“Sit,” she commanded.
She was talking to me. She was definitely talking to me.
I went over and slowly sat down.
I kept my smile, but I was on guard. I mean, what if it was some kind of trick? Obviously, Sydney had enough friends, so why would she need me? Was it like in the movies: Let’s play a joke on the unsuspecting new girl? I slowly pulled my chair up to the table.
“Everyone, this is Patty,” Sydney said, pointing at me. “She’s in my homeroom and she’s new.”
Everyone looked at me.
“Um, hi,” I said. I smiled at everyone cautiously. “Actually, it’s Payton.”
“Patty’s nickname is Payton,” Sydney announced.
Everyone was like, “Hey.” And then they turned back to talking and eating their lunches.
“Guess who my Spanish partner was today?” one girl said. “Bryce.”
“Lucky!” some other girl said. “Hey, tell him to have another pool party this weekend. That last one was off the hook.”
“I know, right?” Sydney said. “We were all like crazy. Remember when we did that thing in the pool?”
All the girls at the table started cracking up.
Well. Okay. I had nothing to contribute to this conversation. I decided to eat my lunch. Everyone at the table had packed, so I pulled out my lunch box. Then I opened my bag. No one seemed to notice or care about my lunch container. ’Cause no one was really looking at me. I started to eat my turkey wrap and watch the action.
And there was a lot of action. Most of it focused on Sydney. Two girls came by and complimented her. A guy came by and compared schedules with her. Some guys from the next table started shooting straw wrappers our way, and the girls at our table started squealing and shooting wrappers back.
“So, you’re new?” the girl next to me asked.
I was chewing, so I nodded. By the time I’d swallowed, she’d turned to the girl on her other side. I opened up a little cup of peanut butter to eat with my apple.
“Payton!” Someone was saying my name. It was Sydney! “Payton, stand up!”
Uh-oh. This was it. I had to stand up and they were going to play some joke on me or something. What was it? Were they going to say, Did you really think you could sit here? and knock my chair over or something? I slowly stood up and accepted my fate.
“Turn around,” Sydney said.
Oh, I bet I had a KICK ME sign on my back. Everyone was going to laugh at me.
“See?” Sydney said. “I told you.”
“OMG, it’s by TC Couture!” a girl with long black hair said. “Look at the label!”
Ohhh. They were talking about my Summer Slave skirt!
“How did you get that skirt, Payton?” someone asked.
Well. I cleaned out two gross shower stalls for it . . .
“Um—” I said.
“I want that skirt sooo bad.” A girl with brown hair sighed. “They’re not even in stores yet. How did you get it?”
Whoa, I didn’t know this skirt wasn’t even being sold yet.
“Oh”—I waved my hand, like it was nothing—“you know.”
“Let me guess,” a girl said. “Your cousin is a famous supermodel and she let you borrow it.”
“Your dad is TC Couture’s agent,” someone else guessed. “Or wait. Your dad is TC!”
“Ohmigosh, is your dad TC?!” someone else squealed.
“No!” I blurted out. “He’s not!”
“Maybe it’s fake,” the blonde with wavy hair said. “Is it fake?”
“No, it’s real,” Sydney said. “You can tell. And show them your shoes, Payton.”
I held up a foot.
“So cute,” someone else said. “What size are you?”
“Six,” I told her.
“Ooh, me too!” the blonde said. “Well I’m a seven, but I could squeeze. Maybe I can borrow them? I have these pants that would be perfect for them!”
“Cashmere, leave the poor girl’s closet alone,” Sydney said. She looked at me. “That’s Cashmere. She’s a big clothes mooch.”
The girl named Cashmere shrank back in her seat.
“And that’s Quinn with the brown hair,” Sydney said. “And Priya, and everyone else.”
“Your shirt is so cute. I have the same one in green,” said Quinn.
“Thanks.” I smiled at her.
“We’ll have to wear them on the same day,” the girl said. “And Syd has a blue one!”
“Don’t wear yours on Friday,” Sydney said. “I have my outfit planned already. Payton, you can sit down. Isn’t Payton’s outfit so hot?”
Everyone complimented my outfit. I smiled and then sat back as they started talking about who was in whose classes.
And my moment was over. I tried to follow the conversation, but I didn’t know anyone they were talking about. I just ate my lunch and pretended to know what was going on.
“You guys, poor Payton has no clue what we’re talking about,” Quinn said, smiling at me. “Let’s clue her in.”
