Trading Faces by Julia DeVillers Read Free Book Online Page A

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 theopportunity. 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 . . .
    â€œOuch!” 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.
    â€œMiss 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?
    â€œNo . . . No . . .” I tried to protest that I was fine; I wouldn’t need monitoring.
    â€œDon’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?
    â€œWhat’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.
    â€œNow 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 notebookout, 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.
    â€œEmma, is it?” Jazmine smiled at me. See? I knew she’d recognize me from my accomplishments and be excited to talk to me.
    â€œEmma, 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,