Trading Faces by Julia DeVillers Read Free Book Online Page B

where’s your next class? We can help you find it.”
    â€œNo! That’s okay!” I protested. “You misunderstood! I’m really—”
    â€œShe’s so brave,” said Tess, looking down at me and sighing.
    â€œWhat class are you in next?” Hector asked, my backpack and his weighing him down.
    â€œSocial Studies, room 201,” I said. “But I know where—”
    â€œRoom 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 .
    â€œI 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.

Seven
    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 . . .
    â€œPatty!” 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.
    â€œPatty, 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.
    â€œSit,” 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.
    â€œEveryone, this is Patty,” Sydney said, pointing at me. “She’s in my homeroom and she’s new.”
    Everyone looked at me.
    â€œUm, hi,” I said. I smiled at everyone cautiously. “Actually, it’s Payton.”
    â€œPatty’s nickname is Payton,” Sydney announced.
    Everyone was like, “Hey.” And then they turned back to talking and eating their lunches.
    â€œGuess who my Spanish partner was today?” one girl said. “Bryce.”
    â€œLucky!” some other girl said. “Hey, tell him to have another pool party this weekend. That last one was off the hook.”
    â€œI know, right?” Sydney said. “We were all like crazy. Remember when we