliable car was a must.

  I’ve grown up with more privileges than a lot of kids at my school, which is why I try my best not to rely on my parents for everything. I spent the entire summer working as a lifeguard, so I had enough money saved up for a year of car insurance. One day I’ll be on my own and I want to be certain I can survive. John used to love pointing out how I could easily skate by. I didn’t need to take AP English or fatten up my college résumés because my parents could pay for it. He never understood my position on the matter. How good it feels to do something on my own. I also wholeheartedly plan on paying them back for the car once my feet are on solid ground.

  See, right there should have been clue number one. I’m starting to wonder if John ever saw anything in me or if he hoped to hang on to my coattails when we hit college.

  When I pull into the crowded parking lot, I’m in a terrible mood and in desperate need of coffee. My mom’s need to chat put me behind schedule and thanks to the three freaking red lights I hit on the way, I had no time to stop for breakfast and that sweet, sweet magical caffeine sent from heaven. I’ll have to settle for the junk the school sells, which I’m convinced is watered-down mud.

  I slide out of my car, dragging my backpack with me. At this point in the year, it’s loaded down with so many books I’m surprised I can even lift it. With the way everything is going, I can’t wait for this year to be over. Senior year has never sounded sweeter.

  Horns honk as I walk toward the front of the building. Amateurs. Everyone knows when you arrive even a few minutes later than five-to-eight, you end up fighting for a spot in the lot.

  A few rows over, Carter hops out of his beat-up truck. The thing has got to be more rust than car at this point, but I can tell how much he loves it. It used to belong to his father. A work truck, I think they called it. Mr. Jackson is the best roofer in Northern California. Okay, so I might be biased, but he saved our dining room one winter when high winds ravaged our roof.

  Carter slams his door shut and lifts his head, catching me staring at him. Embarrassment works its way through my body, making my skin hot. I didn’t expect to see him so soon after his brutal rejection. Right now I have zero clue what I would say. So, I tuck my chin into my chest and weave around cars, hoping to make it to the doors before him so I’m not stuck in the middle of awkward small talk.

  Carter has other plans.

  “Piper!”

  Ugh, I would recognize that voice anywhere. It’s got a deep, rumbling quality to it that should be illegal it's so sexy.

  A few heads turn his way, and I hear shoes hitting the pavement.

  Wasn’t last night enough? Does he need to reaffirm me trying to go after Nash is a horrendous idea? Su
re, he’s oblivious to my actual reasons, but he confirmed every one of my doubts when it comes to this plan. No one believes I can pull this off, which makes me want it that much more.

  Right as I’m about to step out from between the two cars separating me from the lot and the sidewalk, a hand reaches out and wraps around my wrist. The next thing I know, I’m being hauled behind a giant white SUV.

  “Hey. Didn’t you hear me calling your name?” Carter asks, pushing up his sunglasses to rest on his head.

  “I did.” I pry free my hand and cradle it against my chest. Somehow, I can still feel his fingers on my skin as if they’ve branded me.

  “And you just ignored me?”

  He has the audacity to appear hurt, which only makes me roll my eyes. “That was the general idea. Besides, how would it look for you to be talking to someone so far below your royal standing?”

  Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Right, because I care so much about that.”

  “What do you want, Carter?” My patience has all but run out. With zero caffeine running through my veins, I can’t be expected to stand here and listen to him tell me once again that I’m not good enough for His Majesty, Nash Anderson.

  “Listen, about what you asked me last night. I’m in.”

  Air wheezes out of my lungs in a rush. I must have misheard him. “What?”

  “Yeah. If you’re determined to snag the guy, who am I to tell you no? I can’t promise it will work, but the least I can do is help an old friend.” His gaze travels down the length of me, pausing where my shorts have ridden up well past dress code rules. “Guess I should start with a little advice. Tone down the clothes. You don’t want to appear desperate.”

  My fingers tug at the hem, tangling in the loose threads. “Where was that advice yesterday?”

  Carter huffs a laugh, stepping away from me and the SUV right as the bell rings. “I’ll meet you at your house after practice. Six work?”

  Deftly I nod, as he cocks a smile. I swear it has a direct connection to my lungs and is squeezing the air right out of them.