Take Two (12 page)

“Wait!” Emma said. “Um, maybe we shouldn't say anything to your mother. Just this one time.”

The boys grinned at each other.

“We'll just tell Mom what great tutors you twins were,” Jason said cheerfully.

“Toooot,” Mason said. And made a noise.

Pffffft.

Emma

Twelve

DINNER AT CHINESE RESTAURANT

“So,” my father said, picking up his chopsticks. “Tell us about your week so far.”

“I went to school,” Payton said, sipping a glass of water. “And then community service.”

Payton and I had agreed beforehand not to mention the tutoring or tooting fiasco.

“I went to school,” I echoed my sister. “And then to community service.”

I maneuvered my fried dumpling into my mouth without dropping it. It had taken me four years of weekly family dinners at Blossom Chan's Chinese Restaurant to master the art of chopsticking.

Unfortunately, both Payton and I had inherited a klutz gene that made physical coordination difficult. Which is why we didn't play sports, unless forced to. It's also why
Payton was using her fork on her lo mein noodles. . . .

There was silence at the table. Except for some chewing noises.

“Well, I finished editing my magazine article on gardening trends,” my mother said brightly.

“That's great, hon,” my father said. “I had a successful day also. I sold out of umbilical cord clamps!”

I saw my sister's fork stop, with one long noodle dangling.

“Ewwww,” Payton and I both said, completely grossed out.

“What?” my dad said, looking innocent. “I'm in medical supply sales. I sell medical supplies. And if you two girls aren't going to share the details of your day, then your mother and I will.”

“Okay, we get your point,” Payton said.

I kept eating. I wasn't going to let my parents off that easily. I was still sulking.

They had said “no” when I asked them if I could go out for pizza with Ox after mathletes. (“No, Emma, you can't go out with a group of kids we don't know. And we're already allowing you to socialize with your new friend Quinn. That's enough social life for now. You are still working on earning our trust.”)

Excuse me, but perhaps I was making up for lost time since I never had friends before?

Or . . . a boyfriend.

Not that Ox was my boyfriend, since we were clearly not romantic or anything. But if he asked me to be his girlfriend . . . ? I sighed.

Plop!
My dumpling slipped out of my chopsticks into the bowl of Blossom Chan's special dipping sauce. Special dipping sauce splattered in all directions.

“Aaack!” . . . “Emma!” . . . “Be careful!” my family members said as they tried to dodge the mess.

I was unable to move away quickly enough and got the full force of fluid in my face.

“Trying out the special dipping sauce?” I heard a voice say as I wiped my face with my napkin. It was an evil voice.

“Or should I say
dripping
sauce?” the voice continued.

I glared up at Jazmine James.

“Just a joke, Emma.” Jazmine laughed.

Oh. Ha. I forgot to laugh.

Unfortunately, my parents didn't. They actually thought it was funny.

“Hi, Payton,” Jazmine said. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Mills. I believe you've already met my parents at academic events?”

Mr. and Mrs. James, looking as if they'd stepped out of a glamour magazine, said hello.

“Sit still, Emma,” Jazmine said. “I'll get you more napkins.
Fúwùyuáh!
” she called out to our waitress. And then said something else in what sounded like Chinese.

Our waitress nodded and rushed over with extra napkins.

“Xie xie,”
Jazmine said.

“That means ‘thank you,'” I told Payton.

“Oh, you know Mandarin Chinese also?” Mrs. James
asked me, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised. “Our Jazmine is fluent in four languages; she has such a good memory.”

Uh-oh.
I only knew three words in Chinese:
xie xie,
pronounced “sheh sheh.” And
ni hao
was “hello.” I'd learned them one day last spring when I was home sick. I'd surfed to a public broadcasting animated kids' show. Apparently, learning Mandarin Chinese was big stuff in the preschool world. Oh, my third word was
dàxiàng
. The cartoon girl was looking for her lost friend, Daxiang the elephant.

