Trading Faces (7 page)

FIRST PERIOD

Clang!
The warning bell went off.

Oh, no!
Don't freak out, don't freak out,
I told myself.

I freaked out.

I barely heard Payton call bye to me as she went into her classroom. I wasn't so lucky—my science class was on the other side of the building. Racing down the halls, weaving in and out of crowds, I got to room 113 just as three bells went off. Whew! I made it. I was out of breath, but at least science would calm me down. Once I found my seat, that is.

I scanned the front row. My usual favorite seat, front row center, was already taken. In it was that Jazmine person
I'd recognized at registration. I'd seen her outside of school at gifted enrichment programs, but I'd never talked to her.
I'll bet she'll be happy to know that at least one person in her class (moi!) can have fun scientific discussions at an advanced level. She'll probably want to be lab partners with me
.

I kept looking for a seat. There was Ahmad the robotics whiz. Another great potential partner. Looking . . . searching . . . the front desks were full. So were the ones in the second, third, fourth, and fifth rows . . . I stood there in the front of the room for an eternity until I saw it. An empty seat—in the back of the room. I walked to the back row and sat down. I'd never sat in a back row in my life.

I didn't like it.

I raised my hand and held it up. And up. And up. I realized the teacher couldn't see me behind all these people.

“Excuse me . . . um . . . Ms. Perkins?” I called out.

A small gray-haired woman stood behind a large teacher's desk. She turned and wrote on the board:

Dr. Perkins

“That's Doctor. Not Miss. Nor Mrs. And not Ms.,” she said, glaring in my direction. Then she pointed at me. “You in the back, Miss . . .”

“Emma,” I said meekly. I cleared my throat. “Emma Mills.” I said that louder. There, that was more confident.

Soon Dr. Perkins would know the real me. Super Science Student.

“Yes, Miss Emma?” the teacher said.

“I'd really prefer a seat in the front,” I said.

“Do you have vision problems?” Dr. Perkins asked.

“No, but . . .”

“Learning issues? Behavioral issues? A phobia of Albert Einstein?”

I followed her gaze and saw a large poster of Einstein behind me.

“An important lesson in science, Miss Mills,” said Dr. Perkins, “is that sometimes there are variables you cannot control. In other words: Live with it.”

Errgh. I slumped down in my seat. “Before we enter the wonderful world of science,” Dr. Perkins said, “I'd like to congratulate one of our very own students for winning the state science fair. Jazmine James, would you please tell us about your award-winning project?”

“Of course,” said Jazmine James from the front row center seat.
My
seat. Jazmine stood up and turned to face the rest of the class. I tried not to be too obvious as I checked out the competition.

“My project,” Jazmine said, “was titled
Reducing our Environmental Footprint with Higher-Efficiency Enzyme Catalysts in Industrial Cleaning Compounds.
”

Some boy let out a loud yawn. Jazmine glared in his direction and kept talking about her experiment.

Fine. So she was definitely up there in the brains department. And that look she gave the yawner was certainly intimidating. A formidable opponent, this Jazmine James. I also couldn't help but notice that even Payton would be impressed: Jazmine not only sounded smart; she somehow looked organized and pulled together. Her tiny black braids were pulled back tightly in perfect rows into a ponytail. Her white shirt was as crisp as the papers in my organizer—well, before I dropped them. Her pencil skirt was as sharp as a, well, a pencil. Or as Payton would say,
Whoa. She is hot.

Whatever. As everyone in the world of competitive academics knows, appearance doesn't matter. Preparation and performance do.

Like my performance at the state spelling bee, which had been scheduled the same day as the state science fair (or should I say the state science UNfair, since I couldn't compete in both). Anyway, at least I won the bee. Did I mention that? But I could have easily won the science fair, given the
opportunity. Science was another one of my specialties.

I snapped back into the present when the class started clapping. I guessed Jazmine was finished showing off. I sat in the back and watched jealously. Nobody here knew I was a science whiz. Yet. I really had to show Dr. Perkins and this Jazmine James my stuff.

What would Einstein do? I tipped my head back and looked into his two-dimensional face.
Help me out here, Albert,
I pleaded silently.
Help me . . .

“Ouch!” I'd leaned too far back. My chair skidded out from under me, and I crashed to the floor. Every face turned around to gawk at me. This was
so
not the attention I'd had in mind.

“Miss Mills?” Dr. Perkins said. “You were right. It appears you have a vestibular issue and need my careful monitoring to no further disrupt the class. You may pick yourself up and move your desk to the front.”

Disrupt the class? Me? Did she say I have issues? Me?

“No . . . No . . .” I tried to protest that I was fine; I wouldn't need monitoring.

“Don't argue with me, young lady,” Dr. Perkins interrupted. “You're walking on thin ice already. One more word and you'll get a conduct slip.”

A conduct slip? But that was for the . . . BAD KIDS. I, Emma Mills, was being mistaken for a troublemaker for the second time today? First with Mrs. Burkle outside the janitor's closet, and now with Dr. Perkins in my science class. Could my first day in middle school get any worse?

“What's vestibular? Is that like a mental problem?” I heard someone say.

I felt my face turn bright red. I wanted to tell them it meant balance, but I wasn't allowed to say one more word.

