True to Your Selfie Read online

  Morgan charges toward Sophie, phone up and out.

  “FOTOBOMBED! Ugly Outfit of the Day!”

  Sophie startles, as if Morgan has pointed a gun at her. Honestly, in Morgan’s grip, a phone is just as terrifying.

  clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick

  I honestly don’t know why Morgan is targeting Sophie like this. Her outfit isn’t ugly at all. I like it—especially the swirly blue-green T-shirt. I swear I’ve seen that top in one of my fashion magazines. The print reminds me of a spinning globe.

  It reminds Morgan of something else.

  “Ummm … Sophie? Whole Foods wants its moldy cheese back.” She sniffs the air around her. “Stinks like Roquefort too.”

  Aha! I’ve figured out where I’ve seen this shirt before. Last month’s Vogue! Eco/Echo is a new female-owned company that uses all-natural fabrics and low-impact dyes. Of course Sophie puts the conscience back in fashion consciousness. For all I know, my neon-sequined tee could’ve been sewn by a toddler in a sweatshop located in a country so small and so far away that I’d never be able to find it on my Secret Map.

  None of this is even close to being an okay thing to say.

  Instead, I do what I always do when I’m at a loss for what to say and I don’t have a script. I fall back on my Goofball Goddessness.

  “Ugh. What’s a Roquefort?”

  “Duh! A moldy cheese that looks exactly like her shirt!”

  It all happens so fast. Too fast for Sophie to do anything but stare googly-eyed in disbelief. Morgan is already tapping away on her phone, captioning the pic for Fotobomb. It’s her favorite of the socials lately, because the posts only last for ten minutes before self-destructing. Followers rush to get in on the explosion of love while they have a chance.

  Or—in this case—hate.

  Within seconds, Morgan & Ella’s followers—the OMGs—sizzle with flaming commentary.

  UGLIEST OUTFIT OF THE DAY

  MORE LIKE ROACH-FART

  FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL FAIL

  Why hold back on trolling when everything you say blows up—kaboom!—and disappears without a trace within ten minutes?

  If I know her at all—and I think I still do because Sophie hasn’t changed since preschool—she’s probably wondering how Morgan and Maddy are so boldly ignoring the school’s “no phones” policy that was clearly outlined in the Mercer Middle School student handbook distributed to all incoming seventh graders over the summer. This is exactly the type of rule breaking that makes Sophie all twitchy. She’s never cared about her clothes, so I bet this phone violation bothers her even more than the comparison to stinky cheese. She’s milliseconds away from quoting the handbook from memory, which will only make Morgan launch even meaner Fotobomb memes. I can’t stop Morgan from roasting Sophie, but I don’t have to be, like, indirectly responsible for making it worse. I have to create a distraction and fast. So I do it the best way I know how.

  “Ugh,” I say in my ditsiest voice. “How do you even spell ‘Roquefort’?”

  I’m saying it for Sophie’s sake, but she doesn’t know that.

  She can’t even look at me.

  I’ve never seen her so disappointed. And she’s had many reasons to be disappointed in me. Even before Morgan came along.

  Sophie put together word lists for spelling. She created trivia questions for social studies. She made flashcards for science. And despite all her help, I never got an A. But she never gave up on me. She was always insisting I was just a few words, a few questions, a few flashcards away from totally getting it. And she promised to stick with me until I did.

  Because that’s what best friends do, says The Best Friend in My Head.

  Now this is totally bonkers because Sophie is still standing right in front of me and if I want to talk to her directly, I still can. I can ask a friendly question, the easiest one to ask. And maybe, with that simple gesture, she’ll look a little less disappointed in me.

  But I don’t ask Sophie what House she’s in.

  And her face doesn’t change as she finally gets herself together, takes a wide step around us, and walks away. When she heads for the second-floor stairwell, none of us are surprised.

  The Uncool House is where Sophie belongs. And thanks to Fotobomb, there are now OMGs all over the school, the county, the state—maybe even the country—who 100 percent agree.

  The audience in my head never starts a flame war.

