Take Two (5 page)

“Ew!” she said. “You smell like the JC and we're not even in it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You're helpful.”

“Oh, I'll be helpful,” she said, and practically shoved me into the JC. “I've got fifteen minutes before mathletes starts. That should be enough time to pose as you and get your picture taken. Your shirt is too wet, but I grabbed your jacket out of your locker on the way. Give me your jeans.”

“But we swore not to trade places again,” I protested.

“No.” Emma looked at me. “No, we didn't.”

I remembered how we almost did a pinky swear, but then we'd stopped.

“Besides,” Emma said. “We're not
trading
places. I'm just temporarily being you for a few minutes. You're not being me. It's different.”

“I'm not? But won't that mean there are two Emmas at the same time?” I asked her. Now that would be weird.

“Not if ‘
Emma
' stays hidden in the janitor's closet,” Emma said. “Hurry up and change and let's get this done!”

So, Emma and I traded outfits. I tossed her my jeans and furry boots. She put on my black jacket. I put on her chocolate-brown sweatpants and sneakers.

“I wish I had worn my spelling bee T-shirt today,” Emma said. “You having to wear that would be classic.”

No, that would have been just wrong.

“Wait!” I said, looking at her. “Brush your hair for the picture! And put on my barrette!”

Hair was brushed! Barrette was clipped in! Lip gloss was applied!

And . . . Ta-da!

“I'm you!” Emma announced. “I'll go in, get your picture taken, and be back before you know it.”

“And I'm supposed to just sit here?” I asked her.

“Excuse me, I'm at risk of missing the first minutes of mathletes to help you,” she said.

“You're right,” I said. “Hey, Emma? Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” she said. “And you owe me one.”

Emma took a deep breath and walked out the door. I heard one last thing before she disappeared.

“Hi—wait, are you Emma or Payton?” a girl's voice asked.

“Hiiii! I'm Payton!” Emma squealed, totally over the top.

I sat down on a cleaning bucket for the second time today. And sighed.

Emma

Four

MATHLETES . . . ALMOST

Finally. Finally.
Finally.
I was myself again! I checked my watch as I flew through the halls. Eight minutes late. Four hundred eighty precious seconds. But at least I'd made it.

I stopped outside the mathletes room to compose myself. I mussed my hair up a little bit to get back into Emma mode.

Being Payton for her Drama Club pictures had been easy-peasy. I'd given a wide, slightly vacant smile for her headshot. I'd stood in line between Tess and Nick for the group shot.

I'd slipped out, ran to the JC, and quickly switched back with Payton. I'd knocked our secret code knock:
Knock. Knock, tap-tap. Knock!
And then ignored her whining about sitting in the closet for so long. Seriously, I don't know why she was complaining. She could have gotten a lot of homework covered in that free time.

Excellent work, Emma, if I did say so myself.

However, I'd missed the first few minutes of mathletes. I suddenly felt a moment of nerves as I prepared to walk in late.

Show no fear!
I silently repeated my competition mantra and walked confidently into the room.
Show no—

“What the—!” I was yanked backward. My backpack had gotten caught on the doorknob. My head banged against the door. Ow. I untangled my backpack strap and tried to focus my eyes.

“That's Emma Mills,” a girl said loudly. “She has vestibular problems.”

I knew that voice. Jazmine James.

“Yeah, Emma, you really should get some special help for that,” said a boy.

Of course, it was Hector. Wherever there was Jazmine James, there was Hector.

“I do not have balance problems,” I said, shaking off the dizziness. “I told you that last week.”

Um, last week—when I accidentally pitched myself over my desk in Science class in front of both Jazmine and Hector.
Grrr . . .

“Well, Emma,” a man's voice boomed. “As long as you do not continue to have punctuality problems and are ready to do some complex mathematics problems, come on in.”

I quickly spotted an empty seat in the front row. I loved the front row. I felt my stress melting away. I was a mathlete surrounded by my peers. Oh, yeah. I closed my eyes, wanting to savor.

