Almost Identical #1 (5 page)

Everyone went back to eating, and I just stared down at my stupid, dry turkey sandwich. The last thing I wanted to be doing was stuffing in it my face just like old Grandma Wadsworth did. So I excused myself, got up, and headed for the bathroom. When I came out, GoGo was waiting for me at the door. She took me by the elbow and led me outside to the Sand and Surf parking lot that was crammed with Mercedes and BMWs.

“You can talk to me, Doodle,” she said. “What's bothering you?”

“I'll be honest, GoGo. I wish Lauren weren't here. She makes me nervous.”

“She's being perfectly nice to you, Sammie. She could be a new friend, if you'd let her.”

“She doesn't want to be my friend. She wants to be Ryan's girlfriend, and she's just using Charlie and me to get close to him.”

“Are you sure about that?” GoGo said. “Because that's a pretty big accusation.”

“Why else would she come here and be all nice and bring lunch and everything? She's so different from us.”

“Charlie doesn't seem to think so. They're getting along fine.”

I tried to think of a good reason for my behavior. I couldn't think of one, but fortunately it didn't matter, because my dad was standing at the entrance to the club, waving.

“Sammie!” he called across the parking lot. “You girls are up! Hustle in here.”

I ran across the lot, past an attendant who was washing one of the member's cars. Some of the spray from his hose blew into my face, and it felt great.

“I don't know what was going on out there with you and your grandmother,” my dad said when I reached him. “But whatever it was, I hope you left it out there. Tennis is a game of focus. I can't have your mind on other things when you're on the court.”

“Don't worry, Dad. I'll get into the game,” I said, trying to summon up a little bit of that prized killer instinct.

“That's my girl. Win this one match and you move up to the divisionals. One match. You can do it.”

We were assigned to court nine again, and I felt good about that because we had been so lucky there for the first match. As Charlie and I took the court, I glanced up into the stands. It was easy to see where our family was because GoGo's huge hat stuck out from the crowd. My dad sat next to Ryan and Lauren. Lauren had put on a pink baseball cap, which, of course, looked completely adorable on her. Charlie looked up and waved at Lauren like she was on a desert island and flagging down a passing ship.

“What's with that?” I asked her. “Don't you think it's a little much?”

“It's nice of her to come,” Charlie said. “I like her.”

“You like
her
or what she represents?”

“Sammie, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The SF2s? Acceptance into their cool group at school?”

“How do you even know their name?”

“Alicia told me. She said they're really tight with one another.”

Charlie turned and looked at me. “Look, Sammie. You're my best friend, okay? You'll always be my best friend. But you can't be my
only
friend. I think you're jealous. And I don't think that's very nice.”

I had no answer for her, because honestly, I knew what she was saying might be true. Was my bad attitude toward Lauren and her friends just jealousy? Is that why they made me so uncomfortable? Or did I feel that I wasn't good enough to be friends with that group? Either way, my attitude toward Lauren stunk, and I knew it.

All those questions were running around in my mind as we started the match. And I can tell you this right now: They shouldn't have been. These girls we were playing—Caroline Huang and Erin Knight from the Los Angeles Racquet Club—were much better than the last pair. Caroline had the strength of an elephant, and Erin had the speed of a cheetah. I don't know why I suddenly got all jungley on you, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that those girls were all over the court. They didn't miss a shot.

But I did, that's for sure. Not just one shot, but a bunch. We lost the first set, six to three.

Oh, and did I mention we lost the second set, too? In a tiebreaker?

Yup, we did. And guess who served it out of the court three times during the tiebreaker? That's right. Yours truly.

There was no getting around it: I lost the match for us and blew our chances that day to get our ranking.

And if you think I was unhappy about it, you should have heard my dad.

“What happened to you out there?” he said to me after we had shaken hands with our opponents and thanked the umpire. My dad was so steamed up, smoke was practically pouring out of his ears.

“Sorry, Dad. I just wasn't concentrating.”

