I shouldn’t be surprised. But I still am.
“SHE DID WHAT?”
“She said she had to pay in full,” she says, “because the first class is on Saturday.”
“Saturday? What time on Saturday?”
“Says here four o’clock.”
I can’t believe my good luck. I double—then triple—check the time because my good luck is so impossible to believe.
“Four o’clock,” I confirm.
Morgan will already be at the equestrian center at four o’clock. She rearranged her calendar to accommodate weekend filming for all the socials, but I guess horses aren’t as flexible as humans schedule-wise. With Morgan busy at the stables, I just might be able to get away with these lessons without her knowing.
“You better be there on time,” Mom says, “since Lauren can’t get her money back.”
There, at the bottom of the e-receipt, I see the proof. Fifty dollars. Paid in full. No refunds, no returns, no exchanges. My sister spent her own hard-earned cash—money she earned by mowing lawns and tutoring brats and coaching tiny soccer tots, money she’s supposed to invest in herself—on me. She didn’t wait for me to ask for it because she knew I never, ever would. And I honestly don’t know how—if ever—I can repay her.
Be good, I can hear my sister saying. Just be good.
I’ll try, I say back.
Hey, OMGs! What really goes on behind the scenes of Morgan & Ella HQ? Here’s what you’ll never see in our Day in the Life videos.
So … as you can tell from all the pink-and-purple animal prints, this is me in Morgan’s bedroom. Morgan is scowling because my nails are a disaster. She says I really need to go back and get another Riley Quick manicure because my nails are all torn up from practicing for hours on throwback songs we’ll never perform because she changed her mind. I guess that’s what happens when you partner up with such a visionary genius. Don’t bother telling me if you want, if you really, really want to see that Spice Girls medley I worked on instead of studying for my math test because Morgan is totally over it.
So … this is me backing up Morgan on the Disney Princess medley she decided we should do instead. I was kind of surprised by the choice because I made the same suggestion a few months ago and Morgan said that it was too babyish for our brand. But today she’s saying that nostalgia is superfun and doesn’t she look so regal in that tiara? The Middleton family is modern royalty, for sure! Some of you have asked why Morgan always gets to sing lead even though she sometimes struggles to hit the highest notes. Because she’s the Girlboss Goddess, that’s why! Thanks to all of you who have said the sweetest things about my harmonies. But I’m supposed to remind you—and myself—that my harmonies wouldn’t sound so pretty without Morgan’s melodies!
So … this is me in my second, third, and fourth outfits of the morning until Morgan finally approves my sparkly hoodie and leggings. We’re taking Morgan & Ella outside for some location shots all around town, so it’s superimportant we perfect the look Morgan is calling Hashtag Weekend Chill.
So … this is me with Morgan in Frootie Smoothie in Mercer Square. This isn’t spon con, but I wish it were! I’m kind of wiped from trying on all those clothes, and I’m craving a Go Go Greens for its energy-boosting benefits, but it looks like barf so Morgan orders us all the Dragonberry because the pink is so much prettier, don’t you think? Do you ever get a food or drink you don’t like just because it will look better on Fotobomb than the thing you really want? I can’t be the only one, right? Comment below!
So … this is me leaving the shop arm in arm with Morgan, sipping our pretty pink Frootie Smoothies.
So … this is me going back inside the shop with Morgan to redo our exit because I was squinting into the sun.
So … this is me going back inside the shop with Morgan for a third time to re-redo our exit because I wasn’t smiling in between sips of my Frootie Smoothie.
So … this is me leaving the shop arm in arm with Morgan again, this time smiling and sipping with sunnies on, finally nailing the whole effortless Hashtag Weekend Chill vibe. And I’m strutting down the sidewalk without a care in the world, looking exactly like the most popular girl in seventh grade well on her way to global multiplatform domination, when I lock eyes with the last person I want to see.
So … this is me counting down the seconds until four o’clock.
Morgan sees Sophie at the same time I do.
And she also sees that Sophie isn’t alone.
“Ummm … Lookie who has a new BFF!”