  Hey, OMGs! Come follow along with me on my first day of school!

  So … this is me comparing schedules with Morgan and Maddy after homeroom. And it’s, like, half the best and half the worst because their schedules are exactly the same and I’ve got four periods the same and four periods totally different where we won’t get to see one another at all! Don’t you hate it when that happens?

  But at least we start our day all together! We head into first period language arts, and we know right away we’re going to like this class because our teacher, Miss Lee, glows like a Fotobomb beauty guru bathed in halo light, and she’s wearing wedge-heeled boots and this edgy moto jacket and has all these inspirational quotes all over the walls like the lines from “The Fullest Truth” that go:

  Stop concealing

  Revealing is healing

  Give me the fullest truth

  Hey, should that be our next cover song? Are you into Kaytee K.? Any Kayters out there? Let us know in the comments! Anyway, Miss Lee lets us pick our own seats, so of course Morgan sits next to me and she tells Maddy to sit behind her, and when Miss Lee asks us to share a little something about ourselves, Morgan mentions horseback riding and travel soccer but not Morgan & Ella, which I think is a little weird until Maddy jumps in and says to Miss Lee and the whole class that Morgan is being too humble because Morgan & Ella is exploding on Fotobomb. And that’s all thanks to you! The OMGs! We love you guys. We wouldn’t be here without you! Anyway, I don’t have to say anything, because Maddy has already said it for me so I just smile, smile, smile.

  Second period is social studies, and we already know Mrs. Munson won’t be as cool as Miss Lee because she’s more like a grandma in her lumpy cardigan and sensible shoes, but she also lets us pick our own seats, and this time Morgan sits next to me on one side and she tells Maddy to sit on the other side of her. So we’re sitting all in a row, and Mrs. Munson notices our T-shirts. PEACE! HAPPY! LOVE! They remind her of the posters she carried during peaceful hippie protests way back in the 1960s, which just goes to show that no matter how much things change, things stay the same, and this is why it’s important to study history, and by the end of class we’re thinking maybe Mrs. Munson isn’t so bad. Never judge a person by their lumpy cardigan! She’s just a makeover away from coolness!

  So now this is when the day takes a turn. Switch to black and white! Cue the saddest music that won’t violate copyrights! This is me saying goodbye to Morgan and Maddy as they leave for Mandarin and I head for Spanish class. Adios, mis amigas. I won’t see them until lunch. How will I make it through Spanish, math, and science?

  Guess what? I’m rescued by an OMG! That’s right! That girl in the double buns with the adorable dimples is Paisley. She’s the first Morgan & Ella fan I’ve met at Mercer Middle School, and we have the next three classes together. She’s the hint of color in the grayscale. The brief shift from minor to major key. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot more of Paisley.

  I won’t torture you by making you follow me in math or science, because I’d rather fast-forward to lunch.

  Lunch! This is me being reunited with Morgan and Maddy, and we hug one another because it feels like a millionbilliontrillion years since I last saw them. Obviously, catching up is our priority number one. Eating is, like, the second most important part of lunch. And Morgan says it’s very hard to look cute while chewing, so you don’t need to see that. Any foodie followers? Do you want to know what we pack in our lunches? Post in the comments below. We can do a separate video, because this one is already way too long and I
still have two periods to go.

  After lunch, Morgan, Maddy, and I have a class called Digital Citizenship, and we’re pretty psyched because Morgan says the eighth graders on her travel soccer team told her it’s all about using the internet, and how fun is that? And it sounds like an easy A, right? But within two seconds we already know we’re going to hate it, because Mr. Schlosser makes us sit in alphabetical order, which works out fine for Middleton, Morgan and Monroe, Madeline, but who knew there were so many kids with names starting with Ns and Os? I’m, like, in a totally different row. And also we don’t know what those eighth graders were talking about, because this class is definitely not about optimizing our presence on Fotobomb. After listening to Mr. Schlosser drone on for forty minutes we still have no idea what this class is supposed to teach us other than to hate Digital Citizenship.

