Almost Identical #1 (11 page)

“Our topic for today is ‘out of place,'” Ms. Carew said as the members of Truth Tellers gathered in our acceptance circle the next day.

“My hair's out of place,” Sara said. “Has been ever since I was born.”

Everyone cracked up, including me. I had finally convinced my dad to let us skip tennis practice that Monday so I could attend Truth Tellers. It worked out for Charlie, too, because she could go to cheerleading with Lauren. They had to learn the routines for tryouts, and the cheerleading coach was holding classes on Monday afternoons.

In English that day, I had told Ms. Carew that I was joining Truth Tellers for sure.

“That's fantabulous, Sammie,” she had said.

There is that word again. I haven't heard it once for twelve and three-quarters years, and suddenly it seems to pop up every other day.

“I know what you mean about unruly hair,” Ms. Carew was saying to Sara, “but today we're talking about a different meaning of ‘
out of place.'
Today, I want us to work on revealing a time we
felt
out of place, a time when we didn't belong.”

“No problem!” Etta said. “I feel that way every day. You try having green hair in a school full of blondes.”

“Or having black skin,” Devon added.

“Or brown,” Alicia agreed. Everyone nodded.

“If there's one thing middle schoolers know about, it's feeling out of place,” Ms. Carew said. “This is a time when you're all trying to find where you belong, and that's not easy.”

I couldn't believe it. We had only been discussing the topic for thirty seconds, and already my mind was spinning with ideas. All the times I had felt out of place: in kindergarten, when I was the only one who just couldn't get how to use scissors. In gymnastics, when every other girl could touch her toes and I couldn't get past my knees. And just the other night, at the makeover party, when everyone but me looked great in gold, sparkly eye shadow.

“The reason I want us to work on this topic,” Ms. Carew continued, “involves some very exciting news. The Santa Monica City Council has asked to hear from local young people about their experiences living in our community. Principal Pfeiffer asked if our group could represent Beachside Middle School with one of our performances. He suggested we select a topic of interest to middle schoolers. I thought if we presented ‘Feeling Out of Place,' it would give everyone a chance to speak from the heart.”

“Wow, you mean we'll perform at a real, actual city council meeting?” Bernard asked.

“More than that,” Ms. Carew answered. “We won't just be speaking to the city council. We'll be doing our performance at a community-wide meeting they're holding in the Civic Auditorium.”

“No way,” Alicia said. “I went to a Christmas show there once. That place is huge.”

“About three thousand seats, actually,” Ms. Carew told us. “You guys would have quite an audience. It would give you a chance to make a real impact.”

There were murmurs of “awesome” and “unbelievable” and “amazing” in the room.

“We're going to be famous,” Etta said, high-fiving Devon.

“No one gets famous without doing the work first,” Ms. Carew said. “So let's get started. Who wants to begin? Each of you should do a brief introduction, and then I want you to act out the scene. Show us how you
experience
feeling out of place. Make us understand.”

Will Lee volunteered first.

“This year, my parents made me go to ballroom dancing classes. I was the youngest and shortest boy in my class, and they paired me up with the tallest girl. It went a little something like this.”

Will got up from the circle and walked to the front of the room. Craning his neck like he was looking at a giraffe in the zoo, he said, “May I have this dance, Gina?” He waited a minute in total silence. Then he stood on his tiptoes and gave a little wave, trying to get the imaginary Gina's attention. “Yo! I'm down here, Gina. Yeah, that's me, next to your knees. No, I'm not a midget. I'm just short.”

We all howled with laughter, not just because it was funny, but because we all knew what it felt like to be out of place at your first dance.

Alicia went next, and she blew me away with her performance.

“Last year, I decided I wanted to be a cheerleader,” she began. “I practiced to learn all the routines, but at tryouts, I realized how out of place I was, how different from the other girls.”

She walked to the front of the room and pretended like she was standing in front of the cheerleading coaches.

“My name is Alicia Bermudez, and I'm going to do a routine to the school fight song.”

Then she did it, singing “Go, Beachside Bulldogs” and performing a perfect routine that ended with two spectacular cartwheels.

“Thank you,” she said to the imaginary judges. “Thank you so much. Oh yes, I'd love to be on the squad. Great! I'm so happy. Oh . . . you have to
pay
for your own uniforms? How much do they cost? Oh, wow. That's a lot. Okay, I'll talk to my parents and let you know. No, I'm sure it won't be a problem.”