I had no choice but to drag my entire desk-and-chair set toward the front of the room.
Screeech. Bump.
The desk was heavy and noisy, and I had to maneuver it around and through the rows of people to squeeze into a spot in front near the window. Everyone in the front row sighed and moved their desks to make room for me.

“Now that everybody is upright and quiet, let's begin,” Dr. Perkins said. “We'll start with the Scientific Method.”

I casually looked to my right—two seats down, center chair—at Jazmine James. She was paying rapt attention to Dr. Perkins. I straightened up, got my green notebook
out, and did the same, through the entire class period.

When class ended, I gathered up my things and headed toward the door.

Jazmine James, a short olive-skinned boy with dark hair, and a very tall blond girl blocked my way.

“Emma, is it?” Jazmine smiled at me. See? I knew she'd recognize me from my accomplishments and be excited to talk to me.

“Emma, you poor thing,” Jazmine said. “With your vestibular condition, do you need help getting to your next class so you don't tip over? Hector, take her backpack. Tess, hold the door open. Now, Emma, where's your next class? We can help you find it.”

“No! That's okay!” I protested. “You misunderstood! I'm really—”

“She's so brave,” said Tess, looking down at me and sighing.

“What class are you in next?” Hector asked, my backpack and his weighing him down.

“Social Studies, room 201,” I said. “But I know where—”

“Room 201?” Jazmine said. “Well, that's too far for me. Hector or Tess, you'll have to take her. I need to be on time for Latin Two.”

Latin 2? We didn't even have Latin 1 in my old school.
Darn! I'm behind already
.

“I have Social Studies with you!” Tess said, brightly. She took my backpack from Hector. “Let's go, Emma!”

I gave up. I followed Tess—and my backpack—out the door and off to Social Studies.

LUNCH

Okay. I'd gotten through Science, French, and Social Studies. But now was the true test of survival: lunch. I double-checked my tote bag to make sure I was ready.

Here was my plan:

I had packed a lunch bag inside a lunch box. I'd also brought lunch money. I was going to walk in to the lunchroom, casually look around, and then notice what more people were doing. Then I'd a) take out my lunch box and join a table, b) take my lunch bag out of the box, hide the box, and eat out of the bag, or c) keep my bag in a box inside my backpack, get out my money, and join the hot lunch line.

I took a deep breath and walked into the cafeteria. It was crazy, and I mean chaos. There were like thousands of people all excited to see each other and pushing around me to get to tables they'd apparently already planned out. The smells of pizza and hot dogs and whatever else was on the menu overwhelmed me. I felt dizzy.

Hot lunch? Lunch bag? That decision was suddenly the least of my worries. I stood there, not knowing what to do or where to go. Um . . . um . . .

“Patty!” I saw a hand waving over my way. “Patty, sit here!”

It was that girl Sydney from homeroom. Her hair still looked perfect. She was at a table full of girls who were all like
blah blah we have friends and an obviously cool lunch table
. Everyone at the table was either very pretty or dressed really nicely. Actually, both. I looked over my shoulder to see who the lucky Patty was who would get the empty seat that Sydney was pointing to.

“Patty, come ON!” Was it my imagination, or was Sydney talking to me? Patty, Payton . . . could be. I inched slowly toward their table. If they didn't mean me, I'd just smile and keep walking by. I'm sure they couldn't mean me.
La la la, just happening to walk near their table . . .

And then, right when I got close, Sydney pointed to a chair.

“Sit,” she commanded.

She was talking to me. She was definitely talking to me.

I went over and slowly sat down.

I kept my smile, but I was on guard. I mean, what if it was some kind of trick? Obviously, Sydney had enough friends, so why would she need me? Was it like in the movies: Let's play a joke on the unsuspecting new girl? I slowly pulled my chair up to the table.

“Everyone, this is Patty,” Sydney said, pointing at me. “She's in my homeroom and she's new.”

Everyone looked at me.

“Um, hi,” I said. I smiled at everyone cautiously. “Actually, it's Payton.”

“Patty's nickname is Payton,” Sydney announced.

Everyone was like, “Hey.” And then they turned back to talking and eating their lunches.

“Guess who my Spanish partner was today?” one girl said. “Bryce.”

“Lucky!” some other girl said. “Hey, tell him to have another pool party this weekend. That last one was off the hook.”

“I know, right?” Sydney said. “We were all like crazy. Remember when we did that thing in the pool?”

All the girls at the table started cracking up.

Well. Okay. I had nothing to contribute to this conversation. I decided to eat my lunch. Everyone at the table had packed, so I pulled out my lunch box. Then I opened my bag. No one seemed to notice or care about my lunch container. 'Cause no one was really looking at me. I started to eat my turkey wrap and watch the action.

And there was a lot of action. Most of it focused on Sydney. Two girls came by and complimented her. A guy came by and compared schedules with her. Some guys from the next table started shooting straw wrappers our way, and the girls at our table started squealing and shooting wrappers back.

“So, you're new?” the girl next to me asked.

I was chewing, so I nodded. By the time I'd swallowed, she'd turned to the girl on her other side. I opened up a little cup of peanut butter to eat with my apple.

“Payton!” Someone was saying my name. It was Sydney! “Payton, stand up!”