Trading Faces (15 page)

I wouldn't have to think so hard for a change today.

Jazmine James wasn't in any of Payton's classes.

Being Payton = one day of:

Carefree! Brainfree!

And Jazminefree!

Hee!

“Hi, Payton!” a girl said to me.

“Hi!” I looked at her and flashed her a big friendly smile. Just the way Payton had coached me.

“Payton, hey!” A boy nodded at me.

“Hey!” I nodded back. Maybe Emma was tongue-tied around boys, but Payton wasn't. Okay, so maybe I only said one word, but still.

I walked to the back of the room and saw her: Payton's frenemy, Sydney. I breezily walked past her and nodded confidently. I sat in the desk behind her. Homeroom was fifteen minutes long, just long enough to review my Spanish tenses. I closed my eyes to run through a few.

“Ohmigosh, Payton!”

Ugh. It was Sydney. I opened my eyes to see her turned around, looking at me.

“You are such a liar!” she said.

Huh?

“You said CocoBella wasn't coming out with their sneaker line till December,” Sydney said. “You didn't tell me you already snagged a pair!”

I was wearing the ones I'd shown Payton Friday night.

“Um . . .” I held up my foot to show off Ashlynn's/Payton's shoe. “I . . . It's . . .”

“Silence!” the homeroom teacher yelled, saving me from having to come up with an answer.

Sydney turned back around.

I could now continue my Spanish tenses.

“Ow!” A square of paper hit me in the forehead and landed on my desk. What now? I opened it.

I totally love those shoes,
the note said.

Um, okay. That was worth a note and a potential bruise to my forehead? I sent her one back.

Thanks.

Payton always added smiley faces to her notes. I'd had one this morning from her in my/her tote bag:

Don't be hatin'

Today you're Payton!

xo “Emma”

Lame poem, but a nice thought.
Oh, great.
Another note landed on my desk.

Can u hook me up with a pair?

Um . . . no.

I scribbled a little note on Payton's pink pad and tossed it over Sydney's shoulder.

I'll see what I can do. P.

Sydney turned around and smiled.

I'll see what I can do? I can do nothing
. But it kept Sydney happy for now, so hey. I'd accomplished my main goal as Payton, and it was only, what, 7:12 in the morning? Sydney wouldn't mess with my sister as long as she believed those silly sneakers were coming. And hopefully Payton would weasel her way back into the Kewl Clique or whatever it was they called themselves, and Sydney would forget all about the sneakers.

“Mills, Payton? Mills, Payton?”

A boy next to me kicked my chair.

“Oh! Present! I mean, here!” I said loudly. Oops. I know Payton wasn't known for paying attention but I'm sure she never screwed up answering for attendance.

I focused on my Spanish homework.

Another note flew on to my desk.

If they have them in gray get those! Size 7.

Oh, righty, I'll just race right out and—

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The bell rang. Rats. I'd only conjugated half my verbs, thanks to Sydney's incessant note throwing. No wonder Payton never got much done in school, if people were always interrupting her with notes and other trivialities.

“Bye, Payton!” Sydney called out.

“Bye, Payton!” a chorus of Sydneyites followed.

“Bye!” I smiled, waved in a friendly way, and walked out of homeroom.

Now I had a morning full of easy classes. What a day. Suck up to Sydney? Accomplished. Now it was time to study. Starting, appropriately with study hall.

Next I went to second-period Science. It was easy. I got to study the rest of my Spanish tenses. Yes! I mean,
sí
!

Third-period French?
Facile
. Which means easy.
Looks like I'll be learning two languages this year. Wait, three—I'm getting pretty good at speaking Payton
. I said hi to three people and used “um” and “yeesh” a lot.

Fourth-period Social Studies. Easy peasy.

But now came the true test: lunch. Just last week I'd spent lunch in the library, sneaking little bites of food from behind a book.

“Payton! Over here!” Sydney beckoned me to her table.

Now . . . I was going to eat with some of the most popular people in school.

