Take Two (14 page)

Last night, as those totally unwanted thoughts raced around my head, I realized I could handle this situation like I always do. Research. Unfortunately, it was way past bedtime, and I couldn't turn on the computer. So I went over to Payton's
(pink) side of the room and grabbed one of her few books. It had a smiling girl surrounded by both boys and girls. Okay, they were all ridiculously good-looking, but perhaps I could find some information on relationships.

By 3:00 in the morning I had read about:

That book was not at all helpful (although it did give me a few cool ideas for some outfits to suggest to Quinn).

Yup. I was still clueless and now also exhausted. But when I reached the classroom where mathletes was held, it was like a burst of energy went through me. I walked through the door, head high, shoulders back, and took a seat.

Other students came in. I focused on laying out my materials. Mechanical pencils. Scientific calculator. Plenty of paper—ruled, blank, and graph. Finally, the mathletes handbook. There. I was ready.

“Hey, Emma,” Ox said, sliding into the seat behind me. His long legs stuck out, one on either side of me. His sneakers
were huge, compared to my feet. Which were also in sneakers under my desk. If I moved my foot about five inches, I'd be touching him.

“Emma?” Ox repeated.

“Oh, hi, Ox,” I said. I turned around and smiled. “I was just focusing on math,” I said.

“I guess I'd better focus, too.” Ox smiled. “Being around you can get me a little distracted.”

What did that mean? How could anyone translate this foreign language of flirting? Was he even flirting? Or was he literally just distracted? Did Ox have attention problems? Did I??? I was supposed to have my attention on numbers, not a boy!

Fortunately, Coach Babbitt walked into the room just then.

“Today's a big day for you middle-school mathletes,” Coach Babbitt announced.

I spun around to face forward. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jazmine James. I blinked her away, out of my vision.

Today was all about the math.

“We're going to have a simulation countdown round,” Coach Babbitt said. “For those of you who are new, when we compete against other schools and homeschool teams there will first be a written exam. The Top 10 scorers of the written test will be called up onstage to face each other in a head-to-head challenge. The countdown round is live in front of an audience, and you've got to answer math problems correctly against an opponent. The winner of that pair will go up against
the winner of another pair until we get down to the final two mathletes. One last round, and we'll have a winner!”

Adrenaline shot through me at the word “winner.”

“Of course, you all can't participate today,” the coach continued, “because we have twenty-two students in the club. So, I'm going to ask for volunteers. . . .”

Hands shot up. Mine was first.

“And, remember, if you don't get chosen, you'll have a chance next week. We'll have three more weeks after that until our first real regional competition.”

Everyone cheered.

Someone yelled, “Go, Geckos!”

I looked around. Huh. Only about half the kids had their hands up.

“Of course, if you don't want to be up in front of the group, for whatever reason, you don't have to,” Coach Babbitt said. “Being a mathlete means having fun with math, and if you're just here for the problem-solving and not for competition, that is absolutely okay.”

I heard a few “phews” around me. I raised my hand higher. I was here for the fun of competition, to be in front of everyone and show them I am a winner!

Like last year's state spelling bee c-h-a-m-p-i-o-n.

Coach Babbitt was picking people with their hands raised, and—YES!!!—he pointed at me. I rushed to the front of the room.

Ten of us stood at the whiteboard. Each of us was given a
dry-erase marker. Mine was blue—almost my signature color! Surely that would bring me luck.
Not that I would need it,
I told myself, eyeing my competitors. They included Jazmine James, Hector, and . . . Ox. But right now, even Ox was just someone to be taken down. It wasn't personal. It was math.

The first two people Coach had called up listened to their math problem.
Squeak, squeak
went their markers on the board. The boy with the red marker got it right, but the girl with green was off by a lot. She shrugged and smiled and sat back down as everyone clapped.

Then it was
my
turn! (Okay, my partner's turn, too.) Coach Babbitt read the problem aloud, and
squeak, squeak,
my blue answer appeared on the whiteboard.

“Correct, Emma,” Coach Babbitt said. “And also correct, Hector. You both stay.”

Everyone clapped.

And so it went. Within ten minutes the problems had gotten much harder. There were only four of us left standing at the board. Besides
moi,
there was Paul, an eighth grader who was the best mathlete on last year's team (which wasn't very good—they didn't even make it to States).

So the three of us left were seventh graders: me, Jazmine, and . . . Ox. I looked over at him. He was looking at me! He was smiling at me! He was going head-to-head with Jazmine on a question! He was so cute!

And wrong. Ox was going back to his seat after a particularly difficult geometry problem. Jazmine had gotten it right.

Poor Ox,
I thought.
Bad Jazmine.

My turn. Up against Paul. We both got the next problem right. Paul versus Jazmine. Paul goofed. Jazmine got it.

It was down to two.

“Congratulations, Emma and Jazmine,” Coach Babbitt said. “Regardless of which one of you wins, you both should be proud of yourselves.”

Yeah. Sure. Proud. Not yet!!!

I looked over at Jazmine, who looked back at me. Game on.

First math problem.
Squeak, squeak
of markers. We both got it right.

Second math problem. No problem. We both got it right. Third . . .

“Hi, Emma!” I was startled out of my “math zone.” Coming in the door were Counselor Case and her twins.

I waved at Mason and Jason, gritting my teeth into a fake smile.

“Two minutes until dismissal,” Counselor Case said. “I'm sorry if we're interrupting. The boys and I will be quiet.”

“We'll be quiet,” Mason shouted.

