Payton nodded and held out her hand. I reached out, and we linked our pinkies.
“TWIN-ky swear,” we both said.
A TWIN-ky swear was like a pinky swear, only bigger. You could never, ever break a TWIN-ky swear.
“Let’s do it,” Payton said, taking a deep breath. She opened the door and slipped out first. Then it was my turn.
I stepped out into the hallway.
“There are those twins,” said a girl to her friend. “One of them is in my study hall.”
Payton and I glanced nervously at each other.
“The one in the sweats,” she continued, pointing at Payton as she walked past us.
Excellent! That girl was in my study hall. I gave Payton a confident look. “Let’s do it!”
Clang!
We bolted. Payton headed left to my study hall. And I went to the right, to Payton’s English class. Oops. It was Mrs. Burkle. The one teacher Payton and I both had. I hoped she wouldn’t notice I was back. Nah, she wouldn’t be able to tell it was me. I’d slip in so nobody would notice.
I made it five steps before the platform shoes got me. I wobbled precariously and nearly fell over. I managed to grab onto Mrs. Burkle’s desk and keep my balance.
“You! In the too-high-for-school shoes! Weren’t you in my earlier class?” Mrs. Burkle’s booming voice said loudly. Apparently middle school teachers had so many students to keep track of they didn’t even notice identical twins. Until one of them practically fell on their face right in front of them.
Oh, man! Were we busted already? Did I just blow it?
“No, ma’am,” I said, extra politely. “I have an identical twin sister who has you.”
“Identical twins!” Mrs. Burkle said dramatically. “Ah, in literature twins are a recurring theme! From two sets of twins in Shakespeare’s comedies, to the Roman mythology of the twins Romulus and Remus, to the Bobbsey Twins . . .”
Mrs. Burkle wasn’t even looking at me anymore. I steadied myself and slunk over to an empty desk in the back of the room. I hoped it was Payton’s. It was in the back, where Payton usually sat. And no one told me to get up. Whew. I was safe. I was determined to fake my way through Payton’s day. I mean, it was just Payton’s life. How hard could it be?
Thirteen
6TH PERIOD—EMMA’S STUDY HALL
I couldn’t believe I’d embarrassed myself like that.
I walked quickly through the halls toward Emma’s study hall. I looked down, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might look at me and think, Hey! Isn’t that Payton the Burrito Thrower?
I was so embarrassed. No, I was HUMILIATED!
I was also dressed really, really badly. I was wearing Emma’s navy sweats and peach sweatshirt. In public! Could this day get any worse?
Then I heard someone talking as she passed by.
“That’s her twin in the sweats . . . burrito . . . so gross. You should have seen Sydney’s face.”
I ducked my head down and blinked back tears. I had really screwed up. Really really really screwed up.
I walked faster down the hall. And faster—and almost past Emma’s study hall. The bell rang. I’d made it on time, just like I’d promised. I looked around. People were whispering. About me? I was so paranoid. I couldn’t do this. There was no way I could survive Emma’s study hall. Or Emma’s choir. Or middle school.
I walked in, went straight over to the study hall monitor, and asked for a pass to the nurse’s office. He didn’t even look at me; just wrote out Emma’s name when I told him. Whew.
“Name?” the nurse asked me.
“Pay—,” I stopped myself. “I mean, Emma. Emma Mills.”
“Problem?”
“I’m just—sick,” I said.
“Your face is beet-red and flushed,” the nurse announced. “And very sweaty. Likely a fever. Go lie down on the cot.”
I took my sweaty red self over to the cot and lay down. I pulled the blanket over my face so nobody would recognize me. I was just going to hide out here and try not to think about burritos or mad friends or . . .
Mmmm . . .I had to admit these sweatpants were pretty soft and comfy. And this sweatshirt was fuzzy inside.
Ahhh. Snuggly.
I wiggled around until I got more comfortable.
And fell asleep.
Fourteen
6TH PERIOD—PAYTON’S ENGLISH CLASS
“Man versus himself,” I said.
Mrs. Burkle looked surprised.
