May the Best Twin Win

by Belle Payton

  Suddenly she realized the class had gone quiet and everyone was staring at her. Had Mr. Antonucci just asked her a question? He was frowning at her over his half-glasses.

  “Um, sorry, could you repeat that?” she asked him meekly.

  Someone tittered.

  “The Louisiana Purchase,” he prompted her. “Can you tell us a bit about it?”

  She knew this. She’d read about it last night. Thomas Jefferson. Napoleon. Westward expansion. Something about Marshall Someone-or-Other. Her thoughts swirled and almost crystallized, and then were gone again, as though she were peering at a pattern through a turning kaleidoscope. “Um, I know Thomas Jefferson had a lot to do with it,” she said lamely. “I think he, ah, purchased Louisiana.”

  Mr. Antonucci gave her a pained look and called on Bridget Malloy, who was waving her arm back and forth like a windshield wiper.

  Ava slumped back down deep into her chair. Great. She’d probably flunk science and social studies.

  That evening Alex noticed that Ava seemed preoccupied. She barely said a word all through dinner, moodily mushing down her mashed potatoes and making crisscross patterns on them with her fork. She didn’t even want a piece of their mom’s amazing apple cobbler, warm from the oven, although she consented to a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

  “Ava, do you realize you just put salt and pepper on your ice cream?” asked Alex.

  “Huh?” Ava looked at her, startled, and then looked down at her bowl. She pushed it away and sighed.

  Mrs. Sackett looked at Ava curiously. “Ave, honey, everything okay at school?”

  “What?” asked Ava. “Oh. Yeah. Everything’s fine,” she said.

  “Then how come you’ve torn your napkin into seventy-five pieces?” Alex demanded. “Moxy’s eaten, like, three pieces you dropped under the table already.”

  “Let her be, Al,” said Coach. “She’ll tell us if she wants to tell us.”

  “Yeah, well, I have some news,” said Tommy, who was spooning ice cream on top of a huge mound of apple cobbler. “I’m taking a date to Homecoming.”

  “So the girl you were going to ask actually said yes? That’s awesome!” said Alex. “Now all we have to work on is your lack of interest in current fashion trends.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my fashion sense,” said Tommy.

  “You’re worse than Ava,” she said. Although girls are probably willing to overlook his flaws, she noted as she considered her brother thoughtfully. He had big blue eyes, an easy laugh, and good personal hygiene, for a boy. Plus he seemed to be growing taller by the minute. He was now as tall as their dad and looked like he had more to go. “All right, so who is it?”

  “Huh?” said Tommy, looking up at Alex as though he’d forgotten what they were talking about.

  “I asked, Who are you going with?” Alex prompted.

  “Going with where?”

  “Homecoming,” she said. He was evidently stalling. Maybe this is serious!

  “Oh. No one you’d know. A girl.”

  Alex looked at her mom and dad for help, but they were both suddenly intensely interested in their bowls of cobbler. Alex could tell they wanted to know too but were trying not to push too hard. Traitors. And Ava was hopeless tonight. No, it was going to be up to her to uncover more information.

  “What’s her name? What year is she?” asked Alex.

  “Cassie. Sophomore. She’s a friend of Harley’s. That’s enough questions, Ms. Nosypants.”

  What was that new vocab word she’d studied just this past weekend? Reticent. That was it. Tommy had become uncharacteristically reticent. Usually he talked a mile a minute at the dinner table, but now his face had gone a little pink as he reached for the whipped cream.

  “Tommy’s going to Homecoming with an actual date,” Alex announced to the table, as though this situation needed translating.

  “That’s nice, Tom,” said Mrs. Sackett. “I hope we get to meet her.”

  Tommy shrugged. “We’re going with Luke and Harley. He’s driving. It’s no big deal.”

  “I assume you’re going to do something about your hair,” said Alex. She couldn’t resist.

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” asked Tommy, looking up at her sharply.

  “It needs shaping,” said Alex. “Just a little around the ears. I can do it for you if you want.”