“I could feel it,” Charlie put in. “I tried to get you back in the game, but you kept looking up in the stands at Lauren instead of watching the ball.”

“I can't help it. I told you, she makes me uncomfortable.”

Charlie scowled at me as she took out her hair tie and shook her hair loose. “That's your problem, not hers, Sammie.”

“And a pretty weak reason to lose a match,” my dad added.

I knew they were right, but I didn't care. Couldn't they understand? I didn't
try
to make us lose. This was something I couldn't control. And now I was being blamed for it. It wasn't fair.

I stomped off the court, over to the chairs where our tennis bags were. I unzipped my bag and pulled out a towel to wipe the giant beads of sweat off my face. I was beet red from the heat, and I was so hot that a little trickle of sweat actually ran down my leg from under my pink, pleated skort. I reached down to wipe it off, and when I looked up, who was watching me but Lauren Wadsworth.

I swear, that girl must have a magic wand that makes her appear every time I couldn't look more gross.

“I'm sorry you lost the match,” she said.

Ryan, who was standing next to her, said, “Yeah, what was with you, Sam? You usually play much better.”

I could feel a little trickle of sweat running down my leg again.

“Maybe it's the heat,” Lauren said as if she could actually console me. “You look really hot.”

Thank you, Lauren, for making me even more aware that rivers of sweat are pouring out of inappropriate parts of my body.

“That's our Sammie,” Ryan said. “She's a sweater.” Then, as he heard what he had said, he cracked up. “Did you hear that? A sweater. She's a bright-red, pullover sweater. I am so
punny
.”

Lauren cracked up, too. I had to get away, but there was nowhere to go, so I stuck my face in my towel.

“See you in school tomorrow, Charlie,” I heard Lauren say from outside my towel bubble. “I hope we have some classes together.”

“Me too,” Charlie answered.

“If not, I'll see you at lunch. Meet me at the SF2 table.”

As I pulled my face out of the towel, I realized that no one had asked me to lunch. I wasn't invited to the SF2 table; Charlie was.

Oh well,
I thought.
Chubby little me probably shouldn't be having lunch, anyway.

Charlie and I have a tradition where after every competition, win or lose, we go to our favorite pizza place called Barone's and get our favorite pizza, which is sausage and mushroom, and two vanilla Cokes. It's just the two of us, no parents or brother or friends. We call it Pizza Bonding, and we haven't missed one Pizza Bonding since we were ten. So as Lauren and Ryan walked off the court, she turned to me and said, “So how's a sausage and mushroom pizza sound?”

“Fattening.”

“We could order a small one.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Of course, Sammie. Just the two of us. Like always.”

That sounded good to me. It's the way it had always been: just the two of us. But as Lauren reached the gate and waved good-bye, she shouted, “See you tomorrow, Charlie,” and I had a feeling all that was about to change.

“It's your fault they make you uncomfortable, Sammie. You're the one with the crummy attitude,” Charlie said as we hurried down Third Street to Beachside Middle School for our first day of school.

It was Monday morning at quarter to eight, and we were rushing. We had gotten a notice to go to the registration office to pick up our schedules before actual classes began. Ryan had left really early to meet with the volleyball coach, so Charlie and I were walking by ourselves. Even though we had done a test run with our dad to see how long it would take us to walk, it was taking longer than we had planned because we had to go up a really steep hill called the California Incline to get from the beach to the town of Santa Monica where the school was. Without our dad hustling us along, our pace had slowed down a bit.

“I'm telling you, Charlie,” I answered, huffing and puffing, “you may think those kids are going to be your new, best friends, but they aren't like us. They're rich.”

“How do you know? Just because their parents belong to a beach club?”

“A beach club where our dad
works
. Where we live in the
caretaker's bungalow
. Our family isn't a Sporty Forty. The Diamonds
work
for the Sporty Forties. We are not SF2 material.”

