The press release went out the next afternoon.

 

I couldn’t go online to Google News it of course, since I was still lacking a computer (although, given the state of Nikki’s computer, this was probably just as well). But I saw it on the running scroll at the bottom of CNN, and then again later, on the evening news.

 

Then, next thing I knew, it was the lead story on all the entertainment news shows.

 

It turns out Kelly, Nikki’s publicist, didn’t mess around when it came to her most popular client.

 

‘The fashion and beauty industry breathed a collective sigh of relief this evening when a statement was issued from representatives of Nikki Howard,’ chimed Entertainment Tonight, as photos of Nikki Howard flashed up on the screen, ‘assuring her fans that the teen supermodel would be back at work this week after a month-long absence from the catwalk and the New York City club scene. Fashionistas worldwide have been alarmed by reports that Nikki was suffering from exhaustion and hypoglycaemia, which are said to have been responsible for that now famous fall she took at a Stark Megastore grand opening last month, giving her concussion and a bona fide case of amnesia . . . ’

 

The next photo to flash across the screen was one that caused me almost to choke on the bag of Wasabi Peas Frida had smuggled in for me at my request, and which I’d been inhaling (yes, I know. I used to hate them. Now I love them. Dr Holcombe says it’s normal for patients to find themselves with tastes quite unlike the ones they used to have in their previous bodies).

 

It was a grainy cellphone photo of me (well, of Nikki Howard) on the back of Gabriel Luna’s green Vespa. Both of us were looking back at the photographer with slightly alarmed expressions on our faces – though I don’t remember anyone taking my picture that day.

 

The alarmed expressions were due to the fact that we were being pursued by a herd of stampeding fourth-graders.

 

But of course it looked as if we were upset over the fact that we were being photographed together. A fact the television news ‘journalists’ were only too quick to point out.

 

‘Perhaps amnesia is the excuse Nikki will give on-again, off-again boyfriend Brandon Stark for this photo snapped yesterday of the model taking a joyride on a motorbike belonging to hot new British singing sensation Gabriel Luna. The pair met at the same SoHo Stark Megastore opening at which Nikki suffered the fainting spell responsible for her head injury, and at which a young fan was killed during a melee caused by ELF protesters.’

 

I waited in horror for the reporter to show a picture of me – the old me.

 

But I should have known they wouldn’t. I was yesterday’s news . . . if I’d ever even been news at all. Why report about a girl being killed by a falling TV when you could show pictures of Nikki Howard on red carpets with her dress slit up to her belly button?

 

‘Representatives for both Howard and Luna had no comments on the photo. But perhaps Nikki can tell Brandon she just “forgot” that she already had a boyfriend . . . ’

 

Oh my God. I couldn’t believe it. I could barely breathe, I was so upset.

 

But the story didn’t even end there.

 

‘Stark Enterprises founder and CEO Robert Stark has issued a statement,’ the reporter went on, ‘expressing get well wishes for Howard – whom many refer to as the Face of Stark –’

 

The camera panned towards an older, craggy-faced version of Brandon Stark – his father, dressed casually in an open-collared shirt, who said, ‘We here at Stark Enterprises respectfully request that the press, during this period of recovery for Nikki, afford her the privacy she needs. For the next few weeks at least, Nikki will be spending slightly less time in the limelight. She even told me she’s considering going back to school –’ he grinned as this statement provoked chuckles from the press corps, as if the idea of Nikki Howard attempting to get her high-school degree was the funniest thing in the world – ‘a decision we here at Stark Enterprises are behind one hundred per cent.’

 

What? I’d never told Robert Stark any such thing. I’d never even met the guy. And great. My own boss – well, Nikki’s boss anyway – thinks she’s too stupid to make it through high school. Nice. Thanks for the support. He probably thinks that because he’s been reading her emails.

 

‘But highjinks like this,’ the reporter went on to say, flashing the photo of me on the back of Gabriel’s motor scooter on to the screen again, ‘may just get this model student detention!’

 

Then a new reporter came on to talk about the current celebrity-divorce scandal.

 

I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe one of those schoolgirls had snapped a photo of me and Gabriel . . . and sold it! Was this what my life was going to be like from now on? Being stalked by paparazzi, my most innocent activities being spread all over the tabloids?

 

I was so busy staring at the television screen above my bed in horror, I didn’t even see the person who came into my room a minute later.