Oops. I'd spaced out. All three Jameses were looking at me. Must. Impress. Them.

“Oh. Yes,” I said wisely. “To be successful in competitions like Jazmine and I, you need a memory like a
dàxiàng
.”

Silence.

“You know—an elephant?” I persisted. “Because an elephant never forgets?”

Okay, nobody seemed too impressed. I picked up my water glass and drank.

“So, Mr. James, Mrs. James, what is it that you two do?” My father, the extrovert salesman, always tried to make conversation with anyone. Anyone. Even my mortal enemy???

“Stop!”
I screamed.
“Do not engage with the evil ones!”
Actually, I didn't scream this out loud. Just inside my head.

My damp, spicy-sesame-sauce-dripping head.

My father was now in a discussion with the parents of the girl who had almost destroyed both Payton and me!

“Traitor,” I mouthed to Payton.

“Clueless,” she mouthed back, rolling her eyes.

I saw Jazmine squinting at us, trying to figure out what we were saying.

“Payton and I are fluent in a secret twin language,” I said. “It's even more complex than Mandarin—you wouldn't understand.”

“Womashukiloo,” I mouthed, and nodded toward Jazmine. Payton mumbled some nonsense syllables back to me as well and we laughed.

Now Jazmine looked totally paranoid.

“Mother, Papa, I believe our table is ready,” she said, and practically dragged her parents away from ours.

My twin and I watched as the James family was seated on the far side of the restaurant from us.

“She deserved it,” Payton said, giving me a high-five.

“Yeah, don't mess with the Mills twins,” I said. “Ever. Again.” I was feeling totally twin-bonded with Payton.

“Ahem,” my father said, clearing his throat. “I heard that, and I'd like to remind you that you two girls were in the wrong. When your friend caught you switching places, you were breaking the rules. She just brought it to your school's attention.”

“Dad,” I protested. “One, Jazmine James is not our friend. . . .”

“And, two,” Payton continued, “she didn't have to humiliate us in front of the whole school.”

Wow. We were really twinning out, completing each other's sentences.

“The girls have a point,” my mother said, slurping her tea.

“Well,” my father said. “Her parents were interesting. Did you know that Jazmine's mother has a novel that's going to be published this spring? It's titled,
Genius in my Family
.”

Gag!
I made that noise in my head, but my mother? She really gagged. Tea spurted out her nose.

My mother's dream has always been to write a novel. She has been working on one ever since I can remember. But it's still on her computer. Jazmine's mother's novel will be in bookstores and libraries.

I would
have
to beat Jazmine in a competition soon. The James family must learn that the Mills are a force to be reckoned with.

Brrrrrrp.
It was a belch heard round the restaurant.

“Dad!” Payton and I groaned.

Okay,
some
members of the Mills family are a force to be reckoned with.

Our empty plates were swooped away by the waitstaff and replaced by fortune cookies. Of course, as a scientist, I did not put any credence in fortunes. But per family tradition, I broke into mine:

Well.

Perhaps I could believe a
little
in fortunes. I crunched on the cookie.

Payton read hers out loud. “‘You will need to get on top of a situation quickly.' What does that mean? That's not a fun fortune.” She crumpled it up. I tucked mine in my lemon-colored hoodie pocket.

My mom paid the bill, Dad left the tip, and our weekly dinner out was over.

When we were all in the minivan on the way home, my father said from the driver's seat, “Emma? Payton? Do you have a lot of homework tonight?”

Oh! Yes! I still had homework to do tonight. Well, no worries. I would whiz through it like I always did.

We pulled into our driveway. Home sweet home.

One hour later . . .

Homework, stupid homework!

I could not believe it. I had left my homework assignment folder
and
a book I needed back at school. In my locker.

I couldn't do my homework!!!!!

“Emma, why are you hyperventilating?” Payton asked as she walked into our bedroom. She saw me sitting on my bed trying not to freak out.

“My homework,” I gasped. “I don't have my homework.”

“Um.” Payton just stood there. Then she called, “Mom? Dad?”

