Project Personality

By Kelly Anne Blount and Lynn Rush

Hope Chambers has a major problem. She’s spent the entirety of her four years of high school focusing on being perfect—perfect grades, perfect extracurriculars, perfect essays—to the point that she forgot to get a life. And now she’s perfectly boring.

She’s got exactly two weeks before her admissions interview for MIT to spice up her life and get a personality, dammit. And she knows exactly who can help her: soccer star and Mr. Popularity himself, Landon Watkins. But how does a nerdy, socially awkward girl ask the most charismatic guy in school to help her become interesting?

Saving his life in the school cafeteria is a pretty good start.

No one is more surprised than Hope when Landon agrees to help her. But what he proposes they do takes her so far out of her shell, she's practically in a different ocean. And when she starts falling for the last guy she ever expected to, it has her second-guessing every decision she's ever made...

Each book in the Twin River High series is STANDALONE:
* Coverup Crush
* Project Personality
* Chaos Theory

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: May 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649371744

Kelly Anne Blount

Kelly Anne Blount is a USA Today bestselling author and frequent contributor to Tap, Wattpad's new app for chat-style stories.

Book preview

To God, from whom all blessings flow. ~Lynn

To coffee, looking at you, cold brew, you made this book possible. ~Kelly Anne

Content Warning

This book depicts elements of alcohol and drug abuse and overdose, physical abuse, a car accident, parental abandonment, death of a grandparent, and some consensual sexual content. It’s our hope that these elements have been handled sensitively, but if these issues could be considered triggering for you, please take note.

Chapter One

Hope

How the heck am I going to develop a personality in fourteen days? I let my fork drop into the green beans on my lunch tray.

My best friends, Eve and Alice, and I sat at our usual table, near the back of the cafeteria. Sure, it wasn’t exactly one of the most desirable locations, since it was right next to the area where you put your dirty trays after you were done eating, but it did give us a view of the two circular tables the popular kids ate at when off-campus lunch was closed.

I’d never thought of us as the non-personality table, because we always had fun. Hanging out at Annie’s Coffee Shop after school. Scrolling YouTube, talking about the latest books we’d read, and things like that. We were fun. I was fun.

Or so I’d thought.

I can’t believe the admissions consultant told you to get a personality, Eve said, shaking her head.

"Yeah, that’s so rude," Alice added.

"She didn’t say those words exactly. Just sort of implied it when she said, ‘You don’t stand out enough’ about my essay and she even pointed to my clothing." I brushed my hand down the front of my eco-friendly chunky knit sweater.

It was my senior year at Twin River High and I knew I’d done everything right when it came to college applications. Spectacular grades. Volunteering at the Twin River Pantry. Spotless attendance record. Never got into any trouble. My skin started to tingle as I thought about the consultation from hell two days earlier.

I thought I would ace the meeting with Kensington Collegiate Admissions Consulting Services, considering all the academic achievements I’d earned over the years. Never once did I think I’d hear I might not have a chance to get into my first choice school because I was…boring.

I mean, I only have two weeks to turn in my early application and essay. How am I going to get a personality by then?

Fourteen days is plenty of time. Alice took off her black-rimmed glasses and wiped the lenses clean. Her long, dishwater blond hair fell into her blue eyes, but then she flicked it away and slid her glasses back on. We can totally pull this off.

Agreed. Eve popped a grape into her mouth. Maybe we can find you a coach or something.

Oh, good one. Alice nodded.

And worst-case scenario, we can, you know, embellish your personal statement essay.

You mean lie? Alice’s eyes shot open.

"I said, worst-case scenario. Eve shrugged, then sat up, her dark brown eyes brightening. I have the perfect name for this project."

Project? I said, shaking my head. I’m a project?

Yeah, well, kind of. More like…an experience. Alice rubbed her hands in front of her like she was a mad scientist or something. What’s the project name?

Eve pulled out a notebook and opened it, then clicked the tip of her pen and poised it to write. Project…Personality, she said, drawing out the words as she wrote.

Project Personality. I pushed a bean around my tray with my fork. I couldn’t believe we were naming this; talk about embarrassing. Thinking about it triggered a sweep of tingling up the back of my neck and tightening in my chest.

All weekend I’d been racking my brain for some way out of this. Maybe the advisor was wrong and I’d get into MIT the way I was. It was possible. I scored in the highest percentages on any test thrown my way. I was in all the AP classes and acing them. I mean, why did I need a personality to get into school?

Aerospace Engineering wasn’t exactly a socially based degree. They needed brains more than charm.

I wanted to scream.

I’d done everything right. My GPA was 3.98. I’d made sure to complete over two hundred hours of volunteer work. But then again, so had every other student who was applying…

Nothing in your essay stands out. Miss Simon’s words echoed through my mind.

Hello? Earth to Hope? Alice was waving her hand in front of my face.

"I am boring." Realization hit me over the head like a massively thick Logos dictionary and my vision kind of tilted. I sighed. The biggest dictionary in the world probably had a better social life than I did. I mean, who even thought about things in terms of dictionaries to begin with? "There’s literally nothing exciting about me."