With nowhere to hide on the sidewalk, Sophie is sort of half shielding herself behind this girl we’ve never seen before. This girl we’ve never seen before is dressed a lot like Morgan, Maddy, and me, in a rhinestone smiley face hoodie and black leggings. Only Sophie stands alone in her khakis and polo shirt.
The girl we’ve never seen before bounces up to us, and I’m honestly grateful for the distraction. I’m terrible at keeping secrets—especially from Morgan. All morning I’ve been afraid of blurting out my plans for the rest of the afternoon: I KNOW FENCING IS FOR LOSERS, BUT I’M TRYING IT ANYWAAAAAYYYY …
“I’m Kaytee Ray!” chirps the girl we’ve never seen before. “I spell it K-A-Y-T-E-E just like Kaytee K.! I loved your cover of ‘The Fullest Truth’!”
Kaytee is smiling not just with her whole face but, like, her whole body. She’s buzzing with positive energy. With her suntanned skin, swingy ponytail, and springy physique, Kaytee’s aesthetic would be something like #SportyChic.
“I’ve seen all your videos!”
I watch Morgan drop her smirk just long enough to make her most humble face, because Morgan Middleton is the humblest.
“I love you!”
We reply together as we always do.
“And we love you!”
Kaytee shifts her attention in a most unusual way.
“And you must be Maddy, right?”
Maddy blinks in disbelief. She can’t believe Kaytee actually knows her name. OMGs never pay attention to Maddy.
“I moved next door to Sophie this summer,” Kaytee says. “I’m so happy to finally meet you all!”
Sophie is absolutely not happy.
“I love your sunglasses!” Kaytee says to Morgan. “Where’d you get them?”
Morgan yawns. “Oh, these?”
Morgan tried twenty pairs before settling on these oversized white plastic frames.
“And those boots are so cute,” she says to me. “I love the stacked heel.”
Morgan wore them once, then passed them on to me. She said her ankles were too delicate but mine were thick enough to pull off the look.
“I know, right?” I say.
“And your hoodie is just the cutest,” she says to Maddy.
Maddy blushes, totally not used to the attention. Morgan lowers her sunglasses to get a better look at Kaytee. “So you must be in House Two,” she says.
Kaytee’s face gets all scrunchy.
“House Two? I’m in the house we moved into. Next door. To Sophie.”
Morgan keeps her sunglasses lowered, like she’s literally looking down on her. She’s seconds away from The Eyeroll, I can tell. I’ve developed a sixth sense for it.
“She means House Two at Mercer?” Maddy explains.
“I don’t go to Mercer Middle,” Kaytee grumbles. “I go to Ivy Academy.”
“Ivy Academy. Well, that explains why I’ve never seen you before,” Morgan says. “The girls there are totally stuck-up.”
Kaytee is the opposite of offended by Morgan’s comment. She’s totally on board with it.
“Yes!”
“And they don’t have any boys or any decent clubs or anything.”
“Yes!”
“I would die if I had to wear that uniform.”
“YESSSSSSSSS!”
Kaytee’s face is flooded with relief, like finally, finally someone gets it.
And that someone isn’t Sophie.
Without warning, Morgan clu
tches Maddy’s arm as if she’s about to faint.
“Omigoddess! It’s him.”
I don’t have time to ask before Maddy answers.
“The Mystery Hottie!” she squeaks.
Kaytee and Sophie turn to see the source of all the commotion: two boys in soccer jerseys exiting All-American Sports.
“Ack.” Kaytee gags. “That’s my twin brother! And his friend!”
“The Mystery Hottie is your twin brother?” Morgan asks.
“We’ve been wondering about him ever since he showed up around town last month,” Maddy says. “Morgan’s totally stalking him.”
“I am not!” Morgan snaps. “You’re the one with zero chill, not me!”
“He goes to private school too,” Kaytee explains. “Wilson Academy.”
“He should totally transfer to Mercer!” Maddy says, because it has been established that Maddy has zero chill. “You’ll make the cutest couple! I’m shipping you already!”
“What’s his name anyway?” Morgan twirls a curl around her finger like the question bores her.
“Alex,” Kaytee answers.
