Trading Faces by Julia DeVillers

compare.”
    â€œIt’s so cool you have an identical twin,” said Tess.
    â€œIt must be hard to go up against your own sister in competitions,” Hector said.
    â€œPayton’s not really into competitions,” I told them.
    â€œOhhh,” Jazmine said knowingly. “Is Payton, you know, slow?”
    She leaned closer to me.
    â€œBefore you were born, were you the twin who sucked up most of the brain cells, leaving the other twin without a chance?” (Was that true? Could that happen?)
    â€œWhat?!” I said. “NO!” (I’d have to research it on the Journal of Medicine ’s website. Maybe Jazmine had scientific knowledge about twins that I’d missed. Oooh, if it was true—poor Payton.)
    â€œIt must be a little embarrassing,” Jazmine went on, “to have someone who looks like you walking around with inferior intelligence. She could ruin your academicreputation. What if she answers a question and people think she’s you?”
    Jazmine recoiled in horror.
    I started to defend my poor, brain-deficient twin, but in a way Jazmine was right. Payton could be embarrassing.
    â€œWell, no sense worrying until the competitions start up,” Jazmine said. “This year I’m going for the triple: science fair, spelling bee, and mathletics.”
    Who does Jazmine think she is? I thought. Then I slumped. Yeah, it was possible the trophies would be hers. The front row center seat? Hers. The whole middle school seemed to belong to Jazmine James.
    I sighed. And chewed.
    â€œHey!” I heard a voice call from the next table. “Girl genius!”
    Jazmine turned around. Her dark ponytail swung gracefully.
    â€œYes?” she said. “Do I know you?”
    â€œNo,” a boy said. “I’m talking to her.”
    He pointed at me. Jazmine turned around in a huff and glared at me.
    It was the boy from homeroom.
    â€œWhat did I tell you?” he called over. “Third-period lunch is a joke!”
    â€œYou were right!” I called back, pleased that he remembered me. And that he called me a genius. In front of Jazmine James.
    â€œHow do you know Nick?” Tess asked. “I read his articles in the sixth-grade paper last year. They were good. He seems nice.”
    â€œWhatever, he’s totally not in our league,” Jazmine said dismissively. “I’ve never even seen him in a competition. Nice doesn’t equal brains.”
    I looked at Jazmine. Obviously not.
    â€œSo, Emma, what instrument do you play?” Jazmine asked, changing the subject. “I’m first-chair viola. Hector’s first-chair violin. Tess is first-chair cello.”
    I froze in my seat. I couldn’t exactly say I was first chair in Choir, since we all stood up to sing. Not to mention, with my voice I’d probably be closer to last chair.
    â€œUm . . . I’m taking private lessons this year,” I improvised.
    Okay, I lied. I panicked. How was I supposed to admit to these musical geniuses that I had no musical talent whatsoever? I know, I know. There’s always this thinking that the smartest kids are musical whizzes. That just isn’t me.
    â€œWhat instrument do you play?” asked Tess.
    â€œWith whom do you study?” asked Hector.
    I took a quick look at the clock. I “accidentally” dropped my lunch bag and fumbled under the table for it.
    â€œShe must be really good if she gets out of Orchestra for privates,” I heard Tess say.
    I stayed under the table. One . . . two . . . three . . . Cl-cl-clang!
    â€œOh! The bell!” I popped my head back up over the table. “Time to go!”
    â€œEmma, tell us all about your music next week at lunch,” Jazmine said.
    Another lunch? With this group? Bluh. I’d thought that having a place to sit in the cafeteria would make me happier. But proving myself to Jazmine and her cohorts just made me feel