“Um,” I said. “Hi?”
“That was an interestingly compelling little speech you gave here,” he said. “I must confess that I, too, have had those awkward moments—for example, when entering the teachers’ lounge . . . but I digress. Next time I call on you, I’d like the answer to the math question.”
“Yes, sir!” I said firmly. “Absolutely!”
I bolted out of the classroom and finally made my getaway . . .
SMACK!
. . . running right into someone. The boy who sat behind me was standing there. Well, half standing, since I’d practically knocked him over.
“Oof!” he said.
“Sorry!” I said. “I didn’t see you!”
“I hope not,” he said, rubbing his arm. “Or I’d be wondering why you intentionally tried to run me over when I was just waiting for you.”
“You were waiting for me?” I asked him.
“I wanted to say that that was an interesting speech you gave up at the chalkboard,” he said.
“Thanks, um . . .”
“Nick,” he said. We started walking down the hall toward my locker.
“Well, obviously I choked up there,” I said.
“I’ve never seen you choke before,” he told me. “It’s nice to know that you actually are human.”
“What?” I asked.
“I’ve seen you at a couple competitions, and it was like you had nerves of steel,” he said. “Seeing you choke up there today just made you, I don’t know, more approachable.”
“Really?” I said. “So you’ve seen Emma—I mean me—before?”
“Yup,” he said. We walked down the hall together. “You know, I’ve also seen you in a debate from the audience. My younger sister Margaret does a lot of competitions. She’s only ten; she skipped two grades. My parents make me go for ‘family spirit.’ Margaret came in second to you at the spelling bee. So I’m not surprised you got yourself out of that answer today. That was pretty smart.”
Really? Me? Today? Smart?
“Remember in that debate competition?” he said. “You said that the combination of solar panels and environmentally friendly landscaping is intelligent design . . .”
Wow, speaking of intelligent. As he babbled on about solar something, I had a brilliant idea.
Nick was smart and not horribly bad-looking with his light brown buzz cut. Being brutally honest, he looked totally geek.
Which was awesome!
This could be a perfect love match for Emma! While Emma would turn purple if she had to talk to him, I could pave the way for her! I imagined them at the prom together, maybe being adorkable co-valedictorians, and—
“Emma?” Nick said. “Are you listening?”
“Oh! I was just imagining the possibilities!” I said. “Of . . . solar energy.”
“Well, I was just saying it’s cool you’re doing this, too,” Nick said, holding the door open for me as I walked through it into the classroom. “Let’s grab a seat.”
“Okay!” I said, as he took a seat near the front of the room and I sat down next to him and got ready to . . .
Got ready to . . .
Uh.
Uh.
Where was I? Why was I in this room?
Wait! I was supposed to be at my locker and getting on the bus!
AND MEETING EMMA!!! AND SWITCHING CLOTHES AND GOING BACK TO BEING PAYTON!!!!
!!!!
I looked around wildly. I grabbed my tote bag—no, Emma’s backpack—to get up and—
“People! Please sit down!” Mrs. Burkle walked in the door.
I sat down. Okay. Okay. What should I do? I was supposed to be meeting Emma right now.
“Welcome, all my fine honors students, my best and brightest, to our new and improved media center, and to the first year of VOGS!” Burkle announced.
What the heck was VOGS? I think Mrs. Burkle had mentioned it in Emma’s English class, but I’d forgotten what she said.
“VOGS stands for Videocast of Gecko Students,” Burkle said. “A ‘vodcast,’ if you will. We will be preparing a video news show that will run the final fifteen minutes of every Friday. And the exciting part is that it will be shown live!”
Oh, now I remembered Mrs. Burkle asking me—well, Emma—to come to this meeting. So I guess Emma was supposed to be here. So that meant I was supposed to be here.
Plus, I’d already missed the bus. So I was stuck. I slouched down in my seat. Since I was here, I would just make myself comfortable. I slid Emma’s phone out of the bag and sent her a text:
Burkle wanted u to come 2 a club thing so I got stuck. i m still u. u still be me. will take late bus home.
