Trading Faces

by Julia DeVillers

  “She totally does.” Cashmere’s head bobbed up and down.

  “You guys!” Sydney giggled. Yay. Happy Sydney = Happy Payton.

  “You girls sure like to buy stuff,” Ox said to me, eating his pizza slice.

  “I know,” I said.

  “Girls and their stuff,” he said, shaking his head like What’s that all about?

  “Maybe it’s to cover up their insecurities,” I said, thoughtfully. “Or for others, maybe it’s just getting to be creative in a socially acceptable way. It is fascinating.”

  OMG.

  Me and my (Emma’s) big mouth. That was so not something Payton would or should say! Now Ox is going to think I’m some geek or freak or . . .

  “Hey, Payton,” Ox said.

  “Um, yeah?” I asked him.

  “I’m glad you came to the mall,” Ox said. He smiled right at me.

  Squee!!!

  Nineteen

  MONDAY, BACK HOME

  “Thanks for the ride!” I called out to Nick’s mom, as her minivan pulled out of my driveway.

  I waved good-bye until the car pulled out of sight. Then I took off. I raced around to the back of the house as Emma’s text message had instructed me to do.

  “Payton?” my mom called out. “Emma? Is that you?”

  Oh, my gosh.

  “Hurry!” Emma’s head stuck out from behind the garden shed. She waved me over frantically.

  I jumped behind the tallest bush and quickly pulled off Emma’s sweatshirt and sweatpants. I tossed them to her as she tossed me my (Summer Slave) hoodie and miniskirt and I pulled them on. Emma shoved my tote bag and some shopping bags at me and grabbed her own backpack.

  Ouch! I got some pricker in my butt. Getting changed in the bushes of the backyard was not exactly my top choice, but it was too risky to try to get past Mom again.

  “Wait!” Emma said. “Bracelets!”

  I took off the E cuff and traded for the P.

  “Okay, let’s go!” I said. We ran around to the front of the house. And casually walked in the front door.

  “Hi, Mom!” I said, cheerfully, although slightly out of breath.

  “Hi, Mom!” Emma said, giving her a hug.

  “How was your day, girls?” Mom asked. “Emma, how was your after-school club?”

  Emma looked at me, questioning. I nodded and smiled.

  “Superb!” she said.

  “And how was the mall, Payton?” Mom asked me.

  Emma gave me a thumbs-up behind Mom’s back.

  “Awesome!” I said.

  “Mom, I have a ton of homework,” Emma said. “So I’m going to get started.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “Payton, I’m so pleased to see you focusing on your schoolwork,” my mom said.

  “Um, Emma’s been a good influence on me,” I said.

  “Oh, no,” Emma said modestly. “Payton’s really become quite the student in middle school.”

  “And Emma,” my mom exclaimed, “your hair is out of a ponytail! It looks nice!”

  Oops, Emma had left her hair Paytonish.

  “Payton’s been a good influence on me, too,” Emma said.

  “Oh, you two! Give me a hug,” Mom said, getting all emotional. “People always warn me that twins bicker and fight, but I tell them ‘You should see my twins! They’re always there for each other!’ ”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet,” I said, giving my mom a hug. Then I raised my eyebrow at Emma like Let’s get out of here!

  “Homework time!” Emma said. And she linked arms with me and half dragged me up the stairs and into our room.

  I pushed a pile of stuff off my bed and sat down on it. Emma sat down on her bed too.

  “Okay, what happened? WHAT HAPPENED?” I squealed. “Where were you?”

  “Me?” Emma shot back. “Where were you?”

  “Well, I went to the school VOGS meeting!” I said.

  “Oh, that’s good! I wanted to join the Videocast of Gecko Students,” Emma said. “Good work, Payton.”

  “Thank you!” I said, pleased. “And guess what? I volunteered you for the very first VOGS group!”

  “I’m impressed,” Emma said. “Did you carefully get my writing assignment?”

  “Even better,” I said, excitedly. “You are going to be a VOGS anchorwoman!”

  “You mean anchorperson,” Emma corrected me. “Wait a minute. What are you talking about?”

