Triple Trouble

by Julia DeVillers

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Acknowledgments

  About Julia DeVillers and Jennifer Roy

  To our agents,

  Mel Berger (WME) and

  Alyssa Eisner Henkin (TMG)

  One

  FIRST PERIOD, STUDY HALL

  autumn dance!

  TICKETS ON SALE NOW!

  I stared at the poster hanging on the wall in the hallway near my homeroom. My first middle school dance! So exciting! So scary! Exciting! Scary! Yay! Eek! Yay!

  I was excited because I mean, Yay! My very first dance! So yay! But also eek!

  The eek part was that it was our first school dance and I was going with a date. Yes, Nick had asked me to the dance! My first dance! My first date! My mom said okay since we were going all together in a group with our other friends. But Nick would be my date.

  My first dance! My first date! What would we talk about? Could Nick dance? Would we slow dance? What if we slow danced and my hands got sweaty?

  “Miss Mills,” a voice called out, “will you be joining us?”

  It was my homeroom teacher, Mrs. “Bad Breath” Galbreath.

  Bad breath. I hadn’t even thought of that. Oh no! What if I was slow dancing with Nick and I had bad breath? What if—

  I snapped out of it. I guess I should be focusing on What if Mrs. Galbreath gives me detention for being late? I had an iffy history of getting in trouble in middle school, so I raced to the classroom.

  “Sorry!” I said weakly as I slid under Mrs. Galbreath’s arm while she was shutting the door.

  Whew! Made it.

  I slid into a seat near the back and set my tote bag down on the floor next to me. I scrounged around for my social studies homework. I felt my brush and mini-mirror. My papaya-flavored lip gloss (that I’d bought in Hollywood). Sunglasses (that I’d worn in Hollywood—I didn’t need them here). I really needed to clean out my tote bag.

  And there it was: my social studies binder. I pulled it out and put it on my desk.

  I’d promised my parents that missing school for HOLLYWOOD wouldn’t interfere with my schoolwork. Sigh. Hollywood was over. No more starring in commercials, being on TV game shows, taking glamorous convertible rides, or bumping into celebrities and having my name linked to them. No more being famous. But lots more social studies.

  And if I didn’t keep my grades up, there would be “consequences.” My parents had already once “limited my after-school activities” because of my grades. They just started letting me participate in drama club and VOGS (our middle school’s video broadcast show) again. If I didn’t get my schoolwork caught up, they might take those away again.

  Or the punishment could be worse! What if they grounded me? Oh no! They wouldn’t ground me from the dance, would they?

  Don’t panic, Payton, I told myself. I would focus on my schoolwork and let nothing distract me. Question one: What are the three export products of the country of . . .

  I struggled to remember the answer from the chapter I’d read last night. There were times I wished I had Emma’s brain. My twin sister, Emma, could read a textbook and remember practically all the answers not just the next day, but for the rest of her life. Emma would have no problem making up her schoolwork from the days we missed.

  Emma would never get grounded because of her grades. She would never get grounded from her very first middle school dance.

  Oh yes! Emma was going to the dance too! Emma had a date too. Ox had asked her to the dance. He’d asked me yesterday what color Emma’s dress was so he could get her a matching corsage. Emma’s dress was so pretty. Her fashion had definitely improved this year. She’d picked out a white dress that had purple flowers all over it. My dress was a jewel-toned sapphire blue. Even though blue was Emma’s signature color, I’d seen it and knew one of us would have to wear it. Emma didn’t like it, so it became mine, mine, mine.

  Okay, enough thinking about the dance. No more distractions, Payton. What are the three export products of the country of . . .

  The door to Study Hall opened, and a guy I’d never seen before walked in. He had straight black hair that flopped a little over his face. He was wearing an olive-colored shirt, skinny jeans, and skater shoes.

  I wasn’t the only one distracted. Everyone turned to look at him.

