Trading Faces

by Julia DeVillers

  “It’s the shade of my mechanical pencil,” I said, holding up the pencil I was writing with.

  “Just pick something else.” She sighed.

  “Fine,” I said. I looked out the window of the cabin, where I’d spent most of the summer. It was a nice day. “Blue.”

  “Baby blue? Greenish-blue? Aquamarine?” she said. “Turquoise?”

  “Sure, turquoise,” I said. “Whatever. Now don’t you have to go make Queen Ashlynn’s bed or polish her toenails?”

  Thinking about that reminded me of a secret I was hiding. Hiding inside my sneakers, to be accurate. Yesterday, I had . . . painted my toenails. I’d borrowed Payton’s polish. My toes were now glittery turquoise. I know, I know. It seemed so shallow, so superficial. I couldn’t believe I’d done it either. But for some reason my sparkly blue toes—in my, ahem, signature color—made me happy.

  Clang! Clang! Clang! Homeroom was over. As I stuffed my organizer into my backpack, I noticed a small piece of bright pink paper in the bag.

  You’re a STAR!

  Payton’s handwriting. Too funny. When we were little, Payton had thought the song “Twinkle, twinkle” was about us. You know, “TWIN-kle, TWIN-kle, little stars.” We sang, “TWIN-kle, TWIN-kle, little us,” until we drove our parents crazy.

  We have a video of us when we were little singing it. Payton was in a tutu, dancing and doing all the twinkly hand movements we’d learned in pre-K. Then there was me, singing off-key. At the end of the video, Payton says, “By Payton and Emma!” While she’s curtsying, I give her a look as I announce: “No, it’s by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

  Payton probably guessed I’d be stressed today, so she’d sent me some TWIN-kles on a stickum note.

  I silently thanked my sister for the happy boost and the important reminder that I was a star. Then I raced out the doorway in a hurry to get to Room 113. A place where I would shine. Science class.

  Five

  ON THE WAY TO FIRST PERIOD

  There it was. My own little slice of middle school.

  Locker 33683.

  I started walking up to it, but some skater guy got there first. And went up to my locker and—? Oh, wait. I double-checked the number in the envelope.

  33638.

  Wrong locker. I walked a little farther down the hall and found the right one. I checked my combination on my shoe and opened it on the first try. Yes!

  I looked at my locker. Sure it was gray and boring and someone had written I ♥ Jack on it. But it had potential. I leaned down and opened my tote bag and got right to work. I only had five minutes, but I was going to make the most of it.

  I started making a collage out of the cut-up fashion bags, sticking them on with sticky tack. I put up the magnets and the pictures and hung up the beady curtain. And last but not least—the mirror. Ta-da! I stood back to admire my work. I thought it looked pretty cute.

  I looked in the mirror and checked my lip gloss. I definitely needed more lip gloss. I also seriously needed to brush my hair. Wait—why were there two of me in the mirror? I whipped my head around.

  And Emma was standing behind me.

  “You freaked me out!” I said, turning around. “I thought my mirror was reflecting double!”

  “What the heck do you have in there?” Emma said. “I thought there was a light show going on in school.”

  “You did? Cool!” I said. “They’re my special effects. Like them?”

  I blinked the mirror lights on. Off. On.

  “Stop! You’re blinding me!” Emma said.

  “Check out the rest of it!” I said. I opened it wide so she could see the beauty within. I looked at Emma’s reaction. She looked a little stunned. Well, I couldn’t blame her; my decorating job was pretty amazing, if I did say so myself. I couldn’t believe I’d pulled it off so quickly either. She might even be a little jealous. Well, I’d do my best to decorate her locker later in the week.

  “Well, this is great about your locker,” Emma said.

  “I’m glad you’re so impressed with my style!” I said.

  “Actually, I meant it’s great because my locker is right next to yours,” Emma said. “I’m number 33639! Right here!” Emma tapped the next locker over. “I was feeling like I’d never see you in school,” she continued.

  “Well, now we can catch up at our lockers!” I said happily. “What’s new?

