Trading Faces by Julia DeVillers Page A

sick to my stomach.

Eleven
    LUNCH, FRIDAY
    Oh, shoot.
    I’d forgotten my lunch. On our kitchen counter was a brown bag containing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple, a granola bar, and a brownie.
    Agh. I had two choices: Buy lunch or starve. The first choice seemed like the obvious one, but it really wasn’t.
    â€œHot lunch is disgusting,” Sydney had said. “And the soup and sandwich option is even grosser. Don’t ever buy.”
    I walked into the cafeteria and could feel my stomach growling. I’d just go ahead and buy a little something; it really was no big deal. I went up to stand in line.
    The line was seriously long. I leaned against the railing as I waited. I had on a pair of Summer Slave shoes that were totally adorable—wedge heels with teeny polka dots on them. The polka dots were teeny, but the heels weren’t. They were pretty high.
    â€œHi, Payton!” the girl in front of me said. “I’m in your gym class! I was on your team when we played volleyball yesterday; remember me?”
    â€œYeah,” I said, looking down. I remembered her, because Sydney had made fun of the way she served the ball. She seriously had looked like a chicken, but I felt bad now for laughing. “Hi.”
    â€œIsn’t Sydney awesome at volleyball?” she said as I picked up a tray and looked at the lunch choices. “I think she was impressed with my overhand.”
    I nodded but didn’t look at her.
    â€œThe burrito isn’t bad,” the girl said. “You should get that.”
    â€œOkay, thanks,” I said. I put a burrito wrapped in aluminum foil on my tray. I put an orange and a cookie on and slid my tray down. I paid for my food and walked toward my lunch table.
    â€œHi, guys!” I said, sitting down in my usual seat between Quinn and Sydney.
    â€œDid you buy lunch?” Quinn said, as I sat down next to her. “That’s brave.”
    â€œI forgot my lunch,” I said, unwrapping the burrito. “No biggie.”
    â€œMaybe no biggie for you, but how about for those of us who have to smell it?” Sydney said. “Ew, that’s disgusting.”
    â€œWhat is in that thing?” Cashmere asked, leaning across the table. “It looks like poo.”
    â€œI guess it’s beans,” I said, looking at it closely.
    â€œWell, it’s grossing me out,” Sydney said.
    Alrighty. I wrapped the burrito back up in foil and pushed it off to the side of my tray. I started peeling the orange.
    â€œSo!” I said, brightly. “Aren’t Sydney’s earrings the cutest?”
    â€œI know, right?” Sydney said. “Hey, we’re making a plan for the mall. You’re coming, right? You obviously need some new clothes.”
    â€œI’ll be there,” I said. Wait. “Um, why do I need some new clothes?”
    â€œYou’re wearing your pink shirt again,” Cashmere said. “That’s the second time.”
    â€œUm,” I said, “I guess. But this time I’m wearing itwith this jacket. So it’s practically a new shirt, right?”
    â€œAnd you wore the same jeans twice already,” Sydney said. “Payton, Payton. We expect more of you.”
    I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. More? What more did they expect? I couldn’t meet much higher expectations, especially because I was running out of Summer Slave clothes I hadn’t worn yet. I’d thought I could mix and match pieces from those five outfits I’d slaved for. Uh-oh.
    â€œWe’ll go crazy shopping this weekend,” Cashmere said. “Bring your credit card!”
    I didn’t have a credit card. I didn’t have any cash, either. I’d get my allowance on Saturday, which meant I’d have about . . . ten dollars to spend. I could get new . . . socks.
    This was not good.
    â€œPayton’s slipping,” Sydney said, shaking her head.