  “You must be our new student,” Mrs. Galbreath said. “Welcome. Take any empty seat.”

  The guy didn’t seem bothered when everyone looked at him. He walked my way and sat down in the empty seat right behind me.

  “Please return to your studies, students,” Mrs. Galbreath said so everyone would stop checking out the new guy. I returned my attention to my homework. Okay. Three export products of . . .

  “Psst.” The new guy tapped my shoulder.

  I turned around.

  “It is you,” he said. “I thought so.”

  Oh! I’d been recognized. He must have seen our TV commercial and knew who I was. I felt so famous!

  “Hi,” I whispered, smiling a nice, friendly smile so he’d know I wasn’t a stuck-up celebrity and I hadn’t let fame go to my head. Then I stopped smiling when I saw Galbreath looking at me. I turned back around.

  Three export products of . . .

  Poke, poke. The guy was poking my back again.

  “Hey,” the guy whispered. “Can you do me a favor?”

  He slid a piece of paper toward me.

  Oh! Oooh! He must want my autograph! Blush. You can take the girl out of Hollywood, but you can’t take the Hollywood out of the girl! Hee hee.

  I took the paper from him and wrote my signature across the back of the paper:

  Payton Mills

  I reached over and dropped the paper back on his desk. Then I turned around and faced my social studies homework. Such was the life of a tween star. Trying to balance Hollywood and homework.

  “Psst.” The new guy tapped my shoulder again. Yeesh, how do Hollywood celebrities ever get their homework done? I checked to see if Galbreath was watching us. She was, but she nodded at me to help the new guy. I turned around.

  “You didn’t do it,” he whispered.

  Confused, I pointed to my signature. I was even more confused when the guy flipped over the paper to the other side.

  “No, I need you to do the math problems.” He lowered his voice and looked around. “See? I’m new, and I have to take some placement test to see what math class I’ll be in.”

  What?

  “Someone said you were a math genius,” he whispered. “So, can you just write the answers in there? You can miss a couple to make it more authentic.”

  Ohhh. He thought I was my twin sister. And he thought I—meaning Emma—would help him cheat. Um, no.

  “Sorry, I’m not a math genius,” I whispered back. “That’s my twin. She’s the math genius in the family.”

  “Oh, you’ve got one of those too?” He nodded. “So
do I. But wait, are you any good at math at all? Can you just do this anyway? I hate math.”

  “Um, isn’t a placement test supposed to help you get into the right math class?” I asked.

  “Whatever,” he said. “I have family pressure to get in advanced classes.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know the feeling,” I said. “Although my family is used to it. My sister is four grades ahead of me in math. And we’re even identical twins! That’s why you mixed us up.”

  Yes, sometimes even I almost mixed us up. Like one time in a clothes store I went over and started talking to her. But then I realized it was a full-length mirror.

  But there are differences!

  I’m PAYTON, the twin who

  • is one inch taller.

  • has slightly greener eyes.

  • definitely, without a doubt, has shinier hair—today, at least.

  Today Emma definitely was not shiny, shiny, double the shiny. This morning she’d put her unwashed hair in a scrunchie. A green scrunchie! Fortunately, I’d had an extra rubber band in my tote bag and convinced her to change it. Otherwise, she would have embarrassed us. Yes, us. When you’re an identical twin, there’s always the chance that people will think your twin is you.

  And I didn’t want anyone thinking I’d wear a green scrunchie. Emma had to represent the Mills Twins better.

  Sometimes being a twin could be annoying. Being Emma’s twin could be seriously annoying. Like sibling rivalry times two. She’s been cranky. And not very well dressed. I know she’s been feeling stressed, but we were just in a shampoo commercial, representing good hair, yet she had put her hair up in a scrunchie?

  Like I told her before homeroom: Represent the Mills Twins, Emma. Represent.

  Two

  EARLIER . . . BEFORE HOMEROOM

  I had just shrugged off my jacket and hung it up in my locker when my twin sister made a sound like “Agh!”