  “Mainly, it was strange to be in homeroom without you. So thanks for the note with the star on it. It cheered me up, and—”

  “Hey, are you two twins?” someone interrupted her. It was a girl who had a locker on the other side of Emma.

  Emma looked annoyed at being interrupted.

  “Emma, smile,” I hissed.

  I didn’t want Emma to turn anyone off with that grouchy look. Especially since this girl might have friend potential, which would be convenient, since her locker was near us!

  “Yeah, we’re twins! Identical!” I said, smiling.

  “Stand next to each other,” she commanded.

  It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Emma and I stood next to each other.

  “You’re taller,” the girl said to me. “And your eyes are a little bigger.”

  Yup, that was true.

  “And your hair is a little darker,” she pointed to Emma. “And your eyebrows aren’t as bushy.”

  Hey! Wait a minute.

  “Other than that, seriously identical,” the girl said to herself, and walked away.

  It was a weird twin thing, people wanting to compare the two of us. I mean, I obviously know I’m taller than Emma. And her hair was a little darker now, since she’d stayed in the cabin at camp all summer, out of the sun. But I’d never really thought about our eyebrows. Until now.

  “My eyebrows are bushy?” I complained to Emma.

  “Technically she didn’t say bushy,” Emma reassured me. “Just bushier.”

  “Ergh, now I wish I had tweezers,” I said, worriedly looking in my locker mirror. I blinked the lights on for a better look.

  “I might have some tweezers in my science kit,” Emma said, starting to unzip her backpack to check. Then she zipped it up again and gasped. “Oh, no! Science! I have to go! I need to get a good seat in Science!”

  She was probably right. I should get to study hall to get a seat in the back. I quickly swiped on some lip gloss.

  “Wait, I’ll walk with you,” I said. I started shoving books from my bag into my locker. I hadn’t gotten to actually put any of my stuff away; I’d just been decorating.

  “Payton, I really have to go,” Emma said.

  “Okay, okay, I’m almost ready,” I said.

  “Wow, twins,” a girl said, a few lockers away.

  “Big deal,” a boy answered. “I know lots of twins.”

  “Yeah, but those two girls right there are seriously identical. I mean, Jake and Sam are identical, but Jake shaved his head for swim team, so at least you can tell them apart.”

  They shut their lockers and left.

  I slammed my locker shut and looked at Emma.

  “Want to shave your head?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she replied with a serious look. “Yes, I do.”

  We both busted out laughing. Then we started walking down the hall. Well, I walked. Emma ran. I hurried to keep up with her.

  “So how was your homeroom?” I asked, a little out of breath from walking so fast. “Mine was pretty good. I met this girl. Well, kind of I did.” I thought of how Sydney had at least turned around and smiled at me. “She looked really cool.”

  We walked down the hall together.

  “Hey, there are those twins,” we heard a girl say behind us. “One of them was in my homeroom.”

  “I think one of them was in my science fair once,” her friend said. “I wonder if it’s the same one.”

  “They’re twins,” said the first girl. “It doesn’t matter. They’re like the same person anyway.”

  Hello? We can hear you.

 
And we are definitely two Different—with a capital D—people, thank you very much.

  Clang! The warning bell went off!

  Two different people heading to two different classrooms!

  “Here’s my study hall,” I said to Emma. “So . . . bye!”

  I waved to Emma and went in to look for a promising seat. I found one almost all the way in the back off to the right and made myself comfortable.

  Six

  FIRST PERIOD

  Clang! The warning bell went off.

  Oh, no! Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, I told myself.

  I freaked out.

  I barely heard Payton call bye to me as she went into her classroom. I wasn’t so lucky—my science class was on the other side of the building. Racing down the halls, weaving in and out of crowds, I got to room 113 just as three bells went off. Whew! I made it. I was out of breath, but at least science would calm me down. Once I found my seat, that is.

  I scanned the front row. My usual favorite seat, front row center, was already taken. In it was that Jazmine person I’d recognized at registration. I’d seen her outside of school at gifted enrichment programs, but I’d never talked to her. I’ll bet she’ll be happy to know that at least one person in her class (moi!) can have fun scientific discussions at an advanced level. She’ll probably want to be lab partners with me.

