Trading Faces (11 page)

Jazmine recoiled in horror.

I started to defend my poor, brain-deficient twin, but in a way Jazmine was right. Payton could be embarrassing.

“Well, no sense worrying until the competitions start up,” Jazmine said. “This year I'm going for the triple: science fair, spelling bee,
and
mathletics.”

Who does Jazmine think she is?
I thought. Then I slumped. Yeah, it was possible the trophies would be hers. The front row center seat? Hers. The whole middle school seemed to belong to Jazmine James.

I sighed. And chewed.

“Hey!” I heard a voice call from the next table. “Girl genius!”

Jazmine turned around. Her dark ponytail swung gracefully.

“Yes?” she said. “Do I know you?”

“No,” a boy said. “I'm talking to her.”

He pointed at me. Jazmine turned around in a huff and glared at me.

It was the boy from homeroom.

“What did I tell you?” he called over. “Third-period lunch is a joke!”

“You were right!” I called back, pleased that he remembered me. And that he called me a genius. In front of Jazmine James.

“How do you know Nick?” Tess asked. “I read his articles in the sixth-grade paper last year. They were good. He seems nice.”

“Whatever, he's totally not in our league,” Jazmine said dismissively. “I've never even seen him in a competition. Nice doesn't equal brains.”

I looked at Jazmine. Obviously not.

“So, Emma, what instrument do you play?” Jazmine asked, changing the subject. “I'm first-chair viola. Hector's first-chair violin. Tess is first-chair cello.”

I froze in my seat. I couldn't exactly say I was first chair in Choir, since we all stood up to sing. Not to mention, with
my
voice I'd probably be closer to last chair.

“Um . . . I'm taking private lessons this year,” I improvised.

Okay, I lied. I panicked. How was I supposed to admit to these musical geniuses that I had no musical talent whatsoever? I know, I know. There's always this thinking that the smartest kids are musical whizzes. That just isn't me.

“What instrument do you play?” asked Tess.

“With whom do you study?” asked Hector.

I took a quick look at the clock. I “accidentally” dropped my lunch bag and fumbled under the table for it.

“She must be really good if she gets out of Orchestra for privates,” I heard Tess say.

I stayed under the table. One . . . two . . . three . . .
Cl-cl-clang!

“Oh! The bell!” I popped my head back up over the table. “Time to go!”

“Emma, tell us all about your music next week at lunch,” Jazmine said.

Another lunch? With this group?
Bluh.
I'd thought that having a place to sit in the cafeteria would make me happier. But proving myself to Jazmine and her cohorts just made me feel sick to my stomach.

LUNCH, FRIDAY

Oh, shoot.

I'd forgotten my lunch. On our kitchen counter was a brown bag containing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple, a granola bar, and a brownie.

Agh. I had two choices: Buy lunch or starve. The first choice seemed like the obvious one, but it really wasn't.

“Hot lunch is disgusting,” Sydney had said. “And the soup and sandwich option is even grosser. Don't
ever
buy.”

I walked into the cafeteria and could feel my stomach growling. I'd just go ahead and buy a little something; it really was no big deal. I went up to stand in line.

The line was seriously long. I leaned against the railing as I waited. I had on a pair of Summer Slave shoes that were totally adorable—wedge heels with teeny polka dots on them. The polka dots were teeny, but the heels weren't. They were pretty high.

“Hi, Payton!” the girl in front of me said. “I'm in your gym class! I was on your team when we played volleyball yesterday; remember me?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking down. I remembered her, because Sydney had made fun of the way she served the ball. She seriously had looked like a chicken, but I felt bad now for laughing. “Hi.”

“Isn't Sydney awesome at volleyball?” she said as I picked up a tray and looked at the lunch choices. “I think she was impressed with my overhand.”

I nodded but didn't look at her.

“The burrito isn't bad,” the girl said. “You should get that.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. I put a burrito wrapped in aluminum foil on my tray. I put an orange and a cookie on and slid my tray down. I paid for my food and walked toward my lunch table.

“Hi, guys!” I said, sitting down in my usual seat between Quinn and Sydney.

“Did you buy lunch?” Quinn said, as I sat down next to her. “That's brave.”

“I forgot my lunch,” I said, unwrapping the burrito. “No biggie.”

“Maybe no biggie for you, but how about for those of us who have to smell it?” Sydney said. “Ew, that's disgusting.”

“What is in that thing?” Cashmere asked, leaning across the table. “It looks like poo.”

“I guess it's beans,” I said, looking at it closely.

“Well, it's grossing me out,” Sydney said.

Alrighty. I wrapped the burrito back up in foil and pushed it off to the side of my tray. I started peeling the orange.

“So!” I said, brightly. “Aren't Sydney's earrings the cutest?”

“I know, right?” Sydney said. “Hey, we're making a plan for the mall. You're coming, right? You obviously need some new clothes.”

“I'll be there,” I said.
Wait.
“Um, why do I need some new clothes?”

“You're wearing your pink shirt again,” Cashmere said. “That's the second time.”

“Um,” I said, “I guess. But this time I'm wearing it
with
this
jacket. So it's practically a new shirt, right?”