 

‘Nikki?’ The eyes looking out at me over the top of the surgeon’s mask were huge . . . and not just because they were rimmed in black kohl.

 

Lulu Collins had snuck on to my floor again. This time she’d added to her ingenious disguise by carrying around a medical clipboard.

 

I know. The mind boggles.

 

Well, it was late, and most of the staff – including my father, whose turn it was to spend the night at my bedside – were gathered in the lounge, watching some kind of sporting event. I didn’t know which one, because I couldn’t have cared less.

 

So it hadn’t been hard for Lulu to slip past the security guards posted at the doors. Especially in her current ensemble.

 

‘Hi, Lulu,’ I said a little glumly.

 

‘You remember me?’ Lulu lowered the mask, her face breaking out into an enormous smile. ‘Oh, Nikki . . . when they said you had amnesia, I knew they were making it up.’

 

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘Sorry, Lulu. I really . . . I mean, I just know you from before. Remember? When you kidnapped me?’

 

‘Are you sure?’ Lulu asked, her tiny shoulders sagging. ‘It’s just . . . well, I saw the thing on TV and I started thinking, you know, maybe you guys had swapped back. You and that Em girl. Because hopping on to the back of that guy’s scooter? That was such a totally Nikki thing to do. Brandon is soooo mad!’

 

I paused. ‘Brandon? Angry? At me?’

 

‘Well, sure,’ Lulu said, coming over to plop herself down at the side of my bed. ‘I mean, I don’t know where Brandon gets off thinking it’s OK for him to dance with whoever he wants all night long, but not OK for you to get a ride on some other guy’s Vespa. That’s a total, like, whadduyacallit.’

 

‘Double standard?’ I offered.

 

‘Yeah, I guess. But anyway. When I saw the picture, I got totally excited. I thought maybe you were back. I mean, that Nikki was back. The real Nikki. Cosabella is missing too, so I thought maybe you’d come home and taken her—’

 

‘Lulu,’ I said, ‘Cosabella’s here.’ I pushed back my sheets to reveal the ball of fluff sleeping at my side. ‘I’m sorry. Back at your place yesterday morning, she was crying, and . . . well, I just didn’t have the heart to leave her behind.’

 

‘Oh.’ Lulu’s voice sounded small. ‘OK. No, that’s good. Cosy did miss you. I mean, Nikki. I mean . . . Oh, I don’t know what I mean. So I guess that was you on the back of that guy’s bike? Not . . . the real Nikki?’

 

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That was me. Listen, Lulu. About the whole spirit-transfer thing . . . ’

 

‘Yeah?’ Lulu sounded congested. Had she been crying?

 

I had no time to worry about her tears now. Any minute, my dad or one of the nurses – or worse, Dr Holcombe himself – might come into my room and figure out who I was talking to.

 

And somehow I didn’t suspect any of them would be very thrilled. All their talk of fines and jail time – well, Stark Enterprises seemed dead serious about keeping this thing a secret. And I didn’t want Lulu to get into trouble. In spite of what a space case she was, she still seemed really sweet.

 

‘Lulu,’ I said, ‘there was no spirit transfer. It turns out I, um, hit my head. And now I have amnesia. So that’s why I didn’t remember you. Or Brandon.’

 

Silence. Lulu stared at me with eyes as wide as a Precious Moment figurine’s. Then she let out a slurpy, ‘No way.’

 

‘Um,’ I said. ‘Yeah. That’s what happened. Everything they’ve been saying on the news. It’s true.’

 

‘I don’t believe you,’ Lulu said. ‘Or the news. I know that’s what Kelly is going around saying now. But it’s not true.’

 

‘Lulu,’ I said, feeling desperate. I had to make her believe me. I couldn’t risk having my parents pay two million dollars. Or, rather, file for bankruptcy, since they didn’t have two million dollars, ‘it is true. Why don’t you believe me?’

 

‘Because even if she had amnesia,’ Lulu said, ‘Nikki would never do that to her nails.’

 

And she reached out and grabbed my hand.

 

I looked down, following the direction of her gaze, and saw what she meant. During that meeting with Dr Holcombe and Mr Phillips, I’d bitten off all the carefully manicured tips until they were ragged . . . just like my old nails had been.