  I kept looking for a seat. There was Ahmad the robotics whiz. Another great potential partner. Looking . . . searching . . . the front desks were full. So were the ones in the second, third, fourth, and fifth rows . . . I stood there in the front of the room for an eternity until I saw it. An empty seat—in the back of the room. I walked to the back row and sat down. I’d never sat in a back row in my life.

  I didn’t like it.

  I raised my hand and held it up. And up. And up. I realized the teacher couldn’t see me behind all these people.

  “Excuse me . . . um . . . Ms. Perkins?” I called out.

  A small gray-haired woman stood behind a large teacher’s desk. She turned and wrote on the board:

  Dr. Perkins

  “That’s Doctor. Not Miss. Nor Mrs. And not Ms.,” she said, glaring in my direction. Then she pointed at me. “You in the back, Miss . . .”

  “Emma,” I said meekly. I cleared my throat. “Emma Mills.” I said that louder. There, that was more confident.

  Soon Dr. Perkins would know the real me. Super Science Student.

  “Yes, Miss Emma?” the teacher said.

  “I’d really prefer a seat in the front,” I said.

  “Do you have vision problems?” Dr. Perkins asked.

  “No, but . . .”

  “Learning issues? Behavioral issues? A phobia of Albert Einstein?”

  I followed her gaze and saw a large poster of Einstein behind me.

  “An important lesson in science, Miss Mills,” said Dr. Perkins, “is that sometimes there are variables you cannot control. In other words: Live with it.”

  Errgh. I slumped down in my seat. “Before we enter the wonderful world of science,” Dr. Perkins said, “I’d like to congratulate one of our very own students for winning the state science fair. Jazmine James, would you please tell us about your award-winning project?”

  “Of course,” said Jazmine James from the front row center seat. My seat. Jazmine stood up and turned to face the rest of the class. I tried not to be too obvious as I checked out the competition.

  “My project,” Jazmine said, “was titled Reducing our Environmental Footprint with Higher-Efficiency Enzyme Catalysts in Industrial Cleaning Compounds.”

  Some boy let out a loud yawn. Jazmine glared in his direction and kept talking about her experiment.

  Fine. So she was definitely up there in the brains department. And that look she gave the yawner was certainly intimidating. A formidable opponent, this Jazmine James. I also couldn’t help but notice that even Payton would be impressed: Jazmine not only sounded smart; she somehow looked organized and pulled together. Her tiny black braids were pulled back tightly in perfect rows into a ponytail. Her white shirt was as crisp as the papers in my organizer—well, before I dropped them. Her pencil skirt was as sharp as a, well, a pencil. Or as Payton would say, Whoa. She is hot.

  Whatever. As everyone in the world of competitive academics knows, appearance doesn’t matter. Preparation and performance do.

  Like my performance at the state spelling bee, which had been scheduled the same day as the state science fair (or should I say the state science UNfair, since I couldn’t compete in both). Anyway, at least I won the bee. Did I mention that? But I could have easily won the science fair, given the opportunity. Science was another one of my specialties.

  I snapped back into the present when the class started clapping. I guessed Jazmine was finished showing off. I sat in the back and watched jealously. Nobody here knew I was a science whiz. Yet. I really had to show Dr. Perkins and this Jazmine James my stuff.

  What would Einstein do? I tipped my head back and looked into his two-dimensional face. Help me out here, Albert, I pleaded silently. Help me . . .

  “Ouch!” I’d leaned too far back. My chair skidded out from under me, and I crashed to the floor. Every face turned around to gawk at me. This was so not the attention I’d had in mind.

  “Miss Mills?” Dr. Perkins said. “You were right. It appears you have a vestibular issue and need my careful monitoring to no further disrupt the class. You may pick yourself up and move your desk to the front.”

  Disrupt the class? Me? Did she say I have issues? Me?

  “No . . . No . . .” I tried to protest that I was fine; I wouldn’t need monitoring.