“And you wore the same jeans twice already,” Sydney said. “Payton, Payton. We expect more of you.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. More? What more did they expect? I couldn't meet much higher expectations, especially because I was running out of Summer Slave clothes I hadn't worn yet. I'd thought I could mix and match pieces from those five outfits I'd slaved for. Uh-oh.

“We'll go crazy shopping this weekend,” Cashmere said. “Bring your credit card!”

I didn't have a credit card. I didn't have any cash, either. I'd get my allowance on Saturday, which meant I'd have about . . . ten dollars to spend. I could get new . . . socks.

This was not good.

“Payton's slipping,” Sydney said, shaking her head. “Clothes, a smelly burrito . . .”

BRRRZPP!

Saved!

“My cell! I have to take this,” I said.

“Is that your twin sister texting you
again
?” Sydney said. “Hey, I have a great idea. We can bring your sister to the mall too. You can buy her some new clothes.”

“You know what, she's not really into clothes,” I said.

“Duh, obviously,” Sydney said. “Let me see your phone.”

She talked as she texted: “Emma. Don't text me again until you've had a makeover.”

“You're not really typing that, are you?” I said.

Sydney ignored me.

“You are ruining my image with your hideous clothes,” she said out loud as she typed. “And brush your hair.”

“Okay, wait,” I said. “You're not really texting that to my sister, are you?”

I mean, okay, Emma might not be into clothes. But I didn't want to crush her feelings or anything.

“Payton,” Sydney said, smiling at me. “It's just a joke. Chill.”

“Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you were seriously sending that text.”

“I'm just trying to do you a favor,” Sydney said. “You know as well as I do that your sister's embarrassing.”

“SYDNEY! STOP!” I said. Loudly. Too loudly. People from other tables turned around and looked at us.

Uh.

“Payton, ohmigosh. Now
you're
embarrassing
us
,” Sydney said.

She slid my phone back to me across the table.

“I was only trying to do you a favor,” Sydney said. “But I don't appreciate being yelled at.”

Uh. Oh.

I took my phone and looked at everyone. Quinn and Priya were looking down at the table. Cashmere was looking at . . . my lunch tray?

“Ewwww!” Cashmere shrieked, pointing. “Payton's burrito is oozing all over!”

I looked down. Oh. Ew.

I saw Sydney looking at me in disgust. I needed to get out of there.

“I think I'll just throw this in the garbage,” I stammered, and picked up my tray. And that's when I felt it. I forgot I was wearing Summer Slave platform heel shoes. I wobbled. And I fell forward, and—

“Payton! Look out!” Quinn screamed.

My lunch tray was sliding out of my hands! I watched in horror as my oozy burrito slid farther and farther toward . . .

Sydney! Noooo!!! My oozy burrito was sliding toward Sydney! Quinn and Cashmere were looking at me like,
ACK!

I had only a second to act. I regained my balance and yanked the lunch tray back and—

Whew! The burrito slid back, away from Sydney! Whew! I steadied myself on my shoes.

Except that the burrito slid the other direction and flew over my head and behind me.

“What the—?!!” I heard someone yell.

I turned around and saw the guy called Ox jumping up. With a big brown splotch on his shirt.

“Ewww!” Cashmere said. “Gross!”

Everyone was looking at me. Well, they were looking at Ox, who was pointing at me, so then they were looking at me.

“I—uh,” I stammered. “I gotta go.”

I grabbed my tote bag. And was out of there.

PE, FRIDAY

BRRRZPP! BRRRZPP!

My cell phone would not stop buzzing. I ignored it and watched everyone else in my class whack the volleyball across the net. The gym, like everything in this school, was humongous. There were about six different PE classes going on at the same time.

“Temporary carpalmyalgia,” I had told my PE teacher. “That's pain in the hands and wrists.” Mr. Gregory looked at me for a minute, then told me to sit on the bleachers.

Hee.

Knowing the Latin derivatives of words really helped
make up great excuses. I mean, PE? When would I ever need those skills in my future career?

BRRRZPP! BRRRZPP!

Plus, I am a klutz.

BRRRZPP! BRRRZPP!

I ignored my cell. The last two times I had checked my text messages, they'd been insults. From Payton. Things like, “You're ruining my life!” and “Get a makeover!”

If that was her idea of a joke, it wasn't funny. And if she was serious? I would not take this lightly. I was starting to get all worked up, so I went to my happy place: mental math.

I tried to do square roots in my head, but it was impossible to calculate with volleyballs flying, whistles blowing, people cheering, and other people booing. Plus, that gym smell—combination of floor wax and BO—was overpowering my cognitive abilities.

BRRRZPP! BRRRZPP!
I gave up and pulled out my cell phone, turning so Mr. Gregory couldn't see. I had enough problems without Payton turning into an evil twin. Without reading my messages, I texted Payton back.

im busy. and u r a snob.

BRRRZPP! BRRRZPP!
She texted back.

EmergenC!!!!

Well, I really wasn't that busy warming the bleachers. Might as well go see what the drama queen wanted. I texted back to meet me at our lockers.

K but hurry!!!