Trading Faces (9 page)

An iPhone! An iPhone!

“Ohmigosh!” Payton screamed, loud enough for people to look at us. “We have cell phones! I have my
own cell phone! Thank you thank you thank you!”

We had been begging for cell phones for a long time. This was huge.

“It's a perfect back-to-school present!” Payton said.

“Wait,” I said. “Isn't there some school rule against cell phones?”

Payton kicked me under the table. I shut up.

“The phones come with little doodads to personalize them,” my mom said, handing us a little package of gem stickers in different colors.

“Give me all your pinks,” Payton commanded me. “And I'll give you my turquoise ones.”

“When I was your age,” Mom said, “my best friend and I were split up into different classes. We'd write notes to each other and pass them in the halls between classes. I thought you two might like to stay in touch—the modern way.”

“Text messages!” Payton and I hand-slapped over the table.

“Mom! Dad! You're the best!” Payton told them. “I love love love our presents!”

I checked out my phone.
Hmmm, there's a built-in calculator and time zone adapter
. I gave a silent
woo-hoo!
and scrolled through more features.

“I can't wait to show off my bracelet and cell phone to Sydney and my new friends at school tomorrow!” Payton said.

“I'm not surprised you're already making friends,” Mom said to Payton. “You've always been so nice and popular.”

“Nice doesn't always equal popular,” I muttered.

“Hey!” said Payton. “I was nice
and
popular at our old school, Emma.”

“So how is the old gang?” my mom asked her.

“Well . . . I e-mailed them, but I guess not so much since I got home from camp,” Payton said. “It's been crazy busy, you know.”

“Speaking of camp, what about Ashlynn and the Fashlynns?” I asked. “Have you heard from them?”

Payton frowned.

“No,” she said. “But Ashlynn wasn't the
nice
popular type anyway, so who cares. Sydney and the girls are the popular
and
nice kind!” Payton brightened. “They saved me seats, and they were totally complimenting me all the time! And did I tell you I'm going shopping with them at the mall this weekend?”

“Wow,” I said, sarcastically. “In seven hours you made FFBs!”

“It's BFFs.” Payton rolled her eyes.

“Oh, darn, I'm not fluent in Popularese,” I said. “I guess I'm too busy concentrating on important things.”

“Having friends is important,” said Payton. “And it's not so easy getting into the right group.”

“Oh, how hard can it be to get into that group?” I retorted. “All you have to do is wear certain clothes and nod like a bobblehead at everything they say. You know, you could have been a little more creative with your choice of groups. I mean, you didn't go with the drama group, the sporty girls—okay, maybe not, you're not athletic—and obviously not the brains . . .”

“HEY!” Payton shouted, standing up.

“Girls, enough,” my mother said.

But I couldn't stop. “There are hundreds of nice, normal people in our school, but nooo . . . you have to be in the ‘kewl' clique.”

Oops. That was loud. People at other tables were looking at us. The server came with the check. I calculated the tip for us as usual, Dad paid, and we walked out of the restaurant like a happy normal family that doesn't make scenes in public places.

Payton and I walked together through the parking lot.

“So, Emma. If it's so easy to be popular, then how come everyone isn't?” she said.

I wanted to say it was because not everyone wanted to be popular. But I knew that that wasn't exactly true. I knew that lots of people wished they were in the “in” group.

“Who cares? I mean, where does being popular get you in life?” I asked.

“Where? For one thing, the best seats in the classroom, unlike what
you
got stuck with,” Payton said. “And also to the mall for a fun weekend, and to the best parties, and in the center of everything!”

“Whatever, Payton.” I dismissed her.

“Well, where does being a brainiac get you?” Payton asked. “Sure, you get good grades, but you're stuck studying all the time.”

“For starters, being a brainiac will get you into a good college—” I replied, but Payton cut me off.

“
If
you survive middle school first,” Payton said. “You said it yourself. Your school day
stunk
. Mine was awesome.”

“Girls!” my father said. “That's enough.”

Payton climbed into the minivan and sat down in the second row. Instead of sitting next to her in my usual seat, I climbed into the third row by myself.

Payton didn't turn around.

I looked out the window as we drove out of the parking lot in silence.

BRRRZPP!

I jumped. What was that?

BRRRZPP! BRRRZPP!

My pocket was buzzing!

Oh! It was my cell phone vibrating! My first cell phone call! No, wait, my first cell phone text message!

I'm so kewl! Brainiacs drool! lol

That was one good thing about Payton. She never could stay mad.

I texted back:

u r so mature

Payton texted back.

I know! That's why I'm wearing TC Couture! T stands for TEEN!

I texted back:

& the C stands for Cheaply made since it broke & u had 2 go 2 the janitor's closet!

I heard Payton go, “AGH!” And then her face popped over the backseat.

“You
had
to bring that up?” she groaned. “I'm trying to block that whole tank-top thing out of my memory!”

“What was that, honey?” Mom said. “Did you say something?”

“Erp, no!” Payton called up front. “Nothing!” Her face disappeared again, and my cell phone vibrated.

ok the strap breakage thing was a bad start but it got better. hope sumthng good happened 2 u?

I thought back through my day. Well, there was that boy who quizzed me on my schedule. That would be something Payton would like to hear, I guess. I texted:

I talked to a boy in homeroom.

She responded:

u did?!!!! Was he cute???!
appeared on my phone.

Yes & it was 3 whole sentences!

Go Emma! u rock!

“I'm so glad you're enjoying your cell phones, girls,” Mom said cheerfully from the front seat. “I hear your fingers tapping.”

“Text messaging is not unlimited,” Dad warned. “Use it wisely.”

At the exact same time, we slipped our phones into their cases. Then Payton's head popped back over the seat.

“One day of middle school day down!” she said cheerfully.

And 184 more to go. And that was just seventh grade.

LUNCH, THURSDAY

“Hi Payton! Love your shirt!”

“Thanks!” I said, smiling back at the girl passing me in the hall. I was stopping at my locker to drop off some books before I headed to lunch. I walked right up to my locker. I didn't even have to remember the number anymore—Sydney had written
Luv ya!
♥ on the front in dry-erase marker. It was smudgy, but I was leaving it on there.

I opened my locker on the first try. Yesterday had been my second day of middle school success, and it looked like today would be lucky too. I clicked the lights in my locker mirror. I looked pretty good today, I thought. I was wearing:

A yellow baby doll top

(Summer Slave couture)

Jeans
(also Summer Slave)
rolled up

Headband with a yellow and gray design on it

(Summer Slave)

Shoes with a little bit of platform heel

(Yeah, Summer Slave)

Bracelet with the
P
on it
(mine!)

I put on lip gloss and smiled, satisfied. I'd done a pretty good job with the eyebrow tweezing the other night. It was painful, and my right eye had been swollen for an hour, but now my eyebrows were as thin as Emma's.

I dug around for my lunch bag behind my books. Emma was bugging me about my locker being disorganized. Like her locker was so amazing. She still hadn't decorated it at all—and she wouldn't even give me her locker combination. She said I'd ruin her system. I was determined to get in there somehow and redecorate. I had big plans.