  “You’re an anchorperson!” I told her. “Only four people got picked and I—I mean you—are one of them! Jazmine James is too, and you should have seen her face when they announced your name. It was classic! You get to write your own story! You love writing! And then, you get to read it on air! On the school news!”

  “Are you kidding?” Emma asked.

  “I know, isn’t it awesome?” I bounced on her bed with excitement. “You know how you said you wanted to stop being invisible in middle school? Now everyone will know you! You will be the face of the video news!”

  I sat back on my bed and waited for her to thank me and tell me that I was the best twin ever!

  “Payton! How could you do that to me?” Emma wailed.

  That didn’t sound like a thank-you.

  “Um,” I said. “I thought you’d want to?”

  “You know me and videos! I’ll choke! I’ll panic! I’ll look like an idiot! People will think I’m stupid!” Emma wailed.

  Oh. Uh-oh. That’s right. Emma could stand up in front of a lot of people in her bees, but she hated to be on video. She never even let my parents film her competitions in case she looked stupid, she said.

  “Um,” I said. “I thought it would be cool. I, um, did a practice round, and it was kind of fun.”

  We’d done a fake broadcast. I’d done a pretend news story where I talked about how gross the school lunches were—like, say, the oozy burritos. Hee. And I discussed the need for better nutrition and healthy, good-tasting options. People clapped for me and everything.

  “Well,” Emma said with a sigh, “I’ll just have to tell Mrs. Burkle tomorrow to choose somebody else.”

  “Uh,” I said. “Actually, you go to rehearsal tomorrow. You’re going to be an anchor.”

  “Tomorrow? Absolutely not,” Emma said. “Now I have to e-mail Mrs. Burkle and ask her to pick someone else. I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Um . . . and there’s also a pep rally instead of ninth period tomorrow,” I told her. “Where the whole school goes to an assembly and watches . . . a live broadcast of VOGS.”

  “Wait—WHAT???” Emma started pretty much freaking out. “No! It’s not possible! I’ve got to contact Mrs. Burkle!”

  She got up to go to the computer.

  “Calm down, Emma,” I said. “Breathe.”

  Emma shrieked instead. “My e-mail is down! Oh, no!”

  “I’m sorry!” I said. “I got caught up being . . .”

  Being Emma, I guess.

  People had called me smart two times that day. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had told me I was smart. I’d . . . kind of liked it. Plus, I couldn’t have let that Jazmine James win a spot if Emma didn’t. Wow, was I getting competitive like Emma? Wait! What was Emma doing when I was being her?

  “So then where were you all this time?” I asked Emma.

  “At the mall with Sydney and company,” Emma said, sitting down on her bed and taking a deep breath.

  “What?! WHAT?” I screamed. “How did that happen?”

  “Well, I told you I’d fix things for you,” Emma said, modestly. “All in a day’s work.”

  “Wait.” I got worried. “Are you sure they didn’t ask you to make fun of you or anything?”

  “Does this sound like they’re making fun of me?” Emma handed me her cell phone—my cell phone—and showed me two text messages:

  Luuuuuv my new clothes cu at lunch! Q

  “Q stands for Quinn,” Emma informed me.

  I’d figured that out. I was busy scrolling through to
read the next text message.

  Tooo much fun. Mall again this weekend? xoxox Syd

  “AHHHH!” I screamed. “You not only made up with Sydney, but she’s inviting you to the mall and saying you were fun?! YOU?”

  “It’s true,” Emma said. “I was fun. And, dare I say . . . cool.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Unreal.”

  I watched Emma as she took some lip gloss out of my tote bag and expertly put some on her lips.

  “Ahem. And now you’re putting on lip gloss,” I pointed out.

  “Oh,” Emma said. “Habit, I guess. Plus, this peach mango flavor is kind of tasty.”

  “Um, that’s my lip gloss from my tote bag,” I pointed out. “May I have it back?”

  “Fine,” Emma sighed, handing it over. “I bought my own cherry cola flavor at the mall anyway. So, in sum, this was a successful experiment. You are so in with Sydney. You can go back to being you without any more burrito embarrassment.”

  “And you have experienced being popular and having friends,” I said. “So, now we can go back to being ourselves.”