  So … this is all of us all sad coming out of Digital Citizenship and me especially because I’ve got PE eighth period without Morgan and Maddy, but then Morgan makes me feel better by saying last period gym is the best because at least I don’t have to worry about messing up my look. So even though I’m leaving Morgan and Maddy again, I’m feeling pretty confident going into the gymnasium, and I walk in, scan the bleachers for a familiar face, and see—

  Whoopsie! Technical issues! My bad! You’ll never get to see that part of my day. But don’t worry, OMGs, you didn’t miss anything worth seeing …

  Mom doesn’t have much time to chat about my first day. So why does she make it even harder by asking all the questions I have zero interest in answering?

  “So!” She kicks off her clogs. “Do you like your classes?”

  Morgan and Maddy are in my language arts and social studies classes, so those are the best classes. We are in different math and science because they’re way smarter than I am. And we’re in different foreign language classes because they take Mandarin and I take Spanish. So those classes are terrible classes, but not the worst because Paisley is in them with me.

  “Omigoddess!” She squeaked and did a little victory dance when we compared schedules in Spanish, the first of our three classes together. “Hashtag Goalz Girlz!”

  Paisley is intense. She is very determined to be my BFF even though she doesn’t know me. I haven’t spent enough time with her to decide if I like her very much, but at least I’ve got someone who will always want to sit next to me when Morgan and Maddy aren’t around.

  Except for in PE.

  PE is the worst class of all. And I don’t want to think about how awkward and awful it is, but Mom is still waiting for me to say something.

  “They’re okay.”

  This answer puts two vertical lines right between Mom’s eyes. She should know better than to try again, but she does anyway.

  “Do you like your teachers?”

  My language arts and social studies teachers are my favorites because they let us pick our own seats, so I get to sit next to Morgan and Maddy, which is majorly important, because as I’ve already said, I don’t see them much even though we’re in the same House. Thank goddess we all have lunch at the same time, because Paisley has it next period, and I might have eaten mine in a toilet stall like all the pathetic outcasts in the best teen movies.

  “They’re okay” is what I say instead.

  This answer adds another furrow, turning the 11 into 111. I try to say something positive before the wrinkles multiply into the millionbilliontrillions.

  “Morgan & Ella got a ton of new followers on Fotobomb for our back-to-school posts,” I say brightly, “and our biggest fans are now officially calling themselves Oh-Em-Gees, which is supercute and—”

  I’m silenced by the force of Mom’s sigh.

  “Do you have anything to say about your first day of school that doesn’t revolve around Morgan Middleton?”

  I think about her question for a few seconds, which is just long enough for Mom to figure out the answer for herself.

  “Ella! You’re at school to learn, not to socialize!” She hoists A Field Guide to Physical Dysfunction and taps the cover. “If I had focused more and socialized less when I was your age, I wouldn’t be working so hard to catch up now!”

  She shoves the textbook into her backpack with an irritated groan.

  I almost want to laugh.

  Mom has no idea just how hard I’m working to be the perfectly imperfect Goofball Goddess Morgan needs me to be.

  “Your sister understood the importance of an education,” Mom continues. “I wish …”

  Her voice trails off into the unspoken:

  She wishes I were better than not-great at school.

  She wishes I weren’t so silly and obsessed with the socials.

  She wishes I wanted to be more like Lauren and less like Morgan.

  “I’ve got homework to do.”

  It’s not much. As a way of getting to know us, Miss Lee asked us to write a paragraph describing our favorite book and why. I’m struggling to come up with a book that Morgan finds acceptable, which means nothing from the Dragonologist Chronicles. I’ll probably pick a pop star’s autobiography or a beauty vlogger’s how-to. Anyway, it’s not like I want to get to work right now, but it’s the most acceptable excuse for leaving Mom’s bedroom as quickly as possible. It would hurt too much to find out she’s too disappointed to kiss me goodbye.

  She wishes, says The Best Friend in My Head, you were still best friends with me.

  There’s no way this is going to happen.

  Even though the only girl I know in PE is Sophie.

  Yes, that Sophie.

