Trading Faces (12 page)

“Mr. Gregory!” I called out, and hopped off the bleachers. “I need to run my achy hands under warm water so my condition doesn't get aggravated.”

He waved me off to go.

I took the hall pass in my achy (not really, hee) hand, grabbed my bag, and left the gym. I didn't need to change or anything; my PE clothes were my regular clothes: sweats, T-shirt, and sneakers.

When I got to our lockers, I saw Payton. Well, part of Payton. Her head was in her locker.

“Looking for something?” I asked.

Payton turned around.

Whoa. She looked awful. Was she crying? She was.

“I can't do this!” she wailed. “What should I do? I don't know what to do!”

“Um,” I said, stalling for time. I'd never seen Payton like this. She was getting hysterical. I looked up and down the hallway. It was empty now, but what if someone came out? I knew Payton wouldn't want people to see her like this. We needed somewhere private.

The girls' bathroom? No, people were always in there. Aha! I knew! I ripped Payton's mirror off the locker wall and grabbed my sister's hand before she could say anything.

“Come on,” I said, and guided her to the janitor's closet.

Yes. The site of Emergency #1: The Tank-Top Strap Attack Incident.

The door was unlocked, so I dragged Payton inside and shut the door behind us.

“Ewww,” we both said as the smell hit us. I heard a little spritzy sound, and suddenly the closet smelled like flowers. I felt for the mirror and turned on the light. Now we could see.

The janitor must have taken his mop and bucket with him. There was only an empty space. I looked
around. Gray walls. No green or white or geckos. An oasis in the middle of middle school.

“Well, this place isn't
so
bad,” I said out loud.

I saw Payton put a little fragrance spray back in her tote bag.

“Good,” she sniffed. “Because I'm never coming out. I can never show my face in school again.”

Her face crumpled and she started crying again.

“Payton, calm down,” I said. “What happened?”

“It was at lunch,” Payton wailed. “First, Sydney was pretending to send fake text messages on my cell phone—”

“You mean the ‘You are so hideous' messages?” I said. “That was Sydney?”

“You got those?” Payton's eyes got wide. “She sent them for real?”

“Yeah, I thought you sent them,” I said.

“Oh, no! If she sent mean messages to you, and she doesn't even know you . . . what is she going to do to me?” Payton wailed. “I'm doomed! Sydney's going to turn everyone against me! Why did I forget to bring my stupid lunch today?!”

“Just tell me what happened,” I said.

“She got mad! I tripped! It flew! And . . .”

She took a deep breath.

“I OOZED OX!” Then she dissolved into more tears.

Oh. Kay.
Clearly my twin sister had lost her mind.

“Payton, you're right,” I said. “You're a mess. You can't go out there in this condition.”

I had a thought. A crazy thought.

CLANG!
It was the warning bell.

No more time to think. Just do.

“Quick,” I said. “Switch clothes with me.”

“What?” Payton said.

“Don't talk; just move,” I said. “Give me your clothes.”

I turned my back to Payton and pulled my sweatshirt over my head. Then I kicked off my sneakers and started stepping out of my sweats.

“Emma, I told you! It was Sydney who said that about your outfit,” Payton protested. “I don't really care what you're wearing. At least, anymore.”

“This isn't about me,” I said. “It's about you.”

Seeing my sister so upset made me feel bad. But it was more than that. I had stopped feeling sorry for myself and started thinking about someone else for a change.

“Hurry up and change!” I insisted. “Put on my clothes! And give me yours! I'll go out there as you.
Hanging out with your friends is all about faking confidence? I can do confident.”

It was true. Before middle school started, I
was
confident and self-assured. Who didn't crack under pressure at the spelling bee sudden-death round? Me! Emma Mills!

“You're going to pretend to be me?” Payton was starting to catch on.

“Yes! I can be Payton with her head held up high,” I told her.
Me, “Payton” Mills!
“Well, for one afternoon anyway. That's just four periods.”

Payton thought for a moment. I held up the mirror so she could see what she looked like.

“Let's do it,” Payton said.

Payton and I traded outfits. I put on jeans and a pink shirt with some strappy things. I slipped on her shoes and . . . holy moly. How did a person walk in these things? Ve-e-ery carefully, I guess. Payton slipped into my sweats, still snuffling.

This felt weird.

“Wait!” Payton said. She whipped out a makeup kit.

AGH!

Payton powdered some stuff on my face, glossed my lips, and smoothed down my hair.

“There,” she said. “Now you could be me.”

“I
am
you,” I said, confidently. “I am Payton!”

I took a sanitizing wipe from my bag and gave it to Payton, who wiped the tears off her face. All of her makeup came off with it.

There, the natural look.

“And you're going to be me!” I told her. “Look, here's my schedule. Just lay low in study hall, and give a note to Señora Kane claiming laryngitis. And Choir? You can't do worse than me in Choir anyway. Last period is Math. Don't even try it. Just go to the nurse. I'll meet you at our lockers for the bus.”

“Thanks, Emma,” said Payton. I opened the closet door to leave. I had Payton's schedule memorized, so I knew where I was going.

“Emma!” Payton called. “Switch bags! And don't forget! Our bracelets!”

We quickly slipped off the
P
and
E
and put them on each others' wrists.