  I flopped back on my bed and looked at the ceiling. Emma was lying on her bed too.

  “Emma?” I said. “I know this is a dumb question but . . . you do want to switch back, right?”

  Emma didn’t answer. She just chewed on her hair.

  And then my cell phone rang. I rolled over on my bed and looked at the caller ID. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Payton?” a guy’s deep voice said. “Hey, it’s Ox.”

  Ox? The burrito guy?

  I muted the phone.

  “It’s the guy I spilled the burrito on!” I said to Emma.

  “Ox?” she said. And then her eyes got all huge. “Ox is calling you? I mean me?”

  “He’s calling you?” I was confused. “Why? For homework help? But he’s not in any of your classes . . .”

  I handed her the phone.

  “What do I say?” she asked me, frantically. And then I saw her turning purple.

  “Put him on speaker!” I said.

  “Sorry, Ox,” Emma stammered. “I’m here.”

  Ox’s voice boomed loudly over the speaker-phone.

  “Hey, Payton,” Ox said. “Tomorrow’s the pep rally. The football players have to sit near the front, ’cause, you know. Everyone cheers us on or whatever.”

  Emma looked at me. I shrugged back at her.

  “Well,” Ox continued, “if you want, I can save a seat for you.”

  “But I’m not a football player,” Emma said back.

  “I figured that out,” said Ox. “But friends sit with us, and I . . . dunno. I just thought I could save you a seat or something.”

  Emma’s eyes got wide. And that’s when I realized it.

  EMMA HAD A CRUSH!

  And even more major:

  EMMA HAD A CRUSH WHO CALLED HER!

  AND WHO ASKED HER TO SIT WITH HIM AT THE PEP RALLY!

  !!!!

  Emma muted the phone again.

  “Did he just ask me to sit next to him at the pep rally?” Emma asked me.

  “Yes!” I said. “Well, he asked me. But really, he wants to sit by you! Pretending to be me!”

  “I get it, I get it!” Emma cut me off. “So what do I say?”

  I looked at her, sitting there, all nervous.

  “You say yes.”

  Emma unmuted the phone and said, “Yes.”

  “Cool. See you tomorrow at lunch,” Ox said, and hung up.

  “EMMA MILLS!” I screamed. “A BOY JUST CALLED YOU! And asked to sit next to you! In public!!!”

  I saw her blush. I’d never seen her like this before!

  “You liiiike him,” I sang. “Emma and Ox! Sitting in a tree! This is so major! I never would have thought you would like a big football jock guy!”

  “Oh, be quiet,” Emma said, but she was grinning. “He’s actually more than just a football guy. Did you know he wants to work protecting animal habitats? This is phenomenal! No, wait . . . this is disastrous!”

  Emma wasn’t smiling any more.

  “Disastrous?” I said. “How is it disastrous? You have a sort-of date at the pep rally!”

  “No,” Emma said. “You have a sort of date. Think about it. Tomorrow, I’m back to being me.”

  Oh.

  That.

  “Oh,” I said. “You’re right.”

  Emma lay down on her bed again and chewed her hair.

  “Payton,” she said. “I kind of . . . well, it’s just that . . . he’s cute and interesting. I mean, I know that after he hangs out with me a little more he won’t like me, but . . . I wish I could just go to the pep rally and sit near Ox!”

  She really was crushing on this guy!

  “Of course you have to go with him tomorrow. Whatever it takes, we will make it happen. Whatever it takes.”

  “Well, we could switch for the pep rally,” Emma said.

  Which would be perfect! Because while Emma was being me at the pep rally, I could go be her at VOGS!

  That was perfect! Because I’d had fun being the VOGS news anchor. But it was only for honors students, so I’d never get a chance to do it as myself.

  I opened my mouth to tell Emma that.

  “Pleeeease let me be you again,” Emma begged. “Just to see Ox. I owe you big time.”

  I was about to tell her she didn’t owe me anything, but I kept quiet. I’d never seen Emma so desperate.

  “Okay, here’s an offer you can’t refuse,” she said. Emma went over to the side of the room and picked up some shopping bags.

  “If you let me be you, all these will be yours!”

  Emma reached in and pulled out some way cute clothes that had tags on them. She spread them out on my bed.