  “Agh?” I said. “What’s agh?”

  “Emma,” Payton said, ignoring my question. “Why do you look like that?”

  “Like what?” I responded irritably. I looked at myself in my locker mirror. Oh. My grumpy face. “I look this way because of Jazmine James! She got my science fair project disqualified from the competition, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” my twin said. “You haven’t shut up about it.”

  “She accused me of unethical research!” I complained. “Which is impossible since I hadn’t begun the research; I was still in the proposal stage and seeing if lip reading was even a viable topic. But now it’s too late to enter!”

  “Emma—” Payton hissed.

  “It’s unacceptable” I ranted. “There’s a competition going on, and I’M NOT IN IT!”

  “Emma, quiet down.” Payton shut her locker door. “Now you’re embarrassing me for TWO reasons. Yes, it stinks you’re not in the science fair, but you WON the whole Mathletes competition down in New York City.”

  “That was so last month,” I said, dismissing her. “You’re only as great as your last win. And last week, Jazmine James won the school Geobee.”

  “Only because we were in Hollywood,” Payton said. “Remember?”

  Yeah. Okay. That was a lot of fun. But middle school was not supposed to be fun and games. I was losing my edge; couldn’t Payton see the problem?

  “The problem,” Payton said, “is why do you look like that? Like the old Emma, the first-day-of-middle-school Emma who wore schlumpy clothes and didn’t care at all about how she looked? And also didn’t care that people might confuse her with her identical twin sister and think YOU are ME?”

  I grabbed my books and closed my locker. Then I looked down at what I was wearing. OH. I’d thrown on my clothes in the dark this morning and apparently hadn’t noticed that my brown oversized hoodie clashed with my black track pants. And holey orange sneakers.

  Payton was kind of right. But I was in no mood to let her know.

  “Payton, I have more important things to think about,” I told her.

  “And your hair,” Payton continued. “I thought you took pride in being the twin with the shinier hair. Not that it’s true, of course. Mine is shinier. But today your hair is totally shineless.”

  “Hmmm,” I mumbled. “I guess I forgot to wash it.” I pulled a green scrunchie out of my hoodie pocket and quickly put my hair up.

  “There.” I looked at my sister. “It’s fixed.”

  “Emma!” Payton shrieked. “We have a year’s supply of Teen Sheen shampoo! We are their national spokestwins!”

  “Now who’s being embarrassing?” I said. “Shh! I’m sorry your priorities are superficial and shallow, but I don’t have time for this. I’m going to homeroom.”

  “Not with that scrunchie you’re not,” Payton said. She reached out and ripped it out of my hair. “Don’t move.”

  “Ow!” I rubbed my head as she scrounged around in her tote bag. She handed me a regular ponytail band, and after I threw my hair up, I stomped away without saying bye.

  “Represent the Mills Twins, Emma,” Payton called after me. “Represent!”

  * * *

  I felt a little bad, stomping away without saying bye, but sometimes being a twin was irritating. Being Payton’s twin was seriously irritating. Like sibling rivalry times two. Still. I had been a little too harsh. I’d catch up with her later and explain how stressed I was.

  “Hi, Emma!” I looked down the hallway. There was my friend Quinn. She was standing outside my homeroom with . . . Ox.

  Ox, my more-than-a-friend-but-less-than-a-boyfriend.

  “Ox is helping me put up my posters,” Quinn said as I got closer. “I needed someone tall to help me.”

  “Cute poster,” I told her. And cute boy hanging up that poster . . . Ox. With his brown hair and his hazel eyes, which were now looking at me.

  “Done,” Ox said. “Hey, Emma. Quinn, you’re a really good artist.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn smiled. “I know dancing geckos are pretty weird, but my art teacher told me I had to use our school mascot.”

  “No, it’s great,” I said. It was true—I liked her artwork. What I DIDN’T like so much were the words on it: autumn dance! tickets on sale now!