Fortunately my mom was at some meeting, so we were supposed to let ourselves in. Emma could just go home and nobody would know any better.
Mom. I’m staying after school for a club thing. Sincerely, Emma.
There. I hope that sounded Emma-ish.
I tuned back in.
“First off, if you are not a member of the honors program, please excuse yourselves,” Burkle said.
A few people got up, looking disappointed. But not me! Because I was in the honors program! Well, at least today I was. Today, I was smart, honors, talented, and gifted Payton-Emma! Mills.
“And so are there any volunteers for our very first VOGS?” Mrs. Burkle was saying.
Oh! Whoops. I’d been spacing out. Volunteers for what? Well, Emma was always volunteering for everything. And look! There was that Jazmine girl with her hand up.
Emma would not want to lose out on anything to her.
I raised my hand high.
“Let’s have Jazmine, DeShaun, Ahmad, and Emma as our first volunteers,” Mrs. Burkle said.
Perfect! This was working out after all. Emma was going to be so happy with me. I looked around at all the high-tech computers, TV monitors, cameras, and lights. Emma was always talking about extracurriculars to help her get into the best college. Well, this place sure looked professional.
This was going to be like her dream come true.
Eighteen
MONDAY, AFTER SCHOOL
I was in a nightmare.
Seriously, it was like a nightmare. Six Sydneys.
Okay, only one was really Sydney. The rest were reflections in mirrors.
“How do I look in this?” Sydney posed. She was up on a platform in the dressing room in the clothes store.
We were in some store in the mall that seemed to think the more mirrors the better. And of course Sydney seemed to agree.
“It’s great!” said Quinn, who was standing on one side of me.
“Sydney looks great in everything,” Cashmere said, from my other side.
Everyone looked at me, waiting for my compliment.
“Um,” I said.
Six Sydneys turned to look at me.
“What?” Sydney said, with a little frown.
What? I was pretending to be Payton, which meant smiling and nodding and making people feel good. But I just couldn’t do it this time.
“Your sweater just isn’t . . . right,” I told her. “It would work better if . . . wait. Don’t move.”
I ran out of the changing room, weaved through some racks, and grabbed a different, shorter sweater. On the way back I spotted a thin sweater and took it off the display. I’d seen this in one of the magazines, though never on anyone I knew.
“Try these,” I said to Sydney, who was still standing up on the platform. Looking annoyed.
She took the clothes into the cubicle with a loud sigh. Sydney came out with the thin sweater on. “BO-ring,” she announced.
“Wait,” I said. “Now put the other sweater over it. And tie it like this . . .”
I tied the sweater belt a certain way, and—
“Wow,” said Quinn. “Okay, that looks sweet.”
Cashmere looked at Sydney, then at me. “For the accessories, we’ll keep it simple,” I said. “This silver link chain will do it.” I slipped it over Sydney’s hea
d and stepped back to admire my work.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking at me. “I’ve never seen an outfit like that before.”
Sydney twisted and turned and checked herself out from all angles.
“Yeah, Payton,” she said. “Are you sure about this?”
I played with the P cuff around my wrist. WWPS?
Suddenly, a salesperson burst into the changing room.
“Oh, sorry, I thought this room was empty . . . ,”she said. Then she stopped.
“That is so fashion forward!” she exclaimed, looking at Sydney. “At our training conference one of the models was wearing something just like that. She looked so hot, just like you.”
“Really?” Sydney said, obviously happy about being told she looked hot.
“In fact,” the salesperson said, “our store is going to be pushing that look for next season!”
“Sydney, you’ll be setting the style,” Cashmere simpered. “As usual.”
She conveniently ignored my part in all this.
The salesperson left, and Sydney hopped down from the platform.
“Payton, this is awesome,” she said, linking her arm in mine. “Now you can go pick out an outfit for Quinn and Cash. And maybe two or three for you, too, of course.”