“What are you doing, making a wish?” Hector's hissing voice barged into my moment. I opened my eyes.

“Emma's wishing she were her twin sister,” Jazmine said. “'Cause then she'd have an excuse for all the mistakes she's going to make today.”

I turned to my right and glared at Jazmine, then at Hector sitting behind her. My big mistake when I started middle school last week was thinking that Jazmine and I would become friends and partners. Jazmine had won last year's state science fair the same day I won the state spelling bee. So I'd thought she'd appreciate having someone else to talk to at an advanced academic level.

I'd thought wrong. Jazmine was the one who busted Payton and me during our twin switch. Live on schoolwide TV. She had humiliated us—and enjoyed every second of it.

Jazmine James was my evil nemesis. Hector was her henchman.

Well,
I reminded myself. This was math. I had been preparing myself for this my whole life and I would take them both down. Mathematically, I meant, not physically.

“Some of you already know me as Mr. Babbitt, your math teacher,” the teacher said, interrupting my vengeful thoughts. “But here in mathletes, you are a team. That makes me your coach. In here, you can call me Coach Babbitt.”

Fine. All I had to do was focus on Coach Babbitt, formulas, shortcuts, and strategies. No distractions.

“Hey, Emma,” someone said from behind me. I froze.

Distraction! Distraction!

Coach Babbitt was busy passing out our fresh new mathlete books, so I turned around.

“Ox?” I asked. Was Ox here?

“Are you okay?” he asked me. Ox reached out and touched my head.

“No lumps,” he said. “You look a little dazed, though. I don't think you hit your head enough for a concussion.”

Of course I'm dazed! I thought wildly. Ox is here and he is touching me!

“I've seen a few concussions during football,” Ox went on. “They can mess you up.”

“Football,” I said. “Aren't you supposed to be at practice?”

What was Ox doing here?

“Miss Mills,” Coach Babbitt said.

I whipped back around and took a workbook. I pretended to look through it studiously, to show the coach I was serious. Actually, I'd already preordered the workbook and done all the problems over summer vacation.

Coach Babbitt moved on to other people.

My mind was swirling. I hadn't seen Ox since yesterday after school when he'd said,
“Emma—I”
and the bell drowned him out and then the whole ox festival fiasco and I was grounded from my phone so he couldn't call me even if he'd wanted to, which he probably didn't because he was apparently saying, “Emma, I . . . am not into you, so, bye.”

“Emma, I . . .”—Ox leaned forward and whispered—“told you yesterday that there's no practice today and I hoped I'd see you at mathletes. Remember?”

“Right, sure.” I nodded, trying to stay cool.
That
was what he'd said? I was trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Ox might still possibly like me
and
was in mathletes, when some boy in the back started chanting, “Go, Gecko mathletes! Go, Gecko mathletes!”

Everyone started chanting and cheering. I couldn't hear what Ox was saying with all the noise. Did Ox join mathletes to be around me? No, of course not. But was he prepared for this? Poor Ox! He had no idea how complex, how advanced the math was here. Hopefully, he'd just stay quiet and not be humiliated.

“The answer is three,” Ox said.

I realized that the whole room had gone quiet. While I was thinking about Ox, everyone else had been thinking about math. What is the maximum number of acute interior angles a convex pentagon can have?

Ox was correct! Ox was mathletes material!

“That is correct,” Coach Babbitt said. “Question two, anyone?”

I had to redeem myself, and fast. I had to show the coach and everyone else that I was the mathlete to beat.

“A boat has a speed of six miles per hour in calm water. The boat can travel thirty miles with the current in the same time in which it can travel eighteen miles against the current.
How many hours does it take the boat to travel thirty-six miles against the current?”

Easy! My hand shot up.

“Yes, Emma?” Coach Babbitt said.

“The answer to number two is . . .” I was about to answer my first official mathletes problem!

“Excuse me,” someone said from the doorway.

Hey? Who was interrupting my moment? This time I frowned, ready to glare at the perpetrator. I looked over. It was Counselor Case. Oh. I rearranged my face into a smile.