“Alex! What should your ship name be?” Maddy muses. “Morgan. Alex. Morgan. Alex. MorLex?”
“Sounds like a laxative,” Kaytee jokes. “That’s perfect!”
Morgan doesn’t crack a smile. Maddy bites her lip. I snort just loud enough that I hope to attract Sophie’s attention. If she looks up and catches my eye, maybe …
Maybe you’ll what? asks The Best Friend in My Head. Apologize?
“Come onnnnn,” Morgan says, linking Kaytee’s arm in hers. “Let’s say hi to your brother.”
“The other boy is pretty cute too,” Maddy says.
The boys are now shoving each other. One’s hair is the darkest blond or lightest brown—however you want to call it—just like Kaytee’s.
“Hey, Lexi!” Katyee calls out. “You’ve got a fan club!”
“Lexi!” Morgan and Maddy squeal. “That’s so cute!”
“Lexi?” asks the boy who isn’t Lexi.
“I told you not to call me that!” the boy who is Lexi shouts back.
“He told you not to call him that!”
Morgan and Maddy are falling all over themselves. I guess it’s sometimes okay to show zero chill? But only when Morgan thinks it’s okay?
“I’m so sorry Alexander Michael Ray,” Kaytee says with sarcastic emphasis. “I’ll never use the family nickname in public again.”
“Alexander … Morgan …” Morgan is deep in thought. “XanGan?”
Alex/Lexi/Alexander Michael Ray grunts a hello. His friend bounces the soccer ball on his head. He’s showing off because that’s what boys do in front of girls like Morgan.
I mean, girls like us.
Morgan is giving me a funny look. Not ha-ha funny, but curious funny, like I’m the one acting like a zero-chill weirdo and not her. Still another two hours and thirty-five minutes until four o’clock, so I guess I need to participate in this conversation? I make my own awkward attempt at a ship name.
“MorDer?” I suggest.
The friend stops bouncing the ball.
“ ‘Morder’ means ‘to bite,’ in Spanish,” he says. “Do you bite?”
Kaytee gags. Maddy giggles. Morgan reaches through the neck of her sweatshirt to adjust the shoulder straps on her bra. I’m still figuring out how to react when Kaytee’s twin pulls his friend by the arm and drags him away.
“Let’s go, Diego.”
“Byyyyyyeeee, Alex!” Morgan and Maddy singsong. “Byyyyyyeeee, Diego!”
I give a little wave but only because I don’t want to be rude.
“You’re the Mystery Hottie’s sister!” gushes Maddy. “You’re so lucky!”
I can’t hold back my ewwwww.“You realize it would be, like, totally gross for Kaytee to have a crush on her own brother, right?”
“I didn’t mean it that way!” Maddy’s face turns pinker than her Frootie Smoothie.
“Well, if you and your brother ever decide to transfer to Mercer, be sure to ask for House One,” Morgan says. “That’s the Cool House.”
And then all three of us point our index fingers in the air and make a little whooping sound to pledge our allegiance to the Cool House. I swear I do it without even thinking.
“Well,” Kaytee says, looking back at Sophie. “House Two is …”
Morgan has no time for talk about the Uncool House.
“Oopsie! Gotta go! Sooo nice meeting you, Kaytee! Tell your brother we said heyyyyy.” Then, whispered just quietly enough for Kaytee to miss it, “Bye, Ickface.”
As I follow Morgan’s lead, I wonder if anyone else noticed what I did:
Sophie didn’t say a word the whole time.
All day I’ve silently counted down to my first fencing lesson. Keeping this information to myself has been both exciting—I have a secret!—and excruciating—I’m keeping it from Morgan! I was sure she’d see right through me and demand to know what I was withholding from her. And she might have, too, if she hadn’t spent the rest of the afternoon obsessively analyzing Alex Ray’s socials right up to leaving for the equestrian center.
“Mark my words,” Morgan says as she hops into the SUV with Izzy. “The Mystery Hottie will be mine.”
Poor Alex/Lexi/Alexander Michael Ray really has no idea what he’s in for. But that isn’t my problem. I have to bike my butt off if I want to get to the YMCA on time.