“Correct, Payton,” she said. “That is the conflict of this short story.”
I was in Language Arts—again. It was the second time I’d heard this lesson today. Well, my real class had gone way more in depth into the symbolism and layers of meaning in this story. It was the advanced class. But it was the same story. Same conflict. Of course I knew the answer. And I thought Payton could use some bonus points in class for answering. I wouldn’t overdo it, though.
During the rest of the class I memorized geography facts from a GeoBee study guide I’d grabbed off the book display on the way into class. I was sneak-reading under my desk. Huh. Who knew Vatican City was only .17 square miles?
I did, now.
“Miss Mills?” Mrs. Burkle said. “Please come up to my desk. Class, you have five free minutes of reading time.”
Uh-oh. I dropped the book into my—I mean Payton’s—tote bag. I looked around and saw everyone else reading from the textbook. Did Mrs. Burkle catch me sneaking the GeoBee? Payton wouldn’t be caught dead with that book.
Did Mrs. Burkle suspect it was really me and not my sister? I slunk up to the teacher’s desk.
“Miss Mills? I have a question for you,” Mrs. Burkle asked, in her loud voice so everyone could hear. Oh, no. She’s definitely onto us.
Okay. WWPS? What would Payton say?
“Um. Uh. Nope?” I answered, trying to sound Paytonish.
“As you know, Emma is in my fourth-period advanced honors class,” Mrs. Burkle said.
She said Emma! She still thought I was Payton! I wasn’t busted!
“Emma!” Mrs. Burkle went on. “I had a chance to review her files. What a fabulous student! Not only is her spelling letter perfect, but her writing is sublime!”
Really? Well!
“I didn’t have the chance to tell Emma today,” Mrs. Burkle continued. “But I’d like her to consider joining the Gecko News.”
Write for the newspaper? Yes! Yes!
“I know Emma would love to do it!” I said. Because Emma would! Because I’m Emma!
“Your sister is a talented writer,” Mrs. Burkle said.
“Yes,” I said. “Emma is an inspiration to me. You may not have noticed this yet, but she’ll probably be your star student.”
Hee. And hee. This was great. I could compliment myself all I wanted. Maybe I should take this further. Maybe I should bring up how Jazmine James wasn’t really all that and—
Clang! The bell for class ended.
“Class dismissed!” Mrs. Burkle said, turning away.
I headed off to Dumb People Math. Oh, all right, regular Math. In the hall I texted Payton.
how was study hall? r u ok?
Payton didn’t answer. Oh, well. She couldn’t have messed up my study hall. No worries.
I sat through Payton’s math class, answering one question when the teacher called on me. I answered it wrong. On purpose. I was supposed to be Payton, right?
It was kind of fun, not having to think for a change.
Except that my outfit itched like crazy.
In art class we did watercolors. My picture turned out kind of mushy because I used too much water and not enough color. But it was okay! I didn’t have to be perfect today!
“Hi, Payton,” a girl with dark brown hair said to me. She laid her artwork out on the drying table next to mine.
“Hi . . .” I spotted her name on her painting. Quinn.
“Your picture is amazing!” I told her.
Quinn smiled. “Thanks. I love a
rt.”
The bell rang and everyone left the room.
how r u? remember: don’t go to my math class!
Still no response. Payton was probably checking in at the nurse’s office right about then. No problem. I’d just see her at the lockers. Meanwhile, I had one more class to pull off: PE.
PE was the major one. Sydney was in Payton’s PE class. I’d have to face her.
I had Payton’s PE clothes in her tote bag, so I went to the locker room to change. I couldn’t wait to get out of those silly Summer Slave clothes! Then I saw Payton’s PE clothes. They were Summer Slavewear too.
I sighed. I walked into the locker room and it went quiet.
About thirty girls had gone silent and were staring at me.
What? What?!
And then one girl spoke.
“Wow, you’re actually here, Payton,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d show your face after, you know, what happened at lunch.”
“Hello, Sydney,” I replied, walking past her to an empty area of the locker room.
