Trading Faces (2 page)

(Summer Slave again)

Pink flip-flops with a little gray in them

(Yes, Summer Slave. A little too big, but too cool not to wear.)

I stood up straight and tried to walk confidently. My skirt, tank, and hoodie were TC Couture. Ashlynn said TC Couture stood for Tragically Cute and promised that if I wore it I'd be a totally trendy fashionista.

Please let me look cute. And not tragic.

“You're fine,” Emma reassured me. “Stop worrying about your outfit.”

Okay. I was too excited to stay worried long. The first day of school was always so bright and shiny. The walls were still white with fresh paint, and I could feel the bottoms of my flip-flops squeak against the newly waxed floor.

We walked down a hallway. I followed Emma. She'd memorized the map of our school so we'd know where to go. Which was crucial, because I get totally lost really easily.

Ugh.
My pink tank top felt weird. I stopped for a second, shrugging my shoulders to subtly adjust the tank-top strap.

“Payton, keep up with me!” Emma looked back at me. “Why are you wiggling around like that?”

“I'm not wiggling!” I said. I hurried to catch up with her. Except that as I walked, my tank top felt like it was sliding down for some reason. I switched my tote bag to my other shoulder and shrugged again.

“Yes, you are!” Emma said, loudly. “You're wiggling! Synonyms: ‘squirming' and ‘writhing.' ”

“Will you shush already?” I hissed. And then all of a
sudden I felt something whip me across the face.

“OW!” I yelped. Total whiplash across my face!
What the heck was
—and then I felt my tank top slide completely down my shoulder and down my front and—

Oh, my gosh! My tank-top strap attacked me! The elastic must have broken and whiplashed me!

“Payton? Are you having a seizure?” Emma asked me.

“Don't make a scene, but there's an emergency,” I said in a strangled voice. “My tank-top strap broke.”

“Gotcha,” Emma said, looking around. “Look, there's a closet. Quick, Payton! Inside!”

I followed Emma quickly as she opened a door.

“It's empty,” she whispered to me, shoving me inside.

I looked around. It was pretty dark in there with the door shut, but I could barely make out a bucket, a smelly mop—I was in a janitor's closet. Swell. I took my hoodie off and pulled the tank top back up. I tried to tie it, but I couldn't get it to stay. I thought about just ripping it off and stuffing the tank in my tote bag, but no—my hoodie was too low in front to wear alone. Help!

“Emma!” I knocked on the closet door. It opened a crack.

“What?” Emma stuck her head in.

“I can't get my tank-top strap to stay tied!” I told her.

The door closed. What? Was Emma leaving me in my time of need? Then the door opened and Emma's head reappeared. She tossed something into the closet. I heard it roll across the floor.

“Duct tape!” Emma said. “I always keep some in my backpack in case of emergency. Here are some safety scissors to cut it off the roll. Did you know that duct tape was first invented in World War Two to help the American military—”

“SHUT THE DOOR!” I hissed at her.
AGH!
“I'm half dressed!”

The door shut. Now where was that duct tape? I felt around on the floor in the semi-darkness. Ew, gross—there was a puddle on the floor. And then I felt the roll of duct tape. I ripped off a piece and wrapped it around the broken strap. I tugged on it. It felt like it would hold. Fortunately it had broken near the bottom, so it wouldn't show under my hoodie. It wasn't the most comfortable feeling, but . . . I was back in action.

Alrighty, then. I picked up my tote bag and tried to open the door. It wouldn't open.

“Emma! Let me out!” I knocked on the door.

“Not yet,” I heard Emma whisper. “People are going by. . . . Okay, you're clear! Come out now!”

I exited the closet smoothly, as if nothing had happened.
La la la . . . Nobody noticed me, right? Nobody saw an identical twin hopping out of the janitor's closet. And um, nobody witnessed my tank top attacking me, did they?

Right? RIGHT?

“How ironic is it that the outfit you slaved for falls apart the first day of school?” Emma said, starting to walk down the hall again.

“I am proud to suffer for fashion,” I said, scratching at the duct tape. Unlike some
other
person I knew. I looked at Emma's T-shirt and track pants. Now it was my turn to sigh. Emma was slightly fashion-challenged. I'd been trying to help her pick a good outfit for weeks now. Last night I had given it one last-ditch effort.

“So what are you wearing tomorrow?” I'd asked Emma.

“Oh, I still don't know,” Emma said. “You know I don't care about any of that.”

“Emma, you have to care!” I pleaded. “It's the first day at our new school!”

“I'll find something.” Emma had kept waving me off.

I wish she'd at least have let me pick something out
for her. Not only because I was concerned about Emma's image, but for my sake too. People mixed us up all the time. What if people thought she was me?

Anyway, I think we really were starting to look different. This summer at camp, I felt like I'd matured a little bit. Maybe people would at least think I was the older twin!

Everyone always asked us which one was older. The answer was Emma. She is six minutes older than me. Who knows, maybe people wouldn't even think we were twins.
They might think I'm the older sister!

“Whoa.” A guy passed us and turned around to look at us again. He was kind of cute. “Are you two twins?”

“Yes!” I said. I smiled what I hoped was a friendly, slightly flirty smile. Emma just turned purple, like she always does when a guy talks to her.

“Freakish,” he said, shaking his head and continuing down the hallway.

My smile faded. Did he just say ‘freakish'? Weird. I followed Emma, who started walking again.