  “Ha! No thanks, Al. No offense, but I have no interest in becoming one of your new makeover projects.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Alex with a shrug. “But I’ve been watching a lot of how-to videos online about cutting hair, and really, it’s a cinch. There’s not much to it. I’ve been thinking that cutting hair could be a great side vocation for me to pursue while I’m in college. I’m saving up for some haircutting clippers. But whatever.”

  “I think it’s admirable that you’re thinking about long-term goals, honey,” said Coach, with a twinkle in his green eyes.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  Ava got her science test back on Tuesday morning. Mrs. Fowler didn’t know all their names, so instead of distributing them herself, facedown on people’s desks, the way Mr. Cho would have, Mrs. Fowler called out each kid by name so they could come to the front of the class to get their test. According to the plan her parents had drawn up with Mrs. Hyde, Ava was supposed to sit in the front of the room, so she could pay better attention to the teacher. But with a substitute, Ava had seized the opportunity to sit in the back, temporarily, with Corey. It made her feel normal, not like a “special learner.”

  “Ava Sackett?” said Mrs. Fowler.

  The class snickered, and Ava felt her ears getting hot as she forced herself to walk to the front of the room. She’d put the accent on the second syllable. Who in all of Ashland, Texas, didn’t know how to pronounce the name “Sackett”? Did Mrs. Fowler really not follow football in this town? If not, she had to be the only person.

  Ava didn’t even glance at her test as Mrs. Fowler handed it to her. She just clutched it tightly and strode back to her desk, falling heavily into her chair. She couldn’t make herself look at that big red 66 again.

  She was forced to look at it in detail, though, because Mrs. Fowler insisted that they all go over the tests together. She kept hers close to her chest and didn’t put it down on the desk, so no one else could see her grade. No other kids seemed to care much, though. A quick glance to her right told her Corey had gotten a 79. He was scowling down at his test, one elbow on the desk, his chin propped on his hand. That was surprising. He usually gets high Bs at least, Ava thought.

  A stealthy glance to her right told her that Kal Tippett had gotten a 70. Yikes. It wasn’t like he was the world’s best student, but he didn’t usually do that badly. This really had been a tough test. But still. She’d been doing super well on it. There were only three red marks on the entire first two pages. Then on page three, where she’d run out of time, there were two large red question marks next to the short essays she’d left blank. It was a miracle she’d gotten a 66, she thought.

  After class she packed up quickly and was one of the first ones out the door. She didn’t feel like having the usual “How did you do?” conversation with anyone.

  “Ava!” a voice called to her.

  It was Mrs. Hyde. Just my luck, Ava thought.

  Mrs. Hyde was never in the hallways. She seemed to live in her office all day long, or in the little conference room right next to it, in endless meetings with parents and special education officials. Why, today of all days, did she have to be where Ava would run into her? Mrs. Hyde was the last person she wanted to talk to right now.

  “Hi!” Ava said, looking down at her sneakers. Kylie had drawn happy faces on the white rubber toes for her.

  “Ava, I never received your test from Mrs. Fowler. Should I speak to her about it?”

  “No!” said Ava quickly. “It’s all good. I—I didn’t need any extra time after all.”

  Mrs. Hyde looked perplexed. “But I thought—”
/>   “Sorry, I have to run to class,” Ava mumbled, and hurried past her.

  She couldn’t concentrate on Mrs. Vargas’s practice math problems the next class period. All she could think about was that she was in a lose-lose situation with this science test. Even if she wanted to say something to Mrs. Hyde, it was most likely too late by now—too much time had passed since the test. She ought to have spoken up yesterday. What teacher in her right mind would let her finish the test questions now, after it had been passed back and after she’d had all the time in the world to study up on her answers? Really, the only thing to do was take the bad grade and forget about it. She’d only get Mrs. Fowler in trouble, and might even make her lose her job.

  But taking the bad grade was a terrible solution too. She’d get put on academic probation. She might be kicked off the football team. They wouldn’t let her try out for basketball. And worst of all, her parents would decide that Luke was doing a bad job tutoring her.