“Payton . . . Sydney . . . Ox . . . humiliating . . .”
I heard bits and pieces of girl talk. Whatever. I tuned it out.
I put on the Summer Slave T-shirt and shorts. Sequins? Who wears sequins to PE? This was going to be very uncomfortable.
I went back out to the gym.
“You are so brave,” a girl whispered to me.
“Okay, sure,” I said, and shrugged. Brave? Ha! Brave is facing down the top mathletes in the state when you’re down by just one point. This was only PE!
“Girls! Laps!” Coach Hoen blew her whistle.
Ugh. I can’t believe I had to go to gym twice in one day. One way Payton and I were alike: We were uncoordinated, so PE was not our specialty.
And this time I couldn’t even talk my way out of it, because I had to prove to everyone that Payton was not hiding in shame.
“Laps, ew!” I said loudly enough for the girls (but not my teacher) to hear me. “This is so not my day!”
I walked out on the gym floor, holding my head high. I remember Payton saying she smiled a lot, so I slapped a smile on my face.
“Five times around the gym!” Coach Hoen yelled.
My smile faded. I sighed and went to the starting line. I stood right next to Sydney. I noticed her friends shift uncomfortably.
Coach Hoen blew the whistle and we started running. Sydney took off at the front of the pack. Unfortunately for me, she was apparently athletic, too. I summoned my strength and caught up with her. I was on a mission: Redeem my sister’s honor!
“I so hate laps, don’t you guys?” I said, cheerfully to her and some girl next to her. I maneuvered myself in between the two of them.
“I bet you do, since you can hardly walk without spilling things,” the other girl said, in a snotty voice.
Sydney laughed.
“Just to inform you,” I said to the other girl. “You need a tissue.”
Sydney looked at the other girl and laughed again.
“Heh! You so have a huge booger,” Sydney told her.
The girl turned red and ran off to the girls’ room. Now it was just me and Sydney. I could feel my legs killing me, but I was not giving up. And was it my imagination, or was Sydney slowing down?
“So,” Sydney finally spoke.
“So,” I said cheerfully.
“You’ve got some nerve, Payton,” Sydney said. “Hanging out with me like it’s nothing. I mean, you haven’t even apologized!”
Grr. I had to apologize? For what? Being insulted and called a fashion emergency? I had to stay calm. I had to do this for Payton.
“I don’t like being yelled at,” Sydney went on. “I definitely don’t like people embarrassing our lunch table.”
“I know,” I improvised. “It’s just . . . I’m kind of sensitive about my sister. She is my sister, you know.”
“Well, it would be hard to have Emma for a twin,” Sydney said.
Ergh. She was seriously getting on my nerves. Payton owed me big time for this. A small bunch of girls passed us. Whew. We were now in the middle of the pack. I couldn’t keep up with the leaders anymore. My legs were feeling seriously wobbly. But I had to keep going. For Payton.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just imagine if you had a sister who didn’t like fashion or care about being cool!”
“I could see how that would put you over the edge,” Sydney said, nodding. She was definitely breathing heavily. Not as athletic as I’d first thought.
I tried to think of what else I could say to wear Sydney down to forgive Payton. WWPD? What would Payton do . . . ?
“Sydney, I looove your shirt,” I tried. “It’s so . . . ”
So what? I’d never really complimented anyone’s shirt before. It was just some stupid gym shirt with some logo on it. Oh! I recognized the logo from an article I’d read online in my business journal—
“ . . . cool. Isn’t that from CocoBella’s new fitness line?”
“Yeah—yeah, it is,” Sydney said eagerly. “You know CocoBella’s fitness line?”
“I heard they’re coming out with sneakers in December,” I recalled. “They’re organic and great for the environment.”
Wait. That didn’t sound Paytonish.
“Plus!” I squealed. “They’re soooo cute!”
Huh. I could never squeal before.
“Really? I didn’t know that! It’s not on their website yet,” Sydney said. “How do you know that?”
I have to admit, I did feel a teeny bit proud of myself for my knowledge.