“Greg, I have an emergency situation,” said Counselor Case. “I need you to watch the boys.”

The boys. There they were. Mason and Jason.

“Sorry about this, honey,” Counselor Case said to the coach.

Honey?
I watched as she hurried off, leaving the twins in the doorway, punching each other.

“Mason and Jason,” Coach Babbitt said. “Go stay by the wall and stay silent.”

“But, Dad!” one of the twins said.

Dad?

“We want to sit with Emma!” a twin said.

Sit with Emma?

“I was just about to answer number two—,” I said a little desperately.

“Ha-ha! She said ‘number two'!” Mason snorted.

I heard another snort. This time from Jazmine James's direction.

“You can't sit with Emma, there aren't any more seats,” Coach Babbitt said.

“But Emma's our tutor! Our
math
mentor, who will guide us through the mysteries and joys of math!” Jason said.

Then he and his twin started chanting: “Emma! Emma!”

Please! Would somebody stop this madness?

“Boys, we don't have time for this,” Coach Babbitt said.

Whew. He would stop the madness.

“Emma, would you please go sit with the boys to keep the peace,” Coach Babbitt said. “Take your workbook and you can participate from there.”

So that's how I found myself sitting on the floor against the wall with two eight-year-olds on my first day of mathletes. Because I had to make a good impression on their father—my mathletes coach! And their mother—my guidance counselor! I couldn't even look up to see Jazmine's reaction. Or Hector's. And especially Ox's.

“Now, where were we?” Coach Babbitt asked. “Emma?”

“Number two,” I reminded him, then shot a look at Mason and Jason. “I mean, problem two.”

Problem two. I had two problems all right. Right next to me. Mason and Jason.

“The answer is eight!” the twin to my left announced.

The whole class burst out laughing.

“Looks like you've got some competition,” Jazmine called out.

And everyone laughed. Some more.

Another crushing blow. I leaned back against the wall and tried to block out the embarrassment. I especially didn't look at Ox to see if he was laughing, too. I turned to the minimathletic twin and whispered, “I'll let you use my scientific calculator if you stay quiet.”

“Cool!” he said.

“Not fair,” the other twin said. “Jason gets a toy. What do I get?”

I sighed and handed him my cell phone, first pressing the mute button and then clicking on my games.

“Math flashcards? Pinball?” Mason said. “You call those games?”

“Problem four,” Coach Babbitt said.

Errg. I must have missed them do problem three. I scanned the page to find it.

“It's 142!” Jazmine said.

“Correct!” Coach Babbitt said. “It looks like we're going to have a solid team this year.”

And the first mathletes club meeting of the year went on. Every time I raised my hand, a twin would whisper that he needed help or that the screen was frozen. I even had to take them to the bathroom, and it took forever to find the nearest boys' room. When I got back, everyone had packed up. mathletes was over.

Coach Babbitt was making his way over to me. Behind him, I saw Ox heading out the door. He probably was fleeing from the embarrassment of me. Jazmine and Hector were
laughing. Gee, wonder what they were laughing about.

“Emma, I'll take the boys from here,” Coach Babbitt said.

Jason started crying. “I want to keep this calculator!” he wailed.

Coach Babbitt groaned.

“You can use mine on the way home, Jason,” he said. “And, Mason, hand over the phone.”

As Mason reluctantly gave me the phone, I noticed something snaking out of his shirtsleeve.

“Aaaack!” I gasped. “What is that?”

It looked like a tail! A skinny, green tail!

“Nothing,” Mason said quickly. “Let's go.”

Just as I'd convinced myself it was a loose thread or even a rubber toy, it moved.

“Aaaaack! I mean, um, bye, Coach! Bye, boys!” I grabbed my backpack and coat, and bolted out the door.

“What's her problem?” I heard one twin ask.

“Emma has a problem with her balance,” Coach Babbitt replied. “She was probably just a little dizzy.”

ACK!!!
I screamed inside my head and raced for the dismissal buses. I hoped Payton would save me a seat, so I could hide the whole way home.

Payton