Honestly, it felt like I was in school.
My side of the room definitely didn’t look like school. I had a hot pink comforter with pink, orange, and silver pillows on it. I also had a fuzzy round chair and a hot pink lava lamp, and the pictures on my walls were of singers, TV stars, and cute puppies. No study guides.
“Okay, here’s the thing,” I said. “So everyone loves Ashlynn’s clothes—which they think are my clothes, right? I’m expected to look good. I have an image now. Well, it’s getting cold out! I only have Summer Slave clothes! I can’t afford ‘in’ clothes! And besides, I don’t even know what’s ‘in’ next! What am I supposed to wear? Everyone’s going to know I’m a poser!”
Augh! I was doomed! I pulled the pillow over my head. I thought about ways I could convince my parents to let me switch schools.
“Okay, you can come out now,” Emma said.
“I know you’re going to tell me that I was shallow and superficial,” I said. “But I was feeling like part of a group, you know? I liked it.”
“I wasn’t even going there,” Emma said. “Here. I have an outfit for you.”
I stuck my head out from under the pillow. Emma had laid out some clothes on my bed.
“Just wear your shirts layered like this.” Emma pointed to two shirts layered in an unusual way.
“And these shoes you definitely have to wear,” Emma said, pointing to a pair of gray sneakers.
They were a pair of sneakers that, honestly, I thought were kind of bluh. But if they were Ashlynn’s, they must be in fashlynn. I mean in fashion. I hadn’t even thought about wearing them. But hey. Wait a minute. Since when is Emma giving me—or anybody—fashion advice?
“Okay, I get why you like the sneakers,” I said. Emma usually wore kind of boring colors. “But why did you layer the shirts like that?”
“That’s the next trend,” Emma said. “Just wear it and you’ll be the first. Isn’t that what you people care about?”
“How do you know that that’s the next trend?” I asked.
“I just did a little Internet research,” Emma said, turning the computer screen toward me.
I saw models and clothes on the screen. Huh? Emma was on a fashion website?
“This is depressing,” I moaned. “You even make a better Payton than I do.”
“Yes, I am doing a rather good job, aren’t I?” Emma said. “I have to admit, it’s actually kind of fun being you.”
“How nice for you,” I said. “Except that I’m not having fun being me anymore! I’m stressed! I’m supposed to be the laid-back, happy twin! You’re the twin who’s always a stress mess!”
“I’m not a stress mess!” Emma said. “Well, maybe I am. But I won’t be for long. I actually got a ton of studying done today in your classes. I blew through the seventh-grade mathletics challenge study book and got some extra GeoBee study in during your classes. I’ve got the competitive edge now! It was like having a day of study hall.”
“Hey! My classes aren’t that easy,” I told her.
Well, I guess they were for Emma. I was in the “dumb” track. Well, that wasn’t the official name, of course, but we all knew what it really was. I had a sneaking suspicion that if it weren’t for me, Emma would have been skipped a grade. But me, the dumb one—I was holding her back.
I’d always wondered what it would be like to be as smart as Emma. So smart you could not pay attention and still have good grades. So smart you could be in a class and not sit there confused and then later feel stupid because you didn’t understand what the heck the teacher was talking about.
It would be nice.
“Sometimes I wish I were you,” I said. “You’re so smart, and you win everything! I wish I could be like that for even one day.”
“Well, sometimes I wish I were you,” Emma said. “You’re so laid-back, and you have lots of friends! I’d like to be that more too.”
“What if we switched places?” We both said it out loud. At exactly the same time.
“TWINX!” we both yelled.
We said “TWINX” instead of “jinx” when we said something at the same time. Get it? Okay, dumb twin humor.
Next we got quiet.
Could we? Should we?
“No, that would be crazy,” said Emma. “We can’t switch again.”
“No, we can’t . . . ,” I agreed.
Then I thought about showing my face again at school on Monday.
“Or maybe . . . we could?” I looked at Emma’s face. She was looking back at me.