“That is so paranoid, Sammie. To think that we can't be friends with those kids just because of that. They don't care what our parents do. Just try to be nice to them. You'll see. They'll be nice right back.”

We had reached the entrance to the school, a big, white stucco building with a red, tile roof. Even though it was a public school, it looked like one of those California missions we had studied in fourth grade. Whoever built it had made it look really nice. Over the wide front door, it said
Beachside Middle School
in mosaic tiles. A flagpole stood on the front lawn and off to one side were about ten white bungalows that obviously had been added to house extra students. Parents' cars were lined up at the curb, dropping kids off in the carpool lane.

The first thing I noticed was how good everyone looked. At our old school, Culver City Middle School, we had to wear uniforms. Nothing horrible, but beige pants or skirts with a white top. The kids at Beachside were not only uniform-free, they looked like they stepped out of a fashion magazine. Even the sixth graders looked trendy. Lots of boys in surfer shorts and cool T-shirts. Lots of girls in sundresses or expensive jeans. I was in my regular jeans and a white top. When I was getting dressed, I decided to pick something that would blend in, but as I looked at the other girls, I wished I had worn a cute sundress like Charlie had.

We saw the General climbing out of a black Lexus and slinging his camouflage backpack over his shoulder. He looked over at us, and I thought about saluting, but decided against it. Charlie waved at him, and to my amazement, he smiled and waved back.

“See?” she said. “Just be friendly and the rest will happen naturally.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “That's fair. From this moment on, I will be nothing but nice, sweet, smiley Sammie.”

“Good,” she answered. “You look much better when you smile. Except for now, because you have a huge chunk of oatmeal in your teeth.”

“Really?” I reached for my mouth to wipe the offensive chunk away, but nothing was there. Charlie just laughed.

“Very funny. Since when did you turn into Ryan?”

“I'm the dude,” Charlie said, imitating Ryan. “I'm so
punny
!”

Charlie and I both cracked up as we walked into the building and followed signs to the registration office. It felt good not to be angry at each other anymore. The Pizza Bonding had worked, just like it always had.

Inside the registration office was a counter with a tall, gray-haired woman standing behind it. There was a sign in front of her that said
I Can Only Please One Person a Day . . . and This Isn't Your Day
.

“We're here to pick up our schedules,” Charlie said, getting right down to business. The woman didn't seem like someone you wanted to mess around with.

“We're Samantha and Charlotte Diamond,” I added quickly.

“So you're twins?” the woman asked, rifling through a wooden box filled with printed, paper schedules. “Which one's older?”

Charlie and I glanced at each other and rolled our eyes. We have been asked that question a thousand million times. When people find out you're twins, it's the first thing they ask. Then they ask if you have a secret language. (By the way, we don't—although we both call Ryan “Ry Guy,” and neither of us can pronounce
Massachusetts
. I don't think that qualifies as a secret language, though.)

“I'm older,” Charlie said.

“But I'm wiser,” I added.

We had given that same answer a thousand million times. It seemed to satisfy people so they could get right on to the secret language question.

“Well then, Older,” the woman said, looking at Charlie, “here is your schedule. You have Ms. Hamel for homeroom. Room Thirteen, six doors down the main hall on your left. And you, Wiser,” she added, looking at me, “you have Mr. Boring in Bungalow Three.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “His name is Mr. Boring?”

Charlie and I could hardly contain our laughter.

“He's rather sensitive about it,” the woman said. “So I suggest you get all your giggling about it over with now.”

Then, in a tremendous surprise move, she leaned over the counter and whispered to us, “And the worst part is, he
is
a touch boring.”

She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh and returned to her desk behind the counter. We left the office to find Lauren and Brooke standing outside, their mouths hanging open.

“You're kidding me,” Lauren said. “You guys were laughing with Mrs. Humphrey? She never laughs.”

“Yeah,” added Brooke. “All she ever does is mark you late and call your parents to say you're getting detention.”