  She buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do?

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  “I mean,” said Alex later that night, “I was getting annoyed with my teammates for obsessing about what we’re wearing tomorrow, but I think they’re right. Pink flags and an orange shirt? What fashion genius came up with that idea?” Alex turned from the mirror. “Do you think the pink clashes terribly with these purple shorts?” she asked Ava.

  Ava was sprawled on her stomach diagonally across her bed, her hands propping up her chin. She looked up from her social studies textbook and blinked at Alex. “What? What flags?”

  Alex let out a patient sigh. Ava seemed to be irritated by everything she said recently. “My flags. For Powder Puff. Remember? Tomorrow is Wednesday? My team plays your team in the semifinals? The winning team plays the eighth grade at the pep rally on Friday?”

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Al. I really don’t think anyone will know or care if your flags clash with your shirt.”

  “I said my shorts, not my shirt, and I think they will care,” said Alex with some heat. She put her hands on her hips and thrust her chin out at her sister. “What is wrong with you anyway? You’ve been so cranky lately.”

  Ava glowered at her textbook. “Nothing. Everything’s great. I just don’t really care about the Powder Puff game. Plus, I think it’s dumb that they call it that. This is the twenty-first century. It should be called flag football.”

  Alex started to leave, and then turned and stepped back into the room. “You know what, Ava?” she said. “I think you’re being really mean.”

  Ava blinked at her. “Mean? How am I being mean?”

  “You don’t seem to know or care that you have zoomed up the popularity charts because of this Powder Puff game. Or that my friends are basically ignoring me because they care a ton about the outcome of tomorrow’s game, so they put themselves on your team, and that I have been, like, totally cast aside because I stink at sports. And instead of being psyched, you’re acting like this game is something you don’t even care about.”

  “But I don’t even—”

  “And also,” Alex interrupted, “you’re acting all preoccupied and emo for no reason.”

  Ava scrambled up to a sitting position. Her green eyes flashed. “No reason?” she repeated bitterly. “You don’t know anything about it.”

  Alex gulped. Did Ava have tears in her eyes? With a rush, all her annoyance at her sister vanished, and she stepped over and sat down on Ava’s bed, wincing painfully because the corner of Ava’s textbook jammed into her thigh. “Ave. Tell me. What’s going on?”

  Ava told her. She told her about Mrs. Fowler, and how Mrs. Fowler hadn’t brought Ava’s test to Mrs. Hyde to finish, and what Tim Fowler had said about how much his mother needed the job, and how Ava didn’t want her to get fired. She told Alex that by not speaking up for herself, she was stuck with a bad grade, and now Luke would probably lose his job tutoring her.

  Alex let Ava finish without interrupting her. Then the two girls sat side by side, chins in hands. Yes, this is definitely a tricky situation, Alex thought. Ava was right about that.

  The twins remained silent for a few moments.

  Then Alex spoke. “Ave, you have to stand up for yourself,” she said. “The thing to do is to tell Mom what’s going on. She’ll straighten everything out.”

  “I can’t involve Mom,” said Ava. “It’s too late for that. Then Mrs. Fowler will really be in trouble. Even though Mom’s really nice and stuff, you know how teachers and principals get. They pay attention when parents start showing up on the scene.”

  “Then solve it yourself,” said Alex simply. “Go talk to Mrs. Fowler and explain the situation more calmly. Maybe she just doesn’t understand how the whole thing works. Then she can correct her mistake and won’t get in trouble for it.”

  “But—” Ava stopped, trying to find holes in Alex’s plan, besides the fact that the idea of confronting Mrs. Fowler made her shiver. “You’re right, Al. That’s what I should do.” She sat, lost in thought for a minute. Then she smiled. “Thanks.”

  Alex stood up. “You’re welcome. Now tell me if the flag clashes with my shorts.”

  An hour later they stood side by side in the bathroom, brushing their teeth.

  “By the way,” said Alex, “I’ve been studying up on the rules of flag football, and I warn you that your team is underestimating my hidden talents.”