No way, Eve said. You’re totally exciting. I mean, you camped out overnight to hear Elon Musk talk about his plans to inhabit Mars. Boring people don’t do things like that!

My heart suddenly morphed into a weight so heavy, I’d tip forward if the lunch table wasn’t in front of me. I’m boring and I’m not going to get into school anywhere. I can kiss my dream of being an aerospace engineer goodbye.

Listen. Eve grabbed my wrist. "You are having a moment. It will pass. I’ll give you until the end of the day. Then, after school, we’ll all go to Annie’s and brainstorm. We will come up with a way for you to nail your application and interview. Understood?"

I gave her a reluctant smile. My favorite coffee shop could probably cure anything. Thanks.

Chug! Chug! Chug! the populars started chanting.

We turned our gazes toward their tables. Kyle Walker, one of Twin River High’s football players, was chugging a monster-sized energy drink.

What a tool, I mumbled.

Hey, maybe he added that to his college essay, Alice mused. Can slam a Cheetah Chugger in under ten seconds?

My stomach clenched. Eve chuckled, but I was too frustrated to laugh. Kyle probably could add that to his essay and sound more interesting than me. Heck, my four-year-old sister, Aubrey, had more personality than I did. Miss Simon was right. She was totally right.

And I was totally screwed.

I think I’m going to head to AP civ early, I said, standing up.

A wave of nausea hit me as I looked down at my friends.

Don’t worry, Hope. We’ll fix this and you’ll get into MIT. Alice smiled and tucked a strand of stick straight hair behind her ear.

MIT was my absolute dream school. I’d wanted to go there since I was five. Suddenly it felt like my chances were pretty slim.

I grabbed my tray, the beans still piled up. I felt bad about wasting food but I couldn’t force myself to take another bite. Today had been too stressful to eat.

See you all after school. I stood up and began the short walk to the tray depository station.

HELP!

I nearly dropped my tray as Harlow, a junior sitting at the queen bee table, screamed at the top of her lungs.

Landon is CHOKING!

My heart took off like I was running the mandatory mile in gym class.

Somebody help! another person shouted.

All the popular students sat stunned as a Granny Smith apple fell from Landon Watkins’s hand. He’d stood up from his chair. His face had turned bright red and he was clutching his throat.

Why the hell isn’t anyone doing anything?

He could die!

I threw my tray to the floor and raced between the two tables separating me from Landon.

Alice, call 911. Eve, go get the school nurse! I barked as I passed by my best friends, who were watching in terror.

I just hoped the first aid training I had been required to take for my volunteering gig at the hospital paid off.

I came up behind Landon and said, Landon, I’m first aid certified. Is it okay if I help you?

He desperately nodded.

Okay. I kept my voice calm as I wrapped my arms around his midsection. Try to relax and stay still.

I balled my right fist and placed a flat left hand on top. My breathing accelerated. My heart hammered.

One, two, three. I thrust in toward Landon’s abdomen with all my might but nothing happened.

He was about five-eleven with a ton of muscle and I was only five-foot-three, so I might be too small to do any good. What if I couldn’t help him? Should I bend him over the table and try that method?

That was supposed to work. Shit! I widened my stance and repositioned my shaky hands. Hang on, Landon. I’m going to try again. One, two, three. I heaved my fisted hand into Landon’s abdomen and he coughed.

A piece of apple shot across the table and smacked Kyle Walker directly between the eyes.

Landon collapsed against the table. I kept my hand on him in case he fell over as he gasped for air and coughed a few times. It took everything in me to stay upright, adrenaline coursing through my blood. My head pounded and my hands were sweaty.

I’d just done the Heimlich on Landon Watkins.

In front of everyone.

My cheeks instantly heated and my stomach churned over the few beans I’d eaten. Complete silence filled the cafeteria for several seconds.

Landon heaved in breaths of air, then sagged to the linoleum floor. Tony Mathison, Twin River’s star basketball guard, rushed to Landon’s other side as we guided him to his knees.

Gretchen Mead, the queen bee at Twin River, peered down her nose at me and pointed. Holy shit! Hope Chambers just saved Landon Watkins’s life!

Chapter Two

Landon

Searing light stung my eyes. I groped the bed for a pillow. My hand landed on something soft and I grabbed it.

You’re going to end up like your parents if you don’t straighten out, Pops yelled, his voice louder than a gong going off in my aching skull.

I stuffed the pillow I’d grabbed across my head, then turned onto my side, away from his voice. Even his breathing was loud—like a jackhammer chipping away at my skull.

You want that, kid? Pops said.

His voice sounded closer, like he’d stepped into my room. A copper taste coated my tongue. My head throbbed. What day was it? How much did I drink last night?

Because I sure as hell don’t. He cleared his throat and it felt like a herd of elephants trampled over my brain. I already lost my daughter and son-in-law to this kind of shit.