“Do you think we could get away with it?” Emma said. “Do you think people will really believe you’re me? And I’m you?”
And then the door opened. And we both jumped.
“Hi, girls!” It was our mom. “How was your day at school?”
Uh . . .
“Interesting,” I said.
“Eventful,” Emma said.
“Well, you left your cell phones on the table downstairs,” my mom said. “Here’s yours, Payton.”
I held out my hand. But Mom went past me and handed it to Emma.
“Emma, here’s yours,” my mom handed me Emma’s cell phone.
“Thanks,” I said.
“We’ll be down in a little bit,” Emma said.
Mom left and shut the door.
I looked at Emma, wearing my clothes, her hair brushed, and looking cute in my shiny lip gloss. She looked at me, wearing her clothes.
“She totally thought we were each other,” Emma said, in amazement. “Even our own mother!”
“It’s a sign!” I said. “A sign that we should switch.”
“Maybe we should,” Emma said. “But just for one day. I don’t want you to ruin my grades.”
“And I don’t want you to ruin my social life,” I shot back. Oh, wait. I already did a good job of that myself.
“I won’t,” Emma said. “Not only did I wow Sydney with my awesome Payton skills, I also said hello to four people in my classes. I was extremely extroverted.”
“You didn’t really say ‘hello,’ did you?” I asked. “You mean ‘hi’ or ‘hey,’ right?”
“Well, no,” Emma said. “I said ‘hello.’ But don’t worry, I also mixed it up and said ‘good afternoon.’ ”
Okay, that was just weird. She couldn’t do that anymore.
“Just stick with ‘hi,’ ” I said.
Emma sighed and got up and bounced across the room. She turned toward my Jonas Brothers poster.
“Hi!” she said, in a fake voice. “I’m Payton! I only speak Kewl!”
“Lame imitation,” I said. “Fake, phony, and poserish. Smile because you actually like people!”
“Fine, I’ll like people,” Emma said. “Hi!” She flashed a huge smile at me. “I’m sooo happy to see you!”
“Not bad,” I said.
“Well, you I’m happy to see,” Emma said. “Your so-called friends, not so much.”
“Former friends,” I said. Former friends who will probably never speak to me again.
“Did you talk to Quinn, Cashmere, or Priya today?”
“I don’t know.” Emma shrugged. “Do I really have to tell them apart? Can’t I just call them Sydney Wannabes One, Two, and Three?”
“No!” I said. “You can’t. Remember, you have to be nice. I’m a nice person. And you’re me.”
“FINE. I’ll be nice,” Emma said. “What else?”
“You also have to stay looking cute. Go to the locker or girls’ room after every class. Brush your hair; check your teeth for gross things stuck in them.”
“After every class?” Emma said. “You waste a lot of valuable study time. So what else do I need to know? I already know your schedule, teacher names, and classrooms.”
Emma had memorized my schedule the first day and quizzed me till I knew it, too. Hmm.
“Don’t flirt with guys named Cameron, Mac, Justin, Noah, or Griffin,” I said thoughtfully. “They’re Sydney’s.”
“Flirt?” Emma asked
. “I’m not flirting with anybody! Don’t go all crazy now.”
“Okay, let’s practice,” I said. “Show me your best Payton.”
Emma left the room. And bounced back in.
“Wait. Do I really bounce like that when I walk?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said. “You also push your hair behind your ears like this. And chew on your lip.”
Emma pushed her hair behind her ears and chewed on her lip.
“Hi!” she said, waving at me. “Um, I’m Payton. Oooh, I just love those shoes!”
And then she flashed a smile.
“Whoa,” I told her. “That was so me it’s scary.”
Emma beamed, all proud.
“Thanks!” she said. “Anything else? Study material?”
“Well, okay,” I said. I looked around my side of the room. “Here are some teen magazines. A list of the newest most popular downloads on iTunes. And you can go through the pictures on my phone and I’ll tell you who’s who.”
“That’s a start,” Emma said. “By Monday, I will be Payton!”