  “Don’t argue with me, young lady,” Dr. Perkins interrupted. “You’re walking on thin ice already. One more word and you’ll get a conduct slip.”

  A conduct slip? But that was for the . . . BAD KIDS. I, Emma Mills, was being mistaken for a troublemaker for the second time today? First with Mrs. Burkle outside the janitor’s closet, and now with Dr. Perkins in my science class. Could my first day in middle school get any worse?

  “What’s vestibular? Is that like a mental problem?” I heard someone say.

  I felt my face turn bright red. I wanted to tell them it meant balance, but I wasn’t allowed to say one more word.

  I had no choice but to drag my entire desk-and-chair set toward the front of the room. Screeech. Bump. The desk was heavy and noisy, and I had to maneuver it around and through the rows of people to squeeze into a spot in front near the window. Everyone in the front row sighed and moved their desks to make room for me.

  “Now that everybody is upright and quiet, let’s begin,” Dr. Perkins said. “We’ll start with the Scientific Method.”

  I casually looked to my right—two seats down, center chair—at Jazmine James. She was paying rapt attention to Dr. Perkins. I straightened up, got my green notebook out, and did the same, through the entire class period.

  When class ended, I gathered up my things and headed toward the door.

  Jazmine James, a short olive-skinned boy with dark hair, and a very tall blond girl blocked my way.

  “Emma, is it?” Jazmine smiled at me. See? I knew she’d recognize me from my accomplishments and be excited to talk to me.

  “Emma, you poor thing,” Jazmine said. “With your vestibular condition, do you need help getting to your next class so you don’t tip over? Hector, take her backpack. Tess, hold the door open. Now, Emma, where’s your next class? We can help you find it.”

  “No! That’s okay!” I protested. “You misunderstood! I’m really—”

  “She’s so brave,” said Tess, looking down at me and sighing.

  “What class are you in next?” Hector asked, my backpack and his weighing him down.

  “Social Studies, room 201,” I said. “But I know where—”

  “Room 201?” Jazmine said. “Well, that’s too far for me. Hector or Tess, you’ll have to take her. I need to be on time for Latin Two.”

 
Latin 2? We didn’t even have Latin 1 in my old school. Darn! I’m behind already.

  “I have Social Studies with you!” Tess said, brightly. She took my backpack from Hector. “Let’s go, Emma!”

  I gave up. I followed Tess—and my backpack—out the door and off to Social Studies.

  Seven

  LUNCH

  Okay. I’d gotten through Science, French, and Social Studies. But now was the true test of survival: lunch. I double-checked my tote bag to make sure I was ready.

  Here was my plan:

  I had packed a lunch bag inside a lunch box. I’d also brought lunch money. I was going to walk in to the lunchroom, casually look around, and then notice what more people were doing. Then I’d a) take out my lunch box and join a table, b) take my lunch bag out of the box, hide the box, and eat out of the bag, or c) keep my bag in a box inside my backpack, get out my money, and join the hot lunch line.

  I took a deep breath and walked into the cafeteria. It was crazy, and I mean chaos. There were like thousands of people all excited to see each other and pushing around me to get to tables they’d apparently already planned out. The smells of pizza and hot dogs and whatever else was on the menu overwhelmed me. I felt dizzy.

  Hot lunch? Lunch bag? That decision was suddenly the least of my worries. I stood there, not knowing what to do or where to go. Um . . . um . . .

  “Patty!” I saw a hand waving over my way. “Patty, sit here!”

  It was that girl Sydney from homeroom. Her hair still looked perfect. She was at a table full of girls who were all like blah blah we have friends and an obviously cool lunch table. Everyone at the table was either very pretty or dressed really nicely. Actually, both. I looked over my shoulder to see who the lucky Patty was who would get the empty seat that Sydney was pointing to.

  “Patty, come ON!” Was it my imagination, or was Sydney talking to me? Patty, Payton . . . could be. I inched slowly toward their table. If they didn’t mean me, I’d just smile and keep walking by. I’m sure they couldn’t mean me. La la la, just happening to walk near their table . . .

  And then, right when I got close, Sydney pointed to a chair.