The pillow beneath my head was suddenly gone and my head hit the mattress with a soft thud.

Hey! I swatted behind me, fully knowing I’d never catch Pops. He was sixty-seven years old, but that guy was still faster than fast. Former Navy SEAL, special teams, he was rough, tough, and basically a total badass.

You would think that your near-death experience at school yesterday would have been an eye-opener for you, but no. Instead you go out and party, lose your car, and come home at four in the morning!

Near-death experience? Oh shit. The cafeteria scene came racing back. My hand found my abdomen—damn, it was still sore from Hope Chambers giving me the Heimlich twice.

You have four minutes to get yourself presentable or I’m coming back in here and you won’t be happy with what happens next.

I grumbled at him, but I knew he meant it. He’d yanked me out of this bed and thrown me into an ice bath before when he’d found me in here hungover—he’d do it again. My door slammed shut, vibrating every cell in my body with the force of a tidal wave. I smacked my lips, searching for any bit of moisture I could find.

What happened last night?

I rolled over and snagged my phone. Six forty-five a.m. But it was Saturday morning—

Wait, was it? I pulled the phone closer. Shit, it was Tuesday.

School day.

Yesterday. Almost choking to death. Kyle’s party.

I’d gone to Kyle’s parents’ lake house last night and drank until everything felt numb. Just how I liked it. It’d started to snow…but I couldn’t remember much else after that.

Shit. Shit.

Holding my head, I sat up and cracked open my eyelids so the searing light wouldn’t flash-fry my brain. Pops had not only plowed through my door to wake me, he left the bedroom lights on, and it felt like they were packing sunshine bulbs or something in them.

I snagged a glass of water on my bedside table and drained it in a few gulps. I must be down to about two minutes before the retired Navy SEAL charged at me again.

As quickly as my hungover body would work, I snagged a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt off my bedroom floor. There were plenty to choose from, since half my wardrobe was lying at my feet. I brushed my teeth to get the nasty copper taste out, then opened my door.

Four seconds to spare, Pops said, an unimpressed half smile curving the left side of his mouth.

His weathered skin had creases, deep with a long, hard life, marring his light complexion. A scar along his left temple—he wouldn’t tell me the origin story—twitched as he narrowed his eyes at me.

But there he stood, Mr. Hank Watkins, ex-Navy SEAL, still sporting the buzz cut, only the hair was white. He was still fit, minus the small belly he’d formed this past year after Grandma had learned how to make the best orange rolls on the planet. None of us could eat just one.

I gulped through the thickness in my throat, threatening to choke me. I’d give anything to sit at the kitchen table, listening to her hum her favorite song, as she kneaded the dough for the rolls.

I crossed my arms and rolled my tense neck left, then right.

Glad you’re up. He shook his head, then stomped down the hallway. I was getting the ice ready.

At least it was dimmer out here in the hallway. I drew in a deep breath as I closed my bedroom door behind me and followed him. The thick carpet muted my footfalls, but it still felt like there was a drum solo banging in my head.

The lake.

Bonfire.

Beer.

Lots of beer.

Maybe too much beer.

I rounded the end of the hallway into another assault of light in the living room. Pops must have turned on every single one in this house.

Two rockers faced the wall of windows, exactly where Pops and Grandma had sat each day, watching the sun set over the small pond in back of our property.

My heart seized like a steel knife had sliced through it. Grandma. She was gone. I’d never see her rocking in that chair again.

Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to sit in that chair again. It was hers.

I tore my focus away from the sight and shuffled toward the kitchen.

I swallowed the tears stinging my eyes. The only time I didn’t think of her and how she died was when I was drunk or sleeping. And during the soccer season, my partying options were limited. Coach had a no-drinking rule and could sniff out a hangover like a bloodhound. But now that the season was done…I was all about numbing things out.

Come on, kid, Pops said, pulling out a chair at the breakfast bar. I snagged a baseball cap from the hook beside the door that led to the garage and pulled it down to shade my eyes.

I plopped onto the chair he’d pulled out and he hitched his hip on the counter beside the coffee pot. Rough night?

I took a sip of black coffee from the cup beside my plate of pancakes.

Pops grabbed a brochure that was beside him. He tossed it onto the countertop and it slid across the granite to directly in front of me.

MORRISON MILITARY ACADEMY was scrawled across the top in firm, harsh letters.

An arctic swirl of anger stabbed my chest as I scanned the cover showing a kid dressed in a military-looking outfit, staring straight ahead, and his back stiff. No smile. And his hand was near his forehead in a saluting motion.

Shit.

The hair raising up on the back of my neck pricked my skin. A wave of dizziness tilted my vision and I shook my head.

What’s this? I asked, even though I knew. I just couldn’t believe it.

Your new home if you don’t shape up.

A blast of heat ripped through me. Military school? I pushed the magazine away. He wouldn’t. Would he?

I slid off the chair and stepped away from it, then looked at him to try to gauge how serious he was. His hazel eyes were focused, cold almost, and his jaw