“See ya Monday, Maddy!” I say, unlocking my bike.
“Oh,” she says, shoulders slumping. “I thought maybe you and I could hang out together …”
Maddy and I never hang out without Morgan, so I’m caught a little off guard by this request. My excuse is definitely lacking in creativity.
“Sorry! I’ve got something to do,” I say quickly. “Maybe another time …”
And then I push off and pedal away before Maddy has time to press me for more details.
* * *
So now it’s finally 3:59 p.m. I’ve somehow succeeded in showing up for my first fencing lesson without Morgan finding out about it. And one thing is immediately clear:
I don’t belong here.
First of all, I haven’t stepped foot in the YMCA since Sophie’s parents rented out the open play space for her Dragonologist Chronicles–themed eighth birthday party. She invited the whole third grade class, and nearly everyone came. Morgan was one of the few who didn’t even RSVP, and I remember Sophie’s parents being surprised that a fancy family like the Middletons had such poor manners. The party was no worse—and probably better off—without her. Even kids who weren’t so into the books had a blast navigating FlutterFyre’s Labyrinth and getting sorted into clans by the Cauldron of Serpentyne. It ended with all of us sprawled on mats on the floor to watch the first movie on a huge screen dropped from the ceiling. And as I cozied up to my best friend, passing a bowl of popcorn back and forth, I remember thinking there would never be a birthday party as fun as Sophie’s eighth.
I wasn’t wrong.
Second of all, even though this is supposed to be a beginner’s class, I’m the youngest person here by, like, five years at least, and, like, five decades at most. Only one out of seven students—a silver-haired senior lady—is wearing the proper white fencing jacket even though it wasn’t required. The rest of us—a chubby, red-cheeked high schooler who won’t take his eyes off his phone, an extremely tall man who looks like he’d be more at home on the basketball court, and three ponytailed moms who keep congratulating each other for taking “me time”—are wearing normal workout clothes.
At precisely four p.m., our instructor enters the mirrored room. I recognize her right away as Dede, the university fencer I went up against in gym class. Even though it was only a few days ago, I’m still surprised when she acknowledges me.
“Ella Plaza! I’m happy to see you as a last-minute addition to the class roster!”
“My sister signed me up,” I say shyly. “After I told her about our, um …”
“Bout,” Dede says with a smile. “That’s what we call a friendly match between fencers.”
“What do you call an unfriendly match?” I ask.
And that makes Dede and the rest of the class laugh even though I hadn’t meant it as a joke.
Dede starts the class by teaching us the basic rules of the sport and explaining how to care for and use the equipment. Her lesson involves a lot of French words and phrases. Some—like “en garde” which translates to “on guard”—are supereasy to remember. “Piste” is the strip on the floor where fencers face off. “Allez” means “go,” which is what a referee says to begin a bout. “Corps-a-corps” means there’s too much illegal body contact between two fencers.
“We’re starting with a foil,” Dede explains as she distributes one to everyone in the class. “It’s the lightest weapon, with a rectangular blade and dull tip that bends on impact …”
Then Dede goes on to explain how competing in foil requires the most discipline because you can only score if you touch the tip of the blade in the area between your opponent’s shoulders and waist, and blah blah blah … Most of this was already covered in my gym class. Just having that one lesson has put me at an advantage. Despite being the youngest, I seem to have more experience than the rest of the class. It’s not often I actually know more than anyone else in the room, and I’m antsy to get jousting. I must not be doing a very good job at hiding my boredom—I’ve yawned at least twice—because Dede points her weapon at me.
“Come on, Ella,” Dede says. “Let’s show the class what a beginner’s bout looks like.”
We stand on opposite sides of the piste.
“Fencing is civilized combat,” Dede explains. “Every bout starts with a salute. A gesture of respect.”
She swoops her sword through the air in my direction, then does the same toward the rest of class. I imitate her gesture.
“En garde! Allez!”
We both advance, and the swordplay begins. I must have a lot of pent-up energy, because all I want to do is jab and thrust, but Dede stops me every few seconds to explain to the rest of the class what’s happening.
True to Your Selfie Page 9