Then, with tears in her eyes, she sat back down and spoke to us quietly. “My grandmother got sick and we had to pay for her doctor bills. It took every cent we had saved. I never asked my parents for the uniform money. I just told the coaches that I had changed my mind and decided that cheerleading wasn't for me after all.”

Everyone applauded. I jumped up to give Alicia a hug, and then so did everyone else in the room. Ms. Carew had tears in her eyes.

“Telling the truth is powerful,” she said. “Alicia, I hope you'll consider repeating what you just did at the Civic Auditorium.”

I was the new kid in the group, and I still wasn't completely comfortable getting up in front of everyone. So I waited and watched. Bernard did a piece about how he felt on his first day of school after arriving from Russia without knowing a word of English. Keisha made me cry when she acted out how kids teased her when she had to wear this horrible head contraption for six months to fix her jaw before she got braces. Sara was hilarious showing how it feels to get your hair done when you have a giant head of frizzy curls and the style is to have perfectly straight hair. By the time each person had performed, I felt comfortable enough to volunteer. It was like being in a room with really good friends.

It wasn't hard for me to pick a situation to act out. I had one fresh in my mind, a night when I couldn't have felt more out of place: the makeover party.

I cleared my throat and began.

“Last week, I attended my first makeover party with a bunch of girls. They spent the whole hour getting beautiful, and I spent the whole hour feeling ugly. I have never felt so out of place in my life.”

With that, I got up and walked to the front of the room. At first I was self-conscious as I pretended to be Lauren Wadsworth. “Okay, you guys,” I said. “Everybody put your makeup in the center of the room. Are you ready to be beautiful, because I know I am!”

Several of the kids in the circle started to giggle. Their laughter encouraged me to let loose a little more.

“Pass me that strawberry lip gloss,” I said, imitating Brooke. “I love, love, love strawberry. It's just so kissable.” And I made a smooching sound with my lips.

The kids were laughing now

And then I imitated myself, standing around awkwardly, looking uncomfortable and pathetic.

“I'm just not the makeup type,” I said in my own voice. “And for sure, I don't feel kissable.”

“Come on, Sammie,” I said, going back to my Lauren voice. “Don't be a freak. Get a little glam going, girlfriend. Like me.”

Then I put my hands on my hips and did this really flirty walk all around the room. Everyone was laughing and I was totally absorbed in the moment—focused, as my dad would say. But when I completed my walk and turned around to face the group, I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. I hadn't noticed that the hall door was open and standing there in the doorway was my sister. And standing right next to her, with her mouth hanging open, was Lauren Wadsworth.

“How could you?” Charlie gasped. There were tears in her eyes. “I mean, Sammie,
how could you
?”

All I could do was stand there. I had no answer.

“I have to go,” I said to the group and, without looking back for an instant, bolted from the room, chasing Charlie and Lauren down the hall.

“Charlie, wait up,” I called.

She and Lauren kept walking. They didn't even turn around.

“Let me explain. Please.”

Charlie whipped her head around, saying, “There is nothing to explain,” and then continued down the corridor toward the front door.

I ran as fast as I could to catch up with them. I came up alongside Charlie just as she was reaching the front exit. I almost threw my body in front of her, but she and Lauren just stepped around me and left the building. It wasn't until they were almost at the bottom of the brick steps that I was able to get in front of them and stand there face-to-face with them, so there was no avoiding me.

“We had an assignment,” I began. “To act out a time when we felt out of place. That's all I was doing. Honest.”

“You had no right,” Charlie said.

“That was
my
party for
my
friends in
my
house,” Lauren said. “I don't want what we do broadcast all over the school, just because you and your dorky pals in there have some stupid assignment.”

“It was about me. It wasn't about you.”

“Really? Well, it sure sounded like me. And I don't remember giving you permission to talk about my private matters, let alone my lip gloss preferences.”

“I'll go back and tell them it wasn't you,” I begged as Lauren pushed past me. “I'll explain.”

Charlie looked at me, tears running down her face now. “You know these girls are important to me, Sammie. They're my friends. We trust one another. And you have gone and ruined it all for me.”

“I didn't mean to hurt anyone,” I said to her.

“Well, you did,” she said.

Deep inside, I knew she was right.

I tried to answer, but Charlie wouldn't let me talk. She pushed me aside and ran past the flagpole and onto the sidewalk to where Lauren was waiting.

“So I hear there were some major fireworks after school today,” Ryan said at dinner that night as he chomped noisily on his steak. He could use some table manners.

Charlie and I were sitting across from each other, but we hadn't said a word since we got home. Every time I tried to talk to her, she'd put her earbuds in and turn up the volume on her iPod.