“And so it begins,” Emma said. “Our first twin question of middle school.”

And not the last, I was sure. I saw a girl turn around and do a double take at us.

Emma and I walked on. Past a case full of trophies,
past a boys' bathroom.
Heh
. That made me remember something funny.

“Remember that first day of kindergarten, when you got the doors to the boys' and girls' bathrooms mixed up?” I asked Emma. “And you walked in on Joseph Jones when he was going to the bathroom?”

“Don't bring that up!” she said. “I'm trying to block that out of my memory! I was traumatized! What a way to start my school career.”

“Well, I just started my middle-school career in a janitor's closet being attacked by my tank top,” I whispered. “And now I've been forced to embellish my carefully chosen outfit with duct tape.”

“Maybe you got yours over with and I'm still going to have my embarrassing moment,” Emma said. “Payton, I'm kind of worried about today.”

I already knew this. When Emma gets worried, which is like, always, she does this thing with her hair. She chews on the ends until they get all soggy.

“Okay, I'll give you some important advice.” I leaned over like I was going to tell her a big secret. She looked at me hopefully.

“The boys' room will say ‘Boys' on it,” I said. “Use the
other
one.”

Hee
.

“Gee, thanks, Payton,” Emma said. “While we're on the topic of first days, shall I remind you about the first day of fifth grade, when you burped in class?”

No. That was bad. One minute I was sitting all nicely, making a good first-day impression. And the next minute . . .

WUUUURP
.

I'd burped loudly enough for even our teacher to crack up laughing.
Augh.
Nervous stomach. I reminded myself to avoid that issue and not to drink soda today.

I followed Emma around a corner and up some stairs.

“Be careful on the steps.” Emma turned around to warn me. “Remember when you missed a step in third grade and knocked down the class like dominoes?”

I shuddered. That was bad. First one of my classmates went down. Then four more.
Boom. Boom boom boom boom.

And then our teacher.
Crash
.

“Okay, okay,” I groaned. “No more school embarrassing moments.”

And I was determined that there would be no more in my future. I stood up straighter and did my best to look confident. I was going to be the new improved
middle-school Payton! This time we were going down some stairs, and I gracefully walked down them without tripping even once.

“It was amazing you were as popular as you were,” Emma said thoughtfully.

“Can we stop this conversation now?” I said.

“That just shows how great your personality is, that you overcame such humiliations,” Emma said.

“Thanks,” I said.
I think?

I followed Emma down the hall. All seventh-grade students (us!) were supposed to go to the gym and get their class schedules. I couldn't wait to get my new schedule! Would there be nice people in my classes? Would I get gym last period so I wouldn't have to walk around sweaty all day? Would I get good teachers?

“I wonder how many classes we're going to be in together?” Emma asked me.

“Probably all of them. It would be too weird not to be in a class with you,” I said. Since there was only one class in each grade at our old school, we'd always been in the same class. It had worked out great. On our report cards it always said something about how we each had our own strengths and yet we complemented each other. My mom said that meant we were different learners who
made a nice team. Team Mills ruled elementary school!

Every year we'd be put in our seats with Emma in front, because she preferred to be as close to the teacher as possible. It was good Emma was there. A lot of the time I was spacing out or doodling, so Emma blocked me from the teacher's view. That made it easy. It was also hard because Emma was the Mills twin who always knew the answer. But it was also good because Emma never made me feel bad about it and could always help me with my homework. So it was good and bad and—

“Payton! PAYTON!” Emma snapped me out of it. “We're here!” She pointed to a sign on the gym that said 7
TH GRADERS!

We walked into the gym and went to the L-M-N-O line. As I waited, I looked around the gym. I looked at the
GO GECKOS
pennants hanging on the walls. I pictured myself wearing a green and white cheerleader outfit and jumping around the gym with my new BFF cheerleader friends.

Then Emma poked me in the back.
Oh!
It was my turn!

“Name?” the woman behind the table asked.

“Payton Mills,” I announced. She handed me a sheet of paper. I looked at it while Emma was getting hers.
Yeesh! Last-period PE! Awesome! First-period study hall, second-period Science—

“Let's get to homeroom,” Emma said. “The lady said Room 224 is down the hall to the left.”

“You mean Room 220, to the right,” I said.

“No, Room 224,” Emma said. She double-checked her card. She took my card. “Wait a minute—we're in different homerooms? But homeroom is alphabetical!”

I looked at both cards. 220. 224.

Then we both realized. We'd been split up.

“It'll be okay,” I reassured her. “We'll be together for . . .”

“For nothing,” Emma said, handing me our schedules. “Look! We don't have any classes together, Payton. NOT EVEN LUNCH!”

Emma spoke so loudly, people nearby turned around.

I heard the girl standing next to me say, “Did you see those twins? They look
exactly
alike!”

“Yeah,” another girl answered. “Except that one has a bigger nose.”

I self-consciously covered my nose. Okayyy . . . maybe separate classrooms wasn't such a bad idea.

And then the homeroom bell went off. Everyone
started moving out of the gym to start their day. I was so excited. This was it! I looked at Emma. Time to say good-bye for now and Hellooo, middle school!

I reached out my hand to Emma. “Twins rule!” I said, as we did our twin hand-slap. We high-fived, low-fived, bumped fists . . .

I waved to Emma and headed out the gym door. And turned right. And Emma turned left.