I said “some,” not “all.” Because yesterday I'd noticed another group of oh-so-pretty girls, all of them wearing Geckos Cheerleading jackets. And there they were, on the other side of the cafeteria, sitting
with
boys. Who were also in Gecko jackets.

And here I was, in Payton's own little corner of cool.

I was a little nervous, but I was ready. Over the weekend I had approached the study of cool as if I were cramming for a competition. I'd Googled, blog-hopped, studied, and memorized. I'd created one file called Popularology and one called Trends.

Then I'd moved on to Payton's magazines. Fashions!
Tweens! Crushes! Most embarrassing moments!

Okay, I'm an overachiever. But we already knew that. What I hadn't known was that there was a whole world of information available to help me become a typical tween.

Like Payton.

“Hi, Payton,” waved one of the girls at Sydney's table. I smiled and sat down amongst Queen Sydney and her Court.

They were all talking nonstop, so I just ate my lunch without saying pretty much anything. Occasionally I nodded and went “Uh-huh! Yeah! Totally!” Just agree with the group—that was the way to fit in.

And then Sydney mentioned a shirt she'd bought at a store I'd never been to but I had seen advertised so much in Payton's magazines that I felt like I'd been there a million times.

“It's icy gray with long sleeves and a little lace around the neck,” Sydney said. “I'm trying to think of what to wear with it to the concert this weekend.”

“How about a rose-pink bead choker, wide-leg jeans, and silver ballet flats?” I suggested. “And a signature piece—like a chocolate-brown bag?”

The whole table turned to stare at me.

“Or,” I continued, “you could go natural with a rope belt, hemp headband, and natural-colored shirt.”

“Payton, wow,” said the bouncy, brown-haired girl I'd met in Payton's art class on Friday. Quinn. “You so have to come shopping with us!”

I thought back to the cheat sheet Payton had given me. Quinn was the nicest one. I smiled at her.

“She could be like our personal shopper,” Cashmere said. Not the nicest FOS (Friend of Sydney), according to the cheat sheet. “Right, Syd? Like, she could work for us?”

Nice attempt to put me down. I did not smile at her.

Sydney looked at me.

“We're going to the mall after school,” Sydney said. “You should come, Payton.”

“Um, sure,” I said, thinking. Payton and I would have to switch back right at dismissal time, but I could probably make it. I meant, she could.

I sat back, satisfied. I'd gotten Payton invited to the mall. She'd be happy when I told her. I was more than a little impressed with myself, tossing out the fashion advice like that. All that research had paid off. As soon as Sydney had said icy gray with long sleeves, I'd remembered seeing that shirt in
Teen Twist
(page 31) with the
beads and jeans and flats and the headline about shaking it up with the handbag. And I'd read online how accessorizing with natural materials and neutral colors was about to be a trend.

My near-photographic memory was coming in handy, even if it was for shallow, superficial things.

Just then, four boys came over to our table.

“Hey,” they said.

Sydney and the girls got all flirty-flirty. I just sat there. I wondered what Payton would do. I had no clue, so I hoped the boys would go back to boy land.

Instead, I nearly got shoved off my chair by a guy.

“Shove over,” the boy said. “Make room for the stud.”

I was supposed to share a seat with someone who called himself the stud?

“Oh, please, Mac,” Sydney said.

“Be careful of her,” Cashmere said. “She might throw a burrito at you like she did at Ox.”

Everyone laughed.

“I could take it,” said the boy sitting diagonally across from me. Oh! He was—

“Burrito boy!” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“I was on Friday,” he said. “Usually I'm Ox.”

“I'm so, so sorry,” I said. “It was an accident, and I'd be happy to clean your shirt.”

“Nah,” Ox said. “My mom took care of it. No biggie.”

Ox stood up and stretched. Hmm. He wasn't too tall. Or too short. He was just nice, but in a muscly way. I would have thought someone named Ox would be huge and wide. And with a name like Ox, of course he was a dumb jock.

But, um. He was cute.

“Ox,” Cashmere said, “did you know that when you write your name, it's like a hug and a kiss?
O
and
X
, get it?”