I shrugged. “I have my ways.” Financial Week magazine, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “Exclusive insider information, you know. But let’s keep that to ourselves.”
“Speaking about keeping to ourselves . . .” Sydney looked around and lowered her voice. “Can you share any of that exclusive inside information with, say, one person?”
Hmm. Whatever could she be getting at?
“Weeeell . . .” I played hard to get. “I never have shared my scoop before. I always hoped I’d find someone to share my insider information with—like a special BFF.”
BFF! That was such a Payton word. Heh! I was gooood. I jogged a little faster than Sydney, ignoring the ache in my legs.
“Wait! Payton!” Sydney called out. I slowed down and let her catch up to me.
“I never wanted our little misunderstanding at the lunch table to get in the way of our growing friendship,” Sydney said. “I really feel like we got so close, so fast. You know, like we were BFFs.”
How convenient.
“So! I’m ready to forgive you,” Sydney announced.
Forgive me? Forgive me for being insulted and called a fashion emergency? I took a deep breath to stay calm. Remember the goal, Emma. It’s all for Payton. I’d done well so far. It was like the final round of a debate competition. I had to finish this off for the win.
“Yay!” I said, in what I hoped was a perky voice. “We’ll have so much fun being friends!”
“Then let’s get together and talk fashion, ’kay?” Sydney said eagerly.
Sure thing. Whatever you say, Friend of Payton.
Tweeeeeet! Coach Hoen blew the whistle. “Less chatting, more running next time,” she said right at Sydney and me.
“Yeah, right? And sweat? No, thank you,” whispered Sydney, smiling at me.
“Sweat, ew,” I said, nodding.
Gym class was over. My work here was done. I started to walk off the track. And I heard Sydney call after me: “Hey Payton! Let’s hang later! For . . . you know!”
Fashion insider info. Yeah, I knew.
“Bye, Sydney!” I called out to her, making sure everyone heard me. “Text me!”
“Bye, Payton!” Sydney said.
After Sydney said bye, four or five other girls yelled bye to me too.
Well, that was a success! I couldn’t wait to tell Payton.
Fifteen
FRIDAY, AFTER SCHOOL
&nb
sp; “I was great as you,” Emma said confidently as we went upstairs into our bedroom. “I should have won an Oscar.”
We’d run right up to our room after we got off the bus. We yelled hi to my mom and raced to our room so she wouldn’t see us dressed as each other.
Emma immediately turned on our computer and logged in. She always started homework the second we got home.
I flopped down on Emma’s bed. Since I was still Emma. Plus, her bed was neat, while mine was covered with stuff.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about or worried about at school anymore,” Emma continued. “I totally took care of Sydney and everything for you.”
Yeah, right. Like Emma just went and fixed my disaster? No offense to Emma, but she’s not exactly known for her social skills.
“Well, whatever happened, thanks. I have to admit, it felt good to have no pressure on me for a little while,” I told her. “It was so relaxing being you.”
“RELAXING?!” Emma yelped. “It’s not relaxing! I don’t usually nap the school day away in the nurse’s office, you know.”
The nurse had woken me up at dismissal time. I’d slept through sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth periods!
“True,” I said, sitting up. “But you get to wear these comfy clothes and not care about how you look or what other people think of you!”
I pointed at the schlumpy clothes I needed to take off. In a few minutes. I’d wear them just a little longer. I mean, they were comfy.
“It’s just so hard being me!” I flopped back on Emma’s bed. “It’s hard keeping up with Sydney and everyone!”
“Oh, please,” Emma scoffed. “Hard is getting straight As and planning to get into the best college and beating Jazmine James for valedictorian. It’s so easy being you. Name one stress you have.”
“I have to show my face at school after throwing a gross burrito on one of the most popular guys at school,” I said.
“So, big deal—you go apologize to the guy,” Emma said. She was typing on the computer while she talked.
I lay there and stared at Emma’s posters on her wall. We had a white room, but we’d decorated our sides differently. Her comforter was denim blue and she had posters that said things like NEVER GIVE UP! She had study guides attached to her wall.
Trading Faces Page 8