Nooooo! Not my parents!
I lost it.

“Emma, honey, what's wrong?” Mom sat next to me on the bed.

“I . . . forgot . . . to . . .,” I sobbed.

“Oh, for—Emma left her homework at school,” Payton finished for me. “Okay, that's not normal for
her,
but it happens to everyone else.”

“Emma, it's okay,” my mother said and patted my back.

My sobs lessened to sniffs. “Tom? Tissue, please?”

My dad had been standing there watching me melt down. Was he furious? Would he punish me? Would he yell that I was a screwup?

“Blow,” Dad said, holding the tissue to my nose as if I were a little kid.

“Everyone has trouble adjusting to a new school,” my father said. “I'm sure if you tell your teachers you'll make everything up over the weekend, they'll understand.”

It wasn't only my homework. The twins tricking me. People confusing me. I felt like I'd lost control. I flopped back on my (signature color) turquoise bedspread.

“Tom?” my mother said, getting up. “I'm feeling a Wii bowling game coming on. Girls, interested in a game?”

“No, thanks,” Payton said. “I just feel like chillaxing.”

“I don't know what Payton just said, but I'm going to wind
down here,” I told my parents. “But thanks for being so understanding. I promise it will never happen again.”

“You know what's also never going to happen again?” my father asked. “A gutter ball. At least not by me. It's pins-only from now on!”

“Dream on,” Mom said. As the family's undisputed Wii bowling champion, she said she had earned the right to trash talk.

They left, closing the bedroom door. I looked over at Payton. She had earbuds in, lying back on her (signature color) pink bedspread and was humming to some song.

Apparently that was “chillaxing.”

I felt weird with no homework. But . . . there was always math! I picked up my mathletes competition handbook and opened it to Chapter 7.

Bzzzt.
Someone was texting me! I looked over at my sister. It wasn't Payton!

“Payton!” I tossed my (blue) monster doll at her head.

“What?” Payton unplugged. “Are you still stressing about your homework? Don't kill my chill.”

“I just got a text from Ox!” I told her.

My sister immediately jumped off her bed and came over to mine.

“Interpret this,” I said, showing her my cell phone. “It's
a response to a message I sent earlier about having family obligations. Does he sound upset that I can't come? Does Ox think I don't want to go?”

“Hmm . . .” Payton wrinkled her forehead and said, “I think he's crushed! Devastated! He'll probably be too sad to even eat a slice!”

“You really should have a part in that play, Dramagirl.” I rolled my eyes.

“Or maybe he's over it already,” Payton said. “I overheard Sydney talking about going out for pizza. She'll cheer him up.”

WHAT???
Slimy Sydney, who probably still wanted to steal Ox from me? Would she be able to get her revenge tomorrow??

“Aaaugh!” I shrieked.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding!” Payton said. “Sorry. I guess it wasn't that funny.”

“Yeah, I think you can go to chillax yourself now,” I muttered.

“You don't chillax yourself,” my twin said. “You just chillax.”

Payton's grammar lessons always made so much sense. As I flopped back down on my bed, my mathletes workbook slipped off onto the floor. I didn't have the energy to pick it up. My mind was now swirling with thoughts of Ox (and another girl sharing a smoothie!). For once, there was just no room in my brain for work.

I fell asleep in my clothes, still thinking about boys and trendy fashion combinations, and zzzzz. . . .

Payton

Thirteen

FRIDAY LUNCHTIME

I bit into my granola bar as I opened my magazine to
page 44
so I could take the quiz. Who would be my Celebrity Crush Match?

Would it be the shaggy-haired actor who made me laugh on my favorite comedy? The dark, brooding guy who made the perfect vampire in the movies? The pop singer? The rock star?

I took the last bite of my apple and tossed the core into the big trash can. I wasn't known for my aim and it hit the shelves instead. The shelves I'd been painting after school. I was in the stage basement. It was my new lunch hideout.

Why did I need a lunch hideout?