“Oh, did some of the students have an argument?” GoGo asked. “And, Ryan, please chew with your mouth closed. It looks like a meat grinder in there.”

GoGo laughed at her little joke, but no one else did. Charlie and I just stared into our plates and didn't make eye contact with anyone.

“I hear our very own Sam-I-Am told a little too much truth at Truth Tellers,” Ryan said.

“Did Lauren tell you that?” I asked him.

“As a matter of fact, she did. In between the tears, that is.”

“Honey, did you make Lauren cry?” GoGo asked me. “That's not like you.”

“I was doing a scene for Truth Tellers,” I said.

“I still don't see why you participate in that,” Dad threw in.

“Because I like it, Dad. Anyway, I said something that Lauren didn't want me to say.”

“Correction,” Charlie interrupted. “She was talking about things that she had no business talking about.”

“It's my life, too, Charlie. I happened to be talking to my friends about me.”

“Well, next time, leave me and my friends out of it.”

“Girls,” my dad said. “I want this bickering to stop right now. You've each said what you have to say. Now shake hands like we do on the tennis court. Match over, no hard feelings.”

I reached my hand out across the table, but Charlie didn't take it.

“Honestly, I didn't mean to embarrass you,” I explained to her in what I thought was a really nice tone of voice. “I was just expressing my feelings.”

“Well, do me a favor and don't. And while you're at it, you can stay away from my friends.”

“No problem there,” Ryan chimed in. “I don't think they're too hot on seeing her, anyway.”

Okay, Sammie. You can put your hand down now before it falls totally asleep. It's not looking like a handshake is in your future.

“All friends go through difficult times,” GoGo said, standing up to clear her plate. “Sisters, too. When you love someone, you apologize, forgive, and make up.”

“Well, I'm not apologizing,” Charlie said. “I didn't do anything wrong. She did.”

“Charlie.” My dad sighed. “How do you expect to work together with Sammie on the court if you can't forgive and forget?”

“I don't want to play with her,” she answered.

“Well, that's not an option, because I've just gotten your schedule for the fall circuit. You two have a match every other weekend starting this Sunday. Two o'clock in the afternoon. Your first division-ranked match. You play Kozlov and Shin from the SoCal Racquet Club in San Diego.”

“What if I won't play?” Charlie asked.

“As I just said, that is not an option.”

“I've got a great idea!” Ryan grinned. “They can just stay mad at each other and instead of playing tennis, let them put on a huge, old hair-pulling contest. Like lady wrestlers. We could charge admission.”

He sprang to his feet, came over to me, and yanked my ponytail.

“Owww!” I screamed.

“That's good, Sam-I-Am. See what I mean? People pay to see pain.”

Before I could get out of my chair and chase him around the house, Dad's phone rang. It was our mom. Charlie begged for the phone and went into our room. As she left, I heard her talking in an angry whisper. I didn't have to guess what she was talking about. It's spelled
M
-
E
.

A few minutes later, she came out of our room and handed me the phone.

“She wants to talk to you,” she said. “Oh, and she said to shake hands and make up. So here you go.”

Charlie stuck out her hand in a pretty unfriendly manner. I shook it. It wasn't the most heartfelt handshake in the world, but it was a start.

“Thanks, Charlie,” I said, trying to make up.

“I'm only doing it because she told me to.”

Houston, we have a problem. Mission Kiss-and-Make-Up failed before takeoff.

I took the phone and went in our room.

“Charlie told me what happened,” Mom began, “and I think you should apologize. It's so upsetting to think that you girls are fighting and I'm not there to help you work it out.”

“I did apologize, Mom. She didn't accept it. But I'll do it again, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Good,” she said. “And one more thing, Sammie. I want you to know that I understand your point of view, too. You're reaching out for new interests and new friends. It's normal to want to experiment, to find out who you really are. That's what I'm doing all the way across the country in Boston. Just remember that your sister is doing the same thing. Be considerate and tolerant of each other.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“I love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, too.”

Then she hung up.

My throat was all tight and I got big tears in my eyes, not because my mom was
mad
at me, but because she
understood
me. Aside from GoGo, she was the only one who seemed to realize what being a part of Truth Tellers meant to me.

Things between Charlie and me were pretty chilly that night. Somehow, though, I half expected that when we woke up in the morning, the chill would have worn off and we'd be like we always were.

Um . . . not so much. In fact, things were not only chilly, they were flat-out arctic.

When I got out of bed, Charlie was gone. She had left me a note that said, “See you in school. Or not.”