“Okay, so Justin broke up with Aquilah,” Cashmere said. “Which means he’s free. So we’re deciding if Sydney should go out with him.”
“Everyone knows Justin has been in love with Sydney forever,” someone said. “Everyone except Aquilah, anyway.”
“Yes,” Sydney said. “But I haven’t decided yet. Cameron’s looking hot too. I so can’t decide. Or maybe Noah.”
Must be nice to be able to choose. I wondered if everyone had a boyfriend. I hadn’t had one yet. In my old school there weren’t any boys.
“Quinn’s going out with Josh,” Sydney said, as if she read my mind. “And Cashmere has a boyfriend from summer camp. Although we don’t have proof he really exists.”
“He just lives far away and isn’t allowed to e-mail me,” Cashmere protested. “He, um, has very strict parents. So Payton, what about you?”
I momentarily thought about making up a boyfriend too. Was that the right thing to say?
“Are you single right now?” Sydney asked.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“That’s cool. Priya doesn’t have a boyfriend, either,” Sydney said.
Whew.
“But she doesn’t want one. Do you?” Sydney asked.
I nodded. I did want a boyfriend. I’d just never really figured out how to get one.
“Ooh! We’ll have to find Payton the perfect boy,” Sydney said. “Just stay away from Cameron, Mac, Noah, and Justin until I decide. Oh, and Griffin, too.”
“Okay,” I said. This would be the year I’d get a boyfriend, I decided. The perfect boy. But not one of Sydney’s boys.
“Let me see your schedule,” Quinn said. I dug mine out and gave it to her. “Ooh, you’re in my art class. Come sit next to me!”
“You’re in my social studies class,” Priya said, looking at my schedule and passing it on.
“You have last-period gym like Sydney,” Cashmere said. “You guys are so lucky.”
“Last-period gym is key,” Sydney said. “You don’t have to feel all sweaty and gross all day.”
I nodded.
“So do you play soccer?” Sydney asked me.
“Um, no,” I said.
“Oh, good, because Priya does, and she can never go anywhere with us until the season’s over. It’s a pain,” Sydney said. “Do you want to go to the mall with us this weekend?”
“Me?” She was definitely looking at me. “Sure!”
“Cool,” Sydney said. “Ask your parents if you can go. My older sister can drive us. We’ll figure it out at lunch tomorrow.”
Lunch tomorrow! Mall shopping with Sydney and her people! A search for my perfect boyfriend! Middle school was working!
Eight
DINNER
“Great!” Payton said at exactly the same time I said, “Okay.”
We were answering Dad’s question: “How was your first day at school?”
Dad, Mom, Payton, and I were at a Chinese restaurant to cele
brate the first day of school. It was our annual back-to-school tradition. When I was five, our first day after kindergarten, I had glanced at the menu. And memorized it. When I told the server I wanted #72 with a side of #6, my parents realized I had a near-photographic memory. Normally, I love Chinese food, but I didn’t feel much like eating tonight, especially after listening to Payton.
“Today was the best day,” she was saying. “I sat with this girl Sydney and some other people at lunch and the rest of the day they showed me around and saved the best seats for me in class.”
“You got good seats?” I groaned. Most of my classes had been so far away from each other that by the time I got to class I was stuck at a desk in a totally undesirable location. Like next to the heater, which clanked so I couldn’t hear the Social Studies teacher. And next to some kid who snored and drooled in Math.
Adding annoyance to injury, in four—FOUR!—classes I was stuck watching Jazmine James in the front row, where I wanted to be. Where I deserved to be.
“You won’t believe this,” I told Mom and Dad. “I got to Math early by getting a pass out of Choir—”
Payton giggled.
“What?” I said, annoyed to be interrupted.
“YOU are in Choir?” she asked.
“I know, I know, I don’t sing,” I said.
“You CAN’T sing,” Payton said.
“That’s not the point,” I said. “So I got to my Math classroom and it was empty. I went to my seat, front row center, and there was this little piece of paper on it. It said ‘Reserved for Jazmine James.’ ”
I’d already told them about Jazmine James. And not only was her seat reserved, but the seats on either side of her had jackets holding spots for Jazmine’s two cohorts, Hector Jordan and Tess Hamilton.
“This girl can reserve her seat?” my dad asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Jazmine James doesn’t know the meaning of fair! She’s evil,” I said.