“And now, I need to become Emma,” I said. I took a deep breath and stood in front of her in the middle of my room.
“What do I need to know?” I asked. “Who should I talk to? Who are the important people in your life?”
“These people,” Emma said. She dragged her ginormous backpack over to me. She reached in and pulled out a sheet of paper.
Schedule Emma Mills Grade 7
“My teachers,” Emma said. “Memorize all their names. And my class schedule. And here’s a map of my classes and a layout of where I sit in each class. I made that for myself since I didn’t have front row center anymore. See? The star symbol is me.”
“Okay,” I said. “What else?”
“That’s it,” Emma said.
“That’s it?” I protested. “That can’t be all!”
“Oh, you’re right!” she said. “There’s one more important thing.”
She went over to our computer and typed something up. She printed it off our printer.
“Ten copies,” she said. “Just hand one of these to each of my teachers. And one to Jazmine James, so she doesn’t think I’m being quiet because I don’t know the answers.”
I looked at the paper.
Dear Teacher,
I so long to participate in your class; however, I have a severe case of otolaryngitimis. My physician assures me it is not contagious and my voice should be back by school day tomorrow.
Sincerely,
Emma
P.S. I will do extra credit to compensate for my lack of verbal participation today.
“What’s otolary-huh? Do I really have it?” I asked.
“Duh, Payton, I made it up,” Emma said. “It means you have a sore throat and can’t talk. So basically, just don’t say a word.”
“I don’t get to talk?”
“It’s the only way to make sure I don’t look dumb. No offense,” Emma added quickly. “Just make sure you look at the teacher, and look like you’re paying attention. And use this.”
Emma gave me her mini-recorder.
“Record every lesson,” Emma said.
“Got it,” I said. “And what else? Any people to know about? Like . . . friends?”
“Pshaw. Don’t let people distract you from your mission,” Emma said dismissively. “Especially people like Jazmine, Hector, and Tess. Focus on the teacher and record the lesson.”
“Um, okay,” I said. I didn’t know who Hector or Tess were, but I guess it didn’t matter since I was supposed to ignore them. “I guess I’m ready to be you right now. Okay! Here I am! Emma Mills!”
I did my best impression of Emma. I slouched my shoulders and hunched over like I had a big backpack on me. I frowned and wrinkled my forehead.
“What do you think?” I asked Emma. “Am I you or what?”
“I do not look like that,” Emma protested. “I don’t look like that at all!”
Just then our door opened.
“Dinner’s ready,” my mom said. “And Emma, here’s that permission slip you need for your science fair.”
And she handed it to me.
The door closed behind her as she left.
“HA!” I said. “She thought I was you. You do look like that.”
“Hmph,” Emma said. “Whatever. Wait, my hair feels crooked. Can you help me make it look right?”
“I think you’re on your way to making an excellent me,” I said. I went over to help her fix the part in her hair.
And it hit me when I saw our reflections.
I looked at Emma in my clothes, adjusting her hair in my mirror. I saw myself in Emma’s sweats with my hair in a ponytail.
We were more than just trading places. We were trading faces.
Sixteen
MONDAY, HOMEROOM
Lip gloss! Oh, no!
Did I forget Payton’s lip gloss? I opened her tote, felt around, and—whew! I found it! Without it I couldn’t be Payton.
As I walked into Homeroom 220, I realized:
Payton’s tote bag was really light and easy to carry around.
I wouldn’t have to think so hard for a change today.
Jazmine James wasn’t in any of Payton’s classes.
Being Payton = one day of:
Carefree! Brainfree!
And Jazminefree!
Hee!
“Hi, Payton!” a girl said to me.
“Hi!” I looked at her and flashed her a big friendly smile. Just the way Payton had coached me.
“Payton, hey!” A boy nodded at me.
“Hey!” I nodded back. Maybe Emma was tongue-tied around boys, but Payton wasn’t. Okay, so maybe I only said one word, but still.