  “Whoa! These are sweeet!” I said. Sydney must have really given her some good fashion advice. They were so un-Emma. They were so me. Maybe Sydney or Quinn had helped her pick them out.

  “I can have them?” I asked.

  “If you let me wear them first to the pep rally with Ox,” Emma said.

  “Emma,” I said. “Toss in this pair of sweats for me to study in tonight, and you have a deal.”

  “Deal,” Emma said, solemnly. “I promise to be the best Payton I can be for one more day.”

  “And I promise to be Emmarrific for one more day,” I said.

  Emma stuck out her pinky and so did I. We linked them.

  “TWIN-ky swear!!!”

  Twenty

  TUESDAY MORNING

  I made a chart, copied it, and gave one copy to Payton.

  “Remember, do not lose this paper,” I told Payton, as we stood at our lockers.

  “Duh.” Payton rolled her eyes. “I’ve got the paper. Don’t start stressing. You’ve got everything planned perfectly.”

  True.

  The homeroom warning bell rang. I walked to my own homeroom. I was starting the day as myself.

  “Bye, PAYTON!” I said.

  “Bye, EMMA!” My sister waved and went off to homeroom. Boy, those clothes looked cute on her. I’d picked out:

  a blue sweater

  a blue and white cami

  a gray cami under that

  a cute skirt

  Her outfit was extra important, because I’d be the one wearing it when I saw Ox. We’d decided not to switch places all day. Just at a few key times. I’d made up the schedule.

  “This looks like math,” Payton had complained when I first gave her the schedule.

  “Well, it is similar to algebra, where variables represent —,” I mused.

  “Emma!” she’d said.

  Okay, okay. We’d start the day as ourselves. And be ourselves all the way through fourth period.

  “And then we’ll meet at the janitor’s closet, the JC, to trade places. So fifth period I get to be Payton. And have lunch at the same time as . . . well, you know.”

  I felt my face turn purple.

  “With your bo
yfriend,” Payton sang. “Your BF, your true love . . .”

  “Ahem. Continuing on,” I said. “It’s back to ourselves for sixth period. You’ll go to your own English with Mrs. Burkle. Then the big switch is for seventh and eighth periods and last-period assembly.”

  “Yeah, because I’ve got VOGS rehearsal seventh period,” Payton said. “So I’ve got to be you.”

  “And we’ll stay switched until dismissal, when we’ll quickly flip back and go home,” I finished.

  It really wasn’t that complicated. And it was just for one last day. Then everything would be back to normal. I’d be regular Emma. For the rest of my life . . . well, I wouldn’t think about that now. One period at a time.

  Starting with homeroom. Which was kind of weird, because people I didn’t know said, “Hi, Emma.”

  “Er, hello,” I mumbled as I lugged my backpack to my seat. Sheesh, was it always this heavy? I opened my vocabulary study book.

  Loquacious: talkative

  “Hey, Emma,” a boy said.

  “Oh, hey,” I said. It was the boy who sat behind me. I looked back at my vocabulary word, but something really strange happened. The boy kept talking, something about VOGS and reporting techniques and . . .

  “Uh huh, yeah.” I kept nodding like I knew what he was talking about.

  “You were great yesterday,” he said.

  I was? I mean, Payton was?

  “So were you,” I said.

  “Uh, great at what?” he asked me.

  Oh. Uh . . .

  “Just great in general!” I managed.

  He gave me a weird look, but fortunately, the teacher started taking attendance.

  I bolted before he could say anything else. It was a relief when I could get to Science. Where everything would be normal.

  Dr. Perkins told the class to pair up for an experiment on density.

  “Jazmine,” she said, “please help Ahmad today.” Ahmad was wearing an arm cast and sling. He moved beside Jazmine. Everyone was moving toward their friends. I sat. And waited. Hoping there’d be someone who needed a partner.

  But no. There was an odd number of students today. I was left the odd one out.

  “Emma, psst,” I heard someone say.

  Huh? Tess and Hector were waving me over to where they were setting up their little metal masses.

  “Okay,” I said, joining them. They must either feel sorry for me or want to use my science brain. I was used to both.