Of course. Because, as Sydney and Cashmere had pointed out at least three times on the ride over to the mall, Payton was in desperate need of new clothes.
So why wasn’t the real Payton here in the mall? Because the minute gym had let out, at dismissal time, Sydney had practically dragged me out of the side entrance of the school. Where Quinn and Cashmere were waiting so we could all jump in Sydney’s mother’s car and have her whisk us away for shopping.
It had all happened so fast. One minute I was in the gym; the next I was in the third-row seat of Sydney’s SUV, texting Payton.
Change of plans! Explain later. C U at home. Stay me!!!
Then calling my mom.
“Hi, Mom, um, this is, um, Payton,” I said. Everyone in the car could hear me.
“Oh, good,” my mother had said. “I just heard from your sister.”
My sister, Payton? Or “my” sister, “Emma?” It was seriously confusing.
“Uh . . . what did she say?” I’d asked.
“Emma’s staying after school for an extracurricular, so she’ll take the late bus home,” Mom had said.
“Oh! I’ll, uh, be a little late too,” I told her. “I’m on my way to the mall. Sydney’s mom is driving.”
I had given my mom Sydney’s mother’s cell phone number and hung up. Payton was going to what after-school activity? Was she still pretending to be me? I hoped so, since otherwise there would be two Paytons at the same time in different places.
But if she was still being me, and I was still pretending to be her, how did this happen? We were supposed to switch back after last period!
But nobody could fight the force of Sydney on a mission. Thus here I was, in some store, picking out an outfit for, of all people, Cashmere.
“Try this.” I handed her a shirt/pants/sweater combo. Cashmere disappeared inside the dressing-room cubicle and then came out to stand on the platform in front of Sydney and Quinn. They looked her up and down.
I held my breath as I waited for their verdicts. My heart was pounding; my hands felt clammy. I wanted to chew on my hair, but that was not kewl. The last time I’d felt like this was . . .
The state spelling bee. Right before the judges announced if my word was correct or dinged the loser bell if it was wrong. I’d never been dinged that day.
But today? Would I get dinged?
Sydney looked at the outfit carefully. Then she looked at me.
“Perfect,” pronounced Sydney.
“It’s totally you, Cashmere!” Quinn squealed. “Payton, how’d you do it?”
By memorizing a zillion magazine tips and celebrity photos and tracking down trends online? Really, it had been just like cramming for any competition.
“Um, well, I just picked stuff that would highlight Cashmere’s best features,” I said. (And hide her flaws. I did not say that.)
“You so did it, Payton,” said Sydney. “Now Cashmere has her own look and won’t need to borrow my clothes. Kidding!”
Yes! I so did it! Now, for the next round of the fashion bee . . .
“My turn!” Quinn ran into the cubicle to change into the outfit I’d picked for her.
“I simply pulled together pieces like ones she already had, with just a few edgier ones to update the look,” I informed Sydney and Cashmere while we were waiting.
They stared at me. Whoops! I sounded like Emma when I said that! I’d better cover up.
“Um . . . like . . . when I go into my fashion forecasting . . . um . . . mode, I, like, get totally intense, you know?” I said. And forced out a giggle.
“Fashion is serious business.” Sydney nodded.
Whew.
“Eeeee!” Quinn came out of the dressing room. “I looooove it!”
“I do too,” Cashmere piped up. “And Quinn, you can wear it with the shoes you have, which is like thank goodness because”—she paused and looked at me—“Quinn’s allowance is not all that. It’s such a downer on our shopping trips.”
I noticed Quinn’s face fall for a second. Then she came over to me.
“Thanks, Payton.” She smiled.
“Now get in there, Payton, and show us what you got,” Sydney commanded.
I went into the cubicle and put on the outfit I’d picked out for myself. I came out and climbed up on the platform. Whoa . . . my moment in the glaring fluorescent lights. I saw five Paytons in the lit-up mirrors and felt a little dizzy.
And then I heard it.
The oohs. And ahhhs. The compliments. It was like a replay of the applause at the spelling bee, except this time my accomplishment was very different.