I walked to the back of the room and saw her: Payton’s frenemy, Sydney. I breezily walked past her and nodded confidently. I sat in the desk behind her. Homeroom was fifteen minutes long, just long enough to review my Spanish tenses. I closed my eyes to run through a few.
“Ohmigosh, Payton!”
Ugh. It was Sydney. I opened my eyes to see her turned around, looking at me.
“You are such a liar!” she said.
Huh?
“You said CocoBella wasn’t coming out with their sneaker line till December,” Sydney said. “You didn’t tell me you already snagged a pair!”
I was wearing the ones I’d shown Payton Friday night.
“Um . . .” I held up my foot to show off Ashlynn’s/Payton’s shoe. “I . . . It’s . . .”
“Silence!” the homeroom teacher yelled, saving me from having to come up with an answer.
Sydney turned back around.
I could now continue my Spanish tenses.
“Ow!” A square of paper hit me in the forehead and landed on my desk. What now? I opened it.
I totally love those shoes, the note said.
Um, okay. That was worth a note and a potential bruise to my forehead? I sent her one back.
Thanks.
Payton always added smiley faces to her notes. I’d had one this morning from her in my/her tote bag:
Don’t be hatin’
Today you’re Payton!
xo “Emma”
Lame poem, but a nice thought. Oh, great. Another note landed on my desk.
Can u hook me up with a pair?
Um . . . no.
I scribbled a little note on Payton’s pink pad and tossed it over Sydney’s shoulder.
I’ll see what I can do. P.
Sydney turned around and smiled.
I’ll see what I can do? I can do nothing. But it kept Sydney happy for now, so hey. I’d accomplished my main goal as Payton, and it was only, what, 7:12 in the morning? Sydney wouldn’t mess with my sister as long as she believed those silly sneakers were coming. And hopefully Payton would weasel her way back into the Kewl Clique or whatever it was they called themselves, and Sydney would forget all about the sneakers.
“Mills, Payton? Mills, Payton?”
&nb
sp; A boy next to me kicked my chair.
“Oh! Present! I mean, here!” I said loudly. Oops. I know Payton wasn’t known for paying attention but I’m sure she never screwed up answering for attendance.
I focused on my Spanish homework.
Another note flew on to my desk.
If they have them in gray get those! Size 7.
Oh, righty, I’ll just race right out and—
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The bell rang. Rats. I’d only conjugated half my verbs, thanks to Sydney’s incessant note throwing. No wonder Payton never got much done in school, if people were always interrupting her with notes and other trivialities.
“Bye, Payton!” Sydney called out.
“Bye, Payton!” a chorus of Sydneyites followed.
“Bye!” I smiled, waved in a friendly way, and walked out of homeroom.
Now I had a morning full of easy classes. What a day. Suck up to Sydney? Accomplished. Now it was time to study. Starting, appropriately with study hall.
Next I went to second-period Science. It was easy. I got to study the rest of my Spanish tenses. Yes! I mean, sí!
Third-period French? Facile. Which means easy. Looks like I’ll be learning two languages this year. Wait, three—I’m getting pretty good at speaking Payton. I said hi to three people and used “um” and “yeesh” a lot.
Fourth-period Social Studies. Easy peasy.
But now came the true test: lunch. Just last week I’d spent lunch in the library, sneaking little bites of food from behind a book.
“Payton! Over here!” Sydney beckoned me to her table.
Now . . . I was going to eat with some of the most popular people in school.
I said “some,” not “all.” Because yesterday I’d noticed another group of oh-so-pretty girls, all of them wearing Geckos Cheerleading jackets. And there they were, on the other side of the cafeteria, sitting with boys. Who were also in Gecko jackets.
And here I was, in Payton’s own little corner of cool.
I was a little nervous, but I was ready. Over the weekend I had approached the study of cool as if I were cramming for a competition. I’d Googled, blog-hopped, studied, and memorized. I’d created one file called Popularology and one called Trends.
Trading Faces Page 9