“It's funny you should bring this up,” Charlie said. “Sammie and I were just saying that if you're nice to people, they'll be nice back. I guess it even works with Mrs. Humphrey. Right, Sammie?”

Oh, that's very subtle, Charlie. My happy face is on duty all day. I swear.

“Who do you have for homeroom?” Brooke asked Charlie.

“Ms. Hamel.”

“Oh, that's my homeroom, too. Come on, I'll show you the way. Are you coming, Sammie?”

“Nope. I'm in Bungalow Three with Mr. Boring, who I'm told is.”

I chuckled a little at my own joke.

“You're in my homeroom,” Lauren said without so much as a hint of a smile. “I'll show you the way.” She seemed a little disappointed that she got me instead of Charlie. I could understand that. I had been a pretty definite jerk to her.

Charlie and I compared schedules. We only had one class together, English with Ms. Carew. It was fifth period, right after lunch. That was great because we could go from lunch right to class together. Even though the school had a cafeteria, we had brought brown bags. Mine was a turkey sandwich, hold the mayo. I'm sure my dad had packed that himself.

Lauren and I said good-bye to Charlie and Brooke, then turned left into the school yard where the bungalows were. It was one minute to eight, and kids were hurrying to their classrooms so they wouldn't be late. Everyone said hi to Lauren as we crossed the yard.

“Listen, Lauren,” I began, in between the enthusiastic
hi
s she was saying to every other person. “I want to apologize for asking you to leave yesterday. I was just nervous about the tournament. There was a lot of pressure and everything.”

“You were kind of a you-know-what that starts with a
b
and ends with an
h
.”

“I know, and I'm really sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Lauren said. “Your brother said you're not usually like that. He's such a great guy. Did he tell you we're hanging out after school today?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course he did.”

Actually, Ryan hadn't said a word about it. I don't know why I lied to Lauren, but something inside me just didn't want her to know more about Ryan than I did.

“I know he had to leave early this morning to meet the volleyball coach,” she went on. “It's so exciting that they're recruiting him to be team captain.”

“Really exciting,” I agreed.

I didn't know Ryan had been asked to be team captain. I wondered when it happened that this girl who we'd only just met knew so much more about my family than I did.

We arrived in Bungalow 3 just as the bell rang. Spencer Whatshisname from the beach, wearing the same jeans and white T-shirt, called out to us. Well, actually, he called out to Lauren.

“Saved you a seat over here.”

Lauren slid into the desk behind him, and I sat down at the desk in back of her.

And there we were: me in my new school, Lauren Wadsworth, most beautiful girl, in front of me, and Spencer Whatshisname, handsome, popular dude, in front of her. Three cool ducks, all in a row.

This certainly hadn't been the way I expected it to go. But I was relieved that my transition to Beachside was turning out to be so easy.

Really, Sammie? If it's so easy, why are you sweating under your arms? You know you only do that when you're nervous.

I'm only going to tell you one thing about my homeroom: Mr. Boring was. And I mean
totally
. He spent the whole time going over our schedules—and not just our regular schedules, but assembly schedules, rainy-day schedules, and half-day schedules. He was obsessed with schedules. It was the most boring half hour of my entire life.

The only good thing about it was when I discovered that Alicia was in my homeroom. She was sitting on the other side of the room, talking to a couple of kids. One was a really tall, thin girl with wild, curly hair that puffed out in all directions. Even though it was hot outside, the girl was wearing high, lace-up, black boots. The other kid was a guy with red hair, but unlike Dan, the SF2 redhead who was tall and athletic, this guy was kind of round and had a pair of wooden drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket.

Hey, Alicia!
I mouthed when Mr. Boring wasn't looking.

She smiled at me and mouthed the words
See you later
.

Lunch?
I mouthed at her, and she nodded.

It was all set. Go to class. Meet up with Alicia for lunch. Ask Charlie to join us. Get to know each other. Maybe if Alicia lived nearby, the three of us could even stop at the Third Street Promenade on the way home.

Yup, it was going to be a great first day.