“No problem, honey,” Coach Babbitt said to his wife.

No problem? That
was
the problem—we needed the next math problem. I needed to . . . Take. Jazmine. Down.

Coach Babbitt read the next problem. I got it right. So did Jazmine.

The other mathletes started clapping for us.

Another problem.

Both right.

“One last problem,” Coach said.

I took a deep, cleansing competition breath. Which turned into a yawn. A yawn?

Squeak, squeak . . .

“Emma, I'm sorry but your answer is incorrect,” Coach Babbitt said. “That makes Jazmine the winner today. Good job, everyone!”

I heard packing-up-and-getting-ready-to-leave noises from the seats. I looked at my blue answer: 49. Then I looked at Jazmine's answer. It was in hot pink, and it said 47. Forty-seven???

“Emma's number two!” Mason yelled. “Number two . . .”

And I heard the twins giggling.

“Get used to it, Mills,” Jazmine said as she capped her pink marker and strutted back to her seat.

I put my marker down in the tray and walked back to my seat. I felt like I was moving in slow motion.

“You did great!” Ox said as I started packing my stuff.

Then some other people said nice things to me as they passed on their way out the door.

“Thanks,” I managed to choke out.

Coach Babbitt saw me lose. Counselor Case saw me lose. Everyone important to my future saw me lose to Jazmine James.

I put on my hooded sweatshirt because at this hour it would
be chilly outside. I picked up my backpack and walked out of the mathletes room alone, because I needed to be by myself. I was in shock because I lost.

Cause and effect. I screwed up (cause) and Jazmine beat me (effect). As I walked through the hallways, I realized:

I was outside, almost at the bus. I put my free hand in my hoodie pocket.

What's this?

I pulled out the fortune cookie fortune. I'd worn this lemon-yellow hoodie last night at the restaurant. I read the fortune again.

Four and seven? As in Jazmine's winning answer, 47?
Aughhh . . .

I crumpled up the paper, shoved it back into my pocket, and got on the late bus.

I saw Payton and sat down next to her.

“Emma, what's wrong?” she asked me.

I just shook my head, unable to speak. Everything was becoming clear. I needed to change my equation.

I sighed.

I needed to make some changes in my life.

I had to go back to being AcadEmma.

Payton

Fifteen

FRIDAY NIGHT

“AcadEmma?” I frowned. “What the heck is that?”

“It's a lemma,” Emma told me, “to solve my dilemma.”

“Why are you talking in riddles?” I asked. Emma was usually weird, but this was even weirder than usual.

We were in our family room, waiting for dinner. I was playing a game on my cell phone. Emma was lying on the couch. I'd thought she was sleeping. Maybe she was.

“Are you talking in your sleep?” I asked.

“No.” Emma sat up. “I'm making total sense. A ‘lemma' is an obvious statement, like 2 + 2 = 4. Archimedes was into lemmas. And my
dilemma
is how to get back into winning mode. So, the obvious solution is to become AcadEmma. All academics, all studying, all the time. Payton, I'm going back to my old self. Before middle school got in the way.”

Hmmm. That sounded wrong to me, but maybe Emma
had a point. Emma had always had a place where she was comfortable. A place she fit in. Her brain.

But me? Today had been the perfect example of Payton fitting in nowhere. Of course, not at lunch. Or with frenemies.

Even my own locker wasn't “me” anymore.

Earlier that day, I had stopped off at my locker. (Okay, I didn't really
need
to, but that was one of the times I didn't really have any specific place to be but had some time to kill.) Anyway, I'd thought, I'd visit the happy little slice of middle school that was all mine.

I'd smiled a little, thinking about my so-cute beady curtains dangling down. I'd put up magnets and pictures of fashion bags stuck on with Sticky Tack. Okay, true, it had been getting a little messy lately but still. It was
my
mess.

I'd spun the lock, opened it up, and . . .

SHOCK! It was clean! And there was a turquoise Post-it note on my locker mirror.

“So what's up with
this?
” I asked Emma, holding up a turquoise sticky note.

“Oh, yeah.” Emma squinted at it. “Don't you feel much better now?”

“Nooooo,” I said slowly. “I do not feel better after somebody invaded my privacy and property.”

“You could thank me,” Emma said from the couch.

“Or I could be seriously annoyed at you,” I said. “Acad-Emma.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” my sister said. “I have serious academia to get to.”

And Emma left. After Emma left, I turned on the family room computer.

This past week of cleaning under the stage had exhausted me. Need. To. Zone. Out. I pulled up YouTube. Perfect.

I stayed there pretty much all weekend, taking breaks only to eat and sleep.

Emma

Sixteen

SATURDAY AND SUNDAY

Studying. Reading. Memorizing. Homework. Competition training. More studying. Eating. Sleeping. Studying.

My weekend was a total success.

I had no idea what Payton had done this weekend. I'd holed up in our bedroom, and she was somewhere else. Where? I didn't even have time to ask.

Payton

Seventeen

MONDAY AFTER SCHOOL

“Hi, Payton.”

I had my head buried in my locker. I looked out to see Quinn waving.

“How was your weekend?” she asked.

“Great!” I fibbed. What was I supposed to say—
I watched too much YouTube and ate too many snacks
? The truth sounded depressing. The truth
was
depressing. Well, at least I'd caught up on my sleep.

“Great!” Quinn said back with a smile. “Have fun at Drama!”

“Thanks.” I smiled back.
I'm such a faker. Fake. Faker.
It would be another day
underneath
the Wonderful World of Oz and all the fun people.