  I think they threw together all the unsportiest girls from both Houses in last period. It’s like remedial gym. Sophie and I pretended not to see each other when I dashed into the gymnasium as the final bell rang. To Sophie, early equals punctual and on time is late, so she was already waiting in the stands for class to start. At least she had two other not-sporty girls from Shadybrook Elementary—Harumi and Sofie-with-an-f—to sit next to her.

  I was the one who walked all the way up to sit by myself in the back row, not her.

  I was the one who looked like a loser, not her.

  I was the one who looked like she belonged in the Uncool House, not her.

  I’m so glad Morgan wasn’t there to witness it.

  Then again, when I’m with Morgan it’s

  clickclickclickclickclick

  cliquecliquecliquecliqueclique

  and I’m never

  lost

  alone

  left out

  loserish

  or Uncool.

  It was the longest, loneliest forty minutes of my life.

  Morgan is shouting at me from across the bleachers.

  “Act natural!”

  I’m on my back, stretched across a narrow metal railing, modeling a crop turtleneck and flowy flowered skirt Morgan gave me. Nothing about this reverse plank is natural, but I’m trying to make it look superchill.

  “And cute!” Morgan yells at me. “Don’t forget to look cute!”

  I never forget to look cute—not with Morgan as my personal stylist and shopper. I don’t want to sound ungrateful for all the free fashion, but I wish I had a little more input on my looks. This top is a bit choky, and I keep getting all tangled up in this skirt.

  “Ella!” Morgan shouts. “We don’t have time for this!”

  We’ve only got about fifteen minutes before Morgan meets up with Brianna for soccer practice. Or is it Hailey? All the popular eighth graders look the same to me. We have to nail the shot so Morgan & Ella can post during the peak hours of three and five p.m. According to Maddy, that’s the sweet spot, when all local elementary schools have let out but parents aren’t making the littles do their homework yet. The OMGs seem to especially love any posts of us at Mercer Middle School, which is why we’re posing in the bleachers next to the athletic fields.

  Morgan stops posing long enough to thrust her chin at the group of girls kicking soccer balls across the grass.

 
“Losers.”

  Morgan won’t play for the Mercer Middle School team because it “isn’t competitive enough.” Our athletic department has a “no-cuts” policy. Any student who wants to participate can join the team, regardless of skill or experience.

  “Why bother playing for a terrible team?”

  On the other foot, the Mercer Travel League takes the very best. Morgan is the only seventh grader expected to play with the older girls this season, which is a huge honor, but she won’t know for sure until tryouts are over. Players have to earn a spot on the team every year. If she doesn’t maintain a certain level of excellence, she’s out. She says it’s ruthless—just like showbiz—and that’s why she likes it.

  Morgan redirects her attention my way.

  “Ella! You’re superawkward, but not in a cute way!”

  “Why can’t I just pose next to you?”

  Morgan is standing above me doing a classic hand-in-pocket/knee-pop combo. So easy.

  “Ummm.” Morgan ding-dongs her head. “You clearly don’t understand anything about achieving the perfect composition in plandids.”

  “Plandids?”

  “Planned candids!” Morgan and Maddy reply simultaneously.

  “Planned candids? Isn’t that a …”

  I try to remember the funny word Miss Lee talked about in language arts that means, like, a contradiction in terms.

  Jumbo shrimp, for example.

  Open secret.

  Only choice.

  Act natural.

  Sophie would know the word I’m searching for.

  “Look,” Morgan says seriously, “I understand that not having a phone has set you back, like, a zillion centuries.”

  “She’s almost as bad as Mr. Schlosser,” Maddy cracks.

  “It may not be possible for you to achieve his ultimate level of Digital Citizenship,” Morgan says sarcastically, “but can you at least try to keep up with the social media basics?”

  I am trying. All I do is try. And when I’m not trying, I’m trying to look like I’m not trying. But at least all my hard work in faking effortless cool is paying off. It’s only been two weeks, but Morgan says we are definitely the most popular girls in seventh grade, just as she predicted. Paisley was the first of my classmates to beg for a shout-out, but apparently the requests are nonstop on the socials.