“Promise you won't do anything too weird?” Payton said, sniffling.

“Promise you won't let any snobby people use my iPhone?” I asked.

“Promise to try to make Sydney not hate me so my
middle-school life isn't completely shattered so you and I won't
both
be middle-school outcasts?”

I was smart. I would figure out how to do all of that. How hard could it be to be Payton anyway? I'd just say “yeesh” a lot.

“Yes, yes,” I said, impatiently. “Wait, I'm not an outcast! But no time for that. Now, you promise to hurry up so I'm not marked as late for study hall?”

Payton nodded and held out her hand. I reached out, and we linked our pinkies.

“TWIN-ky swear,” we both said.

A TWIN-ky swear was like a pinky swear, only bigger. You could never, ever break a TWIN-ky swear.

“Let's do it,” Payton said, taking a deep breath. She opened the door and slipped out first. Then it was my turn.

I stepped out into the hallway.

“There are those twins,” said a girl to her friend. “One of them is in my study hall.”

Payton and I glanced nervously at each other.

“The one in the sweats,” she continued, pointing at Payton as she walked past us.

Excellent! That girl was in my study hall. I gave Payton a confident look. “Let's do it!”

Clang!

We bolted. Payton headed left to my study hall. And I went to the right, to Payton's English class. Oops. It was Mrs. Burkle. The one teacher Payton and I both had. I hoped she wouldn't notice I was back. Nah, she wouldn't be able to tell it was me. I'd slip in so nobody would notice.

I made it five steps before the platform shoes got me. I wobbled precariously and nearly fell over. I managed to grab onto Mrs. Burkle's desk and keep my balance.

“You! In the too-high-for-school shoes! Weren't you in my earlier class?” Mrs. Burkle's booming voice said loudly. Apparently middle school teachers had so many students to keep track of they didn't even notice identical twins. Until one of them practically fell on their face right in front of them.

Oh, man! Were we busted already? Did I just blow it?

“No, ma'am,” I said, extra politely. “I have an identical twin sister who has you.”

“Identical twins!” Mrs. Burkle said dramatically. “Ah, in literature twins are a recurring theme! From two sets of twins in Shakespeare's comedies, to the
Roman mythology of the twins Romulus and Remus, to the Bobbsey Twins . . .”

Mrs. Burkle wasn't even looking at me anymore. I steadied myself and slunk over to an empty desk in the back of the room. I hoped it was Payton's. It was in the back, where Payton usually sat. And no one told me to get up. Whew. I was safe. I was determined to fake my way through Payton's day. I mean, it was just Payton's life. How hard could it be?

6
TH
PERIOD—EMMA'S STUDY HALL

I couldn't believe I'd embarrassed myself like that.

I walked quickly through the halls toward Emma's study hall. I looked down, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might look at me and think,
Hey! Isn't that Payton the Burrito Thrower?

I was so embarrassed. No, I was HUMILIATED!

I was also dressed really, really badly. I was wearing Emma's navy sweats and peach sweatshirt. In public! Could this day get any worse?

Then I heard someone talking as she passed by.

“That's her twin in the sweats . . . burrito . . . so gross. You should have seen Sydney's face.”

I ducked my head down and blinked back tears. I had really screwed up. Really really really screwed up.

I walked faster down the hall. And faster—and almost past Emma's study hall. The bell rang. I'd made it on time, just like I'd promised. I looked around. People were whispering. About me? I was so paranoid. I couldn't do this. There was no way I could survive Emma's study hall. Or Emma's choir. Or middle school.

I walked in, went straight over to the study hall monitor, and asked for a pass to the nurse's office. He didn't even look at me; just wrote out Emma's name when I told him. Whew.

“Name?” the nurse asked me.

“Pay—,” I stopped myself. “I mean, Emma. Emma Mills.”

“Problem?”

“I'm just—sick,” I said.

“Your face is beet-red and flushed,” the nurse announced. “And very sweaty. Likely a fever. Go lie down on the cot.”

I took my sweaty red self over to the cot and lay down. I pulled the blanket over my face so nobody would
recognize me. I was just going to hide out here and try not to think about burritos or mad friends or . . .

Mmmm
 . . .I had to admit these sweatpants were pretty soft and comfy. And this sweatshirt was fuzzy inside.

Ahhh. Snuggly.

I wiggled around until I got more comfortable.

And fell asleep.

6
TH
PERIOD—PAYTON'S ENGLISH CLASS

“Man versus himself,” I said.

Mrs. Burkle looked surprised.

“Correct, Payton,” she said. “That
is
the conflict of this short story.”

I was in Language Arts—again. It was the second time I'd heard this lesson today. Well, my real class had gone way more in depth into the symbolism and layers of meaning in this story. It
was
the advanced class. But it was the same story. Same conflict. Of course I knew the answer. And I thought Payton could use some bonus points in class for answering. I wouldn't overdo it, though.

During the rest of the class I memorized geography facts from a GeoBee study guide I'd grabbed off the book display on the way into class. I was sneak-reading under my desk. Huh. Who knew Vatican City was only .17 square miles?

I did, now.

“Miss Mills?” Mrs. Burkle said. “Please come up to my desk. Class, you have five free minutes of reading time.”