  Ulp.

  “The dance is going to be so much fun,” Quinn said excitedly. Her brown ponytail bounced as if it were excited too. “I’m so happy you guys will both be there.”

  Yep. We would. Me and Ox. Like a date. A couple. Where we would have to . . . dance. I started feeling dizzy. I did not dance. I had no idea how to dance. The thought of Ox and me on a dance floor made me start to hyperventilate. I was going to make a fool of myself! In front of Ox—and the whole school.

  “Uh,” I said weakly. “I’ve got to get to homeroom.” I turned and crashed right into someone.

  OOF!

  “Watch where you’re going!” a familiar voice hissed.

  “Jazmine Jones,” I said through gritted teeth. I stepped back and faced my arch nemesis. Groan. Jazmine looked as stylish as ever, with her dark braids in perfect rows and her designer outfit with platform heels.

  “Oh, hi, Emma,” Jazmine said in a sticky-sweet voice. “I’ll see you in science class. I’m handing in my final draft for the science fair. How about you . . . oh, I forgot. You’re not going to be in it.”

  “Too bad, so sad,” Hector cackled. Hector was Jazmine’s omnipresent sidekick.

  “Oh, by the way, Emma,” Quinn said, jumping into the conversation. “I cannot wait to see your new dress for the dance!”

  “You,” Jazmine said, her eyes raised, “are going to a school dance? Aren’t you afraid to fall behind?”

  “Or fall on your face,” snickered Hector.

  I froze. Because I knew the answer.

  YES. To both. I’m afraid I’ll fall behind in my schoolwork and studying if I keep taking weekends off to do so-called fun activities. And, of course, I am terrified of wiping out on the dance floor.

  “Hey, Hect
or.” Ox swooped in behind me. “And Jazzie.”

  “It’s Jazmine,” Jazmine said through gritted teeth.

  I relaxed a little. Ox knew what these two were like.

  “Has Emma told you yet about her new project?”

  “My wha—?” I started to say, but Ox nudged me. He leaned down and whispered, “Just go with it.”

  “Oh . . . right! That project,” I sputtered. “Well, it’s still sort of a secret.”

  Jazmine’s eyes narrowed.

  Ha. Keep her guessing.

  “Anyway, time for homeroom,” I said cheerily. “Bye, Quinn! Bye, Ox!” I waved and turned and for the second time that morning. . . .

  I crashed into something.

  BAM!

  OW!

  I’d walked smack into the CLOSED homeroom door.

  It was like slow motion:

  First, I crashed into the door.

  Then I flew backward into the air . . .

  Lost hold of backpack on way down . . .

  To the floor . . .

  Whoomp! I landed flat in the middle of the hallway. I shut my eyes to regroup a little bit. And to avoid seeing the crowd of people stepping around me.

  “Emma!” I heard Ox’s voice. “Are you okay?”

  I groaned. This was superembarrassing.

  “I think she hit her head!” Quinn’s voice said.

  My head? Oh no! I hoped my brain was working. I quickly ran through the first ten digits of pi. Easy. Whew.

  “Emma, open your eyes,” Ox said worriedly.

  I sighed. I couldn’t avoid the humiliation forever. I opened my eyes and began to get up.

  “I’m all right,” I said, grabbing on to the hand Ox was holding out.

  “I’ve got Emma’s backpack,” Quinn said. “We should take her to the nurse’s office.”

  “No nurse!” I said. “No, really, I’m fine.” I smiled at Quinn to reassure her. Ox pulled me up, and I stood confidently upright.

  “See?” I announced loudly so that the people left in the hall would hear. Like Jazmine and Hector, who were snickering nearby. “I’m fine! So I’ll just head into homeroom—”

  Uh.

  Standing a little farther down the hall was a boy I’d never seen before. He had black hair and was wearing an olive-colored shirt, and he was staring at me.