I know, I know. This was silly and superficial. But it was the first time since the start of middle school that people were actually paying attention to me.
“You are a genius,” Sydney proclaimed.
A genius!
I posed in front of the mirrors and couldn’t help smiling. Oh. Yeah. I’m a supastar! The Number One Shopping Mall Champion! The Queen of the Fashion Bee!
Take that, Jazmine James!
“I’ll take it all,” I told the salesperson a few minutes later. We were all at the checkout. I took out my parents’ credit card, which was to be used only in an emergency. Well, wasn’t Payton always calling me a fashion emergency? I’d pay my parents back, of course. This would put a dent in my college savings fund, but I was on such a happy buzz I didn’t care.
“There’s a fifteen percent discount off all totals over a hundred dollars,” the salesperson told me.
I calculated the savings in my head.
“That’s nineteen dollars,” I said automatically. Big oops. I looked around and saw Sydney and Cashmere walking away, loaded down with store bags. Pheee-ew. They hadn’t heard me. But Quinn had.
“Payton,” Quinn said to me. “You’re like two different people sometimes.”
Er. Um.
“Payton! Q! Come on!” Sydney called to us.
I took my pink and lime-green bags and followed Quinn out of the store. We joined Sydney and Cashmere.
Who were talking to some boys. And one of them was Ox.
“We’re all going to the food court before my mom picks us up,” Sydney announced, indicating the boys, too.
Suddenly my bags felt very heavy, and my legs felt wobbly.
“I got these,” Ox said, taking my bags.
“What a gentleman,” Sydney cooed to him. She shoved her bags at him too.
“Logan, carry my bags?” Cashmere said in a baby voice to some guy.
“No way—those bags are pink,” he said. “You bought it, you carry it.”
Cashmere’s face turned as pink as her bags.
“Here.” Ox took hers, too. “It’s a good workout.”
&n
bsp; He held up the bags like he was lifting weights. I couldn’t help but notice how his arm muscles looked strong and—
Okay.
Ox and I were walking side by side. I had no clue what to say.
“So, you like football?” I blurted out. Um. Duh-umb.
“It’s cool,” Ox said. “It’s not what I’m planning to do for the rest of my life, but it’s cool.”
Wait. I thought jocks only wanted to talk about jock things. Like, “Football rules! Tackle and injure! Maim and bruise!”
“Oh,” I said, brilliantly.
“Yeah, I’d really like to work for a wildlife organization and help protect animal habitats,” Ox said. He sounded a little . . . shy? Could a popular football player be shy? It made me feel a little braver.
“You’re really into animals, then,” I said.
“Yeah, ever since my parents got me this animal encyclopedia for kids,” Ox said, shifting the shopping bags around.
“Hey, I had that book too!” I exclaimed.
We walked to the food court in a group.
“Uh, thanks for holding my bags,” I said, shyly.
“Remember, an ox is hardworking,” he said.
“I know! Because an ox can carry heavy loads for long distances!” I said to him happily.
He smiled at me!
He had a nice smile. For a big jock person, I mean. Anyway.
So. I had about twenty minutes before Sydney’s mother came. Twenty minutes to:
1. keep Sydney happy with me—I mean Payton.
2. make sure Payton was part of their group for when we switched back tomorrow.
3. spend a few remaining minutes with Ox before I had to change back into Emma.
And never talk to him again.
We were all in line at SuperSalads. The girls, I mean. The boys were off in the pizza line.
“One smoothie,” I ordered, when it was my turn. Just like Sydney. And Cashmere. And Quinn.
We sat down at a round table. And . . .
Ox sat down next to me! He sat down next to me! Okay! Okay! He turned to talk to someone on his other side. I reached into Payton’s tote and checked my teeth in the purse mirror. Clear. Okay.
But I also noticed Sydney looking at Ox. And looking at me. I realized there was an empty seat on her other side, and Ox had chosen the seat next to me.
“The salesperson said that Sydney looks like a model in her new outfit,” I said, really loudly.
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