Wow, that note is so cold, I'm surprised it doesn't have icicles hanging from it.

I walked to school alone. When I got to the corner of Third and Arizona, I ran into Alicia as she was getting off the bus.

“Did you and Charlie make up last night?” she asked. “I wanted to call, but I had to babysit for Ramon. By the way, he sends you a big, old, mushy-tamale kiss.”

I smiled. Boy, did that feel good. I hadn't smiled since yesterday afternoon. As we walked to our lockers, I told Alicia about how angry Charlie was. In the midst of my story, we ran into Ms. Carew in the corridor.

“Sammie, do you have a second to talk?” she asked.

“I'll meet you later,” Alicia said, leaving me alone with Ms. Carew.

“I was concerned about you yesterday when you didn't come back to Truth Tellers,” Ms. Carew began. “I could see that your sister was upset with you.”

“That's the understatement of the year.”

“I'll bet you're very close, aren't you? Twins usually are.”

“Identical twins, especially,” I added.

“You and Charlie are so much alike on the outside, but inside, you're very different individuals, Sammie. You do understand that, don't you?”

I did and I didn't. Up until now, I had always felt like Charlie and I were more alike than different. Not identical, but
almost
identical. But this fight we were having was an indication of how truly different we were. Or, at least, how truly different we were
becoming
.

“You remember what the poet Maya Angelou said?” Ms. Carew asked.

I nodded. “‘Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.'”

“That's right,” Ms. Carew said. “You and Charlie each have to find your own ways to success. And that may take you down separate paths.”

The homeroom bell rang, and we each had to get to class. As Ms. Carew was hurrying off, she turned to me and said, “I hope you stick with Truth Tellers. It's a good path for you.”

And then she was gone, disappearing into the throng of kids rushing from their lockers to class.

I didn't run into Charlie all morning, but I figured we'd see each other at lunch. As I walked up to the pavilion, I saw her sitting at the SF2 table, talking and laughing with Spencer. I was relieved to see she didn't look angry in the least. I waved and started over there, but before I got to the table, she jumped up from the bench and came to meet me.

“Hey,” I said. “I missed you this morning.”

“I left early. I just think we need a little space, you know? We're not exactly on the same wavelength right now.”

“Separate paths?” I said, quoting Ms. Carew.

She nodded. “That's a good way to say it.”

Suddenly, she looked really uncomfortable, and then blurted out what was on her mind.

“So maybe it's best if you don't eat with us for a little while,” she said. “Lauren's not too happy with you. And having you at our table makes me . . . I don't know . . . a little uncomfortable.”

I was stunned.

“Are you saying you don't want me there?”

“Well . . . sort of. I mean, yes. I mean, just for a while. Until things calm down.”

I'm going to cry. Right here in the middle of the Beachside Middle School lunch pavilion. I'm going to burst into tears and flood the whole place until it's totally underwater.

Charlie reached out and took my hand.

“Don't look so sad, Sammie. It's not like you don't have your own friends. See, they're all sitting over there, having a great old time. You can go be with them.”

I looked around and noticed Alicia, Sara, Etta, and Bernard at their table in the sun, sharing food from their brown-bag lunches.

“Hey, Charlie,” I heard Spencer call out. “Get back here. Your bench is getting cold.”

“Coming,” she hollered back. “I think he's really cute. Great abs, too.” And without another word, she turned and took her place next to Spencer at the SF2 table. I went and sat with Alicia, but truthfully, I spent a whole lot of the time glancing over at Charlie's table. From the looks of it, I think I was missing her more than she was missing me.

All week in school, it felt so weird not to be hanging out with Charlie. I just couldn't adjust to the new rules. I mean, it wasn't like I never saw her. We still practiced tennis after school every day. We congratulated each other on good shots and discussed strategy at the dinner table. And we stopped snarling at each other. But at school, it was almost like we were strangers. She hung out with her friends, and I hung out with mine.

The strangest day of all was Friday. Dad had given us the day off practice to let our muscles recover for the next day's workout, which was going to be a doozy, he said. We had our first big match on Sunday, and he wanted us to be in tip-top shape. It was great to come home after school and not have to hit the courts. It was one of those hot September days like we often get at the end of summer, ninety degrees without even so much as a breeze. Dad was giving Mr. Hornblower his weekly tennis lesson, and I was sitting out on the beach, just watching the waves break, when my phone rang. It was Alicia calling to say that Ms. Carew had called a special meeting of Truth Tellers for that night. Anyone who could make it was supposed to meet at school in the multipurpose room.