  “Is that right?” asked Ava, grinning.

  “Yes. So good luck to you tomorrow, and don’t go easy on me, just because you’re my twin.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” Ava replied. “I’m very afraid. May the best twin win.”

  “Actually, you mean, ‘May the better twin win,’ ” Alex corrected her. “When you’re comparing two things or two people, you would use the comparative better, rather than the superlative best. You’d use the superlative for three or more things or people.”

  Ava sighed. “It’s just an expression, Al,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  On Wednesday they had a special schedule. Every class was shortened by five minutes to allow time for the Homecoming Week semifinal games last period. After that, kids would be able to get to their sports and cheerleading practices on time. The school was a sea of blue and orange—team members were supposed to be wearing their team’s color.

  Alex had had her orange outfit planned for two weeks. She’d discovered shortly after moving to Ashland that orange wasn’t her best color, but she’d found a pretty orangey-coral lip gloss that enhanced her natural skin tone. There was nothing to be done about the shirt—everyone had to wear either an orange or a blue AMS T-shirt—but she’d pulled her hair back and added a pretty orange bow made of a nice, heavy ribbon.

  “What are the sixth graders doing for their spirit sport?” she asked Annelise as she joined up with her team in the gym before the game.

  “They’re doing a tug-of-war,” said Annelise. “The winning team gets free ice cream at the game on Friday night.”

  Alex smiled at the groups of sixth graders laughing and chattering with one another. Sixth grade felt like it had been years ago. They seemed so young to her.

  “And where’s the eighth-grade game being played?”

  “Over at the high school, on their practice field,” said Annelise.

  Alex glanced at the large gym clock, which was protected from flying projectiles with a metal grid. Why are we not gathering as a team yet? she thought. The period was only fifty minutes long. She glanced at Rosa, who was chatting and laughing with Tessa Jones. Okay, sure, her orange team had no prayer of beating Ava’s team, but shouldn’t they at least take this seriously? It was so hard to resist the urge to take charge, to call the orange team over and deliver a rousing pep talk about team goals and playing with heart. But Alex restrained herself. She reminded herself for the zillionth time that she’d been one of the last players to be picked, so she was hardly in a position to act like the team leader. But s
till, it was annoying that no one seemed to be paying attention.

  “Come on. We need to get painted,” said Annelise. She tugged Alex by the shirt across the gym to where two high school girls—Alex recognized one as Kylie’s sister, but she didn’t know the other girl—were helping to paint the orange team’s faces. Everywhere Alex turned, she saw girls with heavy eye black in two half-moons underneath their eyes, plus other things painted or drawn on their faces. Sydney Gallagher had the word ORANGE across her forehead. Madison Jackson had a big pink powder puff on one cheek, and AMS on the other.

  Alex submitted to being painted and a few minutes later her face was covered with eye black and blue and orange stars. Even if she couldn’t win this game, at least she’d look good playing.

  Finally Corey waved his arms to signal to his team to walk out to the field. Scores of kids were lined up along the sidelines.

  Alex noticed a clump of seventh-grade boys standing together, shaking pom-poms. A couple of them had loud plastic horns, which they were already blasting.

  Corey called their team over for a huddle. Alex smiled at him as she and Annelise headed over. He looked so cute in his orange AMS baseball cap with the whistle around his neck. She tried not to stare at his eyes as she drew closer. Although Lindsey was on the other team, so what did it matter if Alex just admired him a tiny bit? It wasn’t like she still like liked him or anything.

  “So let’s do a quick review of the rules,” said Corey, getting right down to business. “There are two twenty-minute periods, with a running clock. But the clock will stop for dead balls during the last two minutes of the game.”

  “What’s a dead ball?” asked Tessa Jones. Her face was heavily decorated with dark-black lines and orange stripes. “You mean if the air goes out of it?”

  Alex resisted the urge to smack herself across the brow. She, Alex, might not be much of an athlete, but she’d at least studied up on the rules!