Project Unpopular

{3}

Okay A/N before chapter today... so I don't really know who I want to play this new character, so there's nothing there yet. And to all of you adding this story to reading lists with 'love' in the title - I am laughing. You might doubt that after this chapter, but I am laughing. Btw, this isn't proof read, so sorry if there's any random plot holes or something.
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The thing about Chemistry class is that it's like watching a TV show in an exotic language - you have no idea what's actually going on and the only way to tell is by watching what the horribly animated characters are doing. Or in chemistry class case, watching what your sixty-something teacher is pointing at on the periodic table.

And you also can't change the channel, except by walking out of the class. And I was already on my fifth warning for that (despite the fact the most warnings before a detention was supposed to be three), so that was out.

Luckily the lesson was only one period, and they only lasted fifty minutes, so my time of torture under the reign of Mrs. Finden was never all that long on a Monday, not outlasting my second subtitled episode of Doctor Who that I was watching on my phone, hidden in my expensive pencil case (even populars have a guilty pleasure).

I glanced to the back of the room, just to check that my favour-ower was still sitting behind his desk.

Of course he was, not paying attention though, (no one really did, I mean, who cares about the something-or-rather of isotopes?) and was reading a book. Like usual.

Not that I noticed. We weren't even friends any more. But he did use to always have a book on him.

So I turned back to Doctor Who and tried to ignore the annoyingly preppy voice of Mrs. Finden who was interrupting my episode.

Just as The Doctor was was telling Oswin Oswald that she was a Dalek (bullshite if you ask me - if you feel human you are human, Rory was a hunk of plastic and he was accepted) the fire alarm-sounding bell went off, and I waited for the class to clear out, before walking back to where Cody was slumped in his seat, still reading.

I dumped my bags unceremoniously onto his desk. The tard didn't even have the decency to look up, just kept staring down at his book. I caught the back of the cover with my eye. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. He must've read that a thousand times by now.

"I'm calling in that favour."

"Hm?" He asked, not looking up. "Could you go away, I'm at the good part...you know where they get dragged into the whomping willow..." He trailed off.

"Cody." I snapped.

"Yes?"

"Put the book down. I need your help."

He put the book down and looked up in surprise, his sandy hair (that really needed a cut) hanging over his forehead.

"Now those are some words I never expected to hear out of the mouth of Sasha Moore."

"Drop the assitude. I'm calling in that favour."

"Last time I checked I didn't owe you any favours Sasha Moore."

"Stop calling me Sasha Moore. It makes me feel like I'm a stranger."

"But you practically are, Moore."

I groaned. I had forgotten how hard he could be to talk to.

"Fine. Branwell." He rolled his hazel eyes.

"So why are you talking to me? I thought you stopped doing that after the second day of middle school."

"Like I said, I'm calling in that favour."

"And last time I checked, I didn't owe you any favours."

"You do. Last day of year five." I told him, hoping it would shock him into remembering, the dense asshole.

He was silent.

"You owe me. Big time."

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, tone changing, turning his book over, and doggy earring the right page, so the corner folded exactly down to the edge of the writing.

Cody'd always done that.

"I want you to teach me how to be unpopular."

"Now those are definitely words I never thought you would say, Sasha."

"What, do you spend all your time coming up with words you think I would say?"

"Only in my spare time, Sash."

"Wow, you're even more of a creep than the last time we talked."

"Is this conversation going anywhere, or are you just trying to make me lose my lunchtime?"

"It's my lunchtime too."

"Oh, are you missing sitting with your boy toy?"

"At least I have someone to sit with," I shot back.

"Hey, I sit with people!"

"Yeah, nerds."

"I feel honoured you've checked who I sit with. It's like we never weren't friends."

"Cody."

"I'm listening." He said, in a sing song voice.

"No. You're hearing but you're not listening, there's a difference."

"You got that from Mrs Finden,"

Damn. I did actually.

"So what if I did?"

He looked slightly proud of himself, and I felt like slapping the almost-smirk off his mug. Rule 1 of getting people to help you: refrain from slapping them until afterwards, I reminded myself. "It shows your already running out of comebacks."

I rolled my eyes. This was seriously getting nowhere. "Please. Don't make me get down on my knees and beg. But please, Cody I need your help."

"Whoa." He stated. "Was that a please from Sasha Moore?"

"Don't make me say it again."

"I'll help you if, and only if-"

"You're the one who owes me a favour!"

"Yes, but do you have anyone to help you if I don't?"

I stayed silent.

"Good. I'll help you if, you say Cody Branwell is the coolest person alive and I will love him forever-"

"No!"

He gave me a glare.

"...Fine."

Cody scrambled in his bag for something. "Sometime this year would be good,"

"Urgh. Cody Branwell is the coolest person alive and I will love him forever. NOT. Am I done?"

"Mhm," I realised his phone was in his hand.

My eyes went wide. "Did you record that?"

"Yep!" He replayed me saying it, my voice sounding high-pitched and annoying. "And now...it is my ringtone." He played it again.

"You, are a bastard."

"A helpful one at that."

I coughed.

Cody was a pain in the ass, but then so are heels. And with the right pair of heels, a girl can do whatever the hell she wants.