“Emma!” Mom was shocked. “That’s a terrible thing to say. I know you had a bit of a difficult time today, but I’m sure everything will work itself out.”
“Yea, Emma,” said my sister loyally. “Once the smart clubs and after-school competitions start up, you’ll find your people.”
“Thanks, Payton,” I said. “You’re probably right.”
That time couldn’t come soon enough for me.
“I remember Mrs. James from one of Emma’s events,” my dad said, chewing on a spare rib. “Mr. James was very pleasant. We talked a bit about Jamaica, where he and his wife were raised. But Mrs. James wasn’t particularly friendly, as I recall.”
“Oh, Tom,” my mother said. “She was probably just quiet. Not everyone introduces themselves to all the competition parents like you, dear.”
That was true. Dad was always the life of the parent party at my competitions. He was friendly and talked to everyone. He always won salesperson of the month awards at the medical supply company where he worked.
Mom wrote articles for women’s magazines. She had an office at home and wasn’t as outgoing as Dad. Obviously I was more like Mom, personality-wise. Payton was like Dad. Our looks, however, were a combination of both. We were blond like Mom and had greenish-blue eyes like Dad.
“More tea?” A server came up to the table. She paused and said, “Twins?”
Dad said, “Yes, identical!” and started telling her how Emma was older, but Payton was taller.
“Dad!” I interrupted. Like the server really cared about our twin-ness?
“Do you twins like to pretend you’re the other one and trick people?” the server asked.
Apparently, she cared.
“No!” Payton and I both said.
“They’re very honest girls,” my mother told her.
The server poured the tea and left.
“Girls, your father and I have to step out to the car for something,” Mom said. “We’ll be right back.”
I wondered what they were doing. Well, they’d be back soon enough. I blew on my tea to cool it down.
“You know,” Payton said, pouring sugar into her tea cup, “it was weird not hearing those twin questions all day. I mean, I thought we’d be in the same classes and have to explain ourselves over and over.”
“Uh-huh,” I agreed. It always happened when we went somewhere new, like camp. Today had been weird. But not good weird. I wouldn’t have minded those questions, because it would have meant I actually got to see my sister in school. Not only was she not in my classes, but we kept missing each other at the lockers.
“It was good weird,” Payton said.
Wait. Payton thought it was good weird?
“I felt like I could be, you know, just be myself for a change,” Payton continued. “Not just one of the twins.”
“Be yourself?” I snorted. “Sounds to me like you want to be Sydney’s identical twin.”
All Payton had talked about since school ended was Sydney this and Sydney that. It was like camp all over again; just substitute the name “Sydney” for “Ashlynn.” Hopefully Payton wouldn’t end up doing Sydney’s laundry.
“I do NOT!” Payton said. “You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous?” I asked her. “Jealous of what?”
“Me and my new friends,” Payton said.
“Please,” I said. “Like I’d want to be one of those gossipy clothes clones.”
“You don’t even know who they are,” Payton protested.
Well. Actually, I did know who they were. I’d heard people calling “Sydney!” enough in the halls to see who she was. Sydney was really pretty and was surrounded by other pretty people, some of whom I assumed were Payton’s “new friends.”
“I know who they are,” I said. “They’re people who believe they should be middle-school royalty. Falsely, I might add.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Payton challenged.
“Middle-school royalty should be those who excel in academics, not social life,” I said. “Meaning people with superior IQs and grades.”
“You mean like Jazmine James?” Payton shot back.
We both glared at each other, but just then Mom and Dad returned to the table.
“We’re back!” Dad announced, handing us each an identical black box. “And we bring presents in honor of my wonderful twins’ first day of middle school.”
“Oooh! Presents!” Payton squealed.
I smiled too. Our conversation could wait. As much as I like a good debate, I also like a good present!
“Oh!” I said, pulling out a wide wristcuff. It was made of colored Lucite, with the letter E cut out of it.
“We had them specially personalized.” Dad smiled.
“I love it!” Payton was already putting her P cuff around her wrist.
“We match!” I said happily. Matching bracelets would show off our twin bond, even while we were separated at school.
“Now people can tell us apart!” Payton said at the same time.
Okay. That too, I guess.
“They’re so pretty,” I said. “Thanks, Dad!” We both gave Dad a hug.
“My present next,” Mom said, smiling. And she handed us each . . .
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.
Trading Faces Page 5