 

‘Nikki would never, ever do something to hurt her body or make herself ugly,’ Lulu went on, sounding almost savage in her conviction that what she was saying was true. ‘So I don’t know who you really are . . . but you aren’t Nikki. So don’t even try with the amnesia thing. It might work with everyone else. But I was Nikki’s best friend. I know everything about her. And I know she would never, ever do that.’

 

I stared at her and the grim set of her tiny little mouth. Lulu didn’t know everything about her alleged ‘best’ friend Nikki. She didn’t, for instance, know that her best friend Nikki had been fooling around behind her back with Lulu’s boyfriend, Justin.

 

But over my dead body – literally – was I ever going to let Lulu know about that.

 

Still, Lulu deserved the truth – what truth I could tell her without hurting her – if anyone did.

 

And so I said, ‘OK, Lulu. You’re right. I’m not really Nikki Howard. The truth is, the doctors here stuck Emerson Watts’s brain into Nikki Howard’s body. And I’m not supposed to tell anyone, or my parents will owe two million dollars – which they don’t have – to Stark Enterprises, who paid for the whole thing, I guess to keep their spokesmodel alive after Nikki suffered a fatal aneurysm that day at the Megastore opening.’

 

Lulu blinked back at me. Once. Twice.

 

Then she burst out laughing.

 

‘Yeah, right,’ she said. ‘Good one!’

 

I blinked back at her.

 

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It sounds like a made-for-TV movie or something. But you know, they have this new Nikki Howard beauty and clothing line coming out, and I guess they spent a lot of money on it or something, and they want me to pretend to be her so they can keep on—’

 

‘Right!’ Lulu interrupted. She was practically rolling off the bed, she was laughing so hard. ‘Like if they were really going to do something like that, they’d pick someone as clueless as you are to take her place!’ She reached up to wipe away tears of laughter. ‘Um, no offence or anything. I’m sure you’re nice. But Nikki’s job is really hard. I mean, do you even have any modelling experience?’

 

I tried not to laugh. I mean, at the Nikki’s job is really hard part.

 

‘No,’ I said drily. ‘But I think I’m going to be able to handle it.’

 

‘Oh, right,’ Lulu said again, laughing even harder. ‘Do you even know what a Manolo tip is?’

 

‘Well,’ I said, thinking back to all those copies of COSMOgirl! Frida left lying around, ‘a Manolo is a type of shoe, right?’

 

Lulu made a delighted noise. ‘Oh God,’ she cried. ‘I can’t believe this. This is going to be great! Nikki’s going to laugh her ass off when she hears about this. You know you’re not going to last a minute out there, don’t you?’

 

‘Well,’ I said, slightly stung, ‘that’s why they made up the amnesia story. So if I screw up, we can blame it on that. Why? What is a Manolo tip?’

 

But Lulu ignored the question.

 

‘God,’ she said, ‘this is hilarious. I can’t wait to tell Brandon—’

 

‘No,’ I cried, reaching out to grasp her spool-thin wrist. ‘Lulu. You can’t. I told you. It’s a secret. I mean, I’m going to be coming to live with you – in Nikki’s place – and everything. We’re going to be room-mates – or loft-mates or whatever. But seriously. You can’t tell anyone. Or my parents will get into big trouble.’

 

She stared at me, suddenly serious.

 

‘OK,’ she said gently. ‘OK, Nik – or whatever your name is. Listen –’ she swung her tiny feet, in four-inch stilettos, above the floor – ‘Do you want me to call Bliss? Because I could totally set up an appointment for you with an emergency-nail-repair technician.’

 

‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s OK. Listen, Lulu. When I was at your place – our place – I noticed something about Nikki’s computer.’

 

Lulu looked instantly bored. She studied her cuticles. ‘Yeah? What?’

 

‘Someone’s spying on Nikki’s emails,’ I said. ‘Basically anything she types or looks up on it. In real time, from a remote location. Do you have any idea who’d do that?’

 

‘No,’ Lulu said. ‘That’s a brand-new computer. Mr Stark gave it to her. He gave me one too. They’re pink.’

 

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know it’s pink. Mr Stark gave you one too?’

 

‘Uh-huh. They’re the newest models from Stark Enterprises. Or something.’ Lulu blew a bubble, then skilfully popped it. ‘What do you mean, spying on Nikki’s emails?’

 

It was at that moment that one of the nurses came in, holding my patient chart.

 

‘Er, hello,’ she said when she saw Lulu perched on the end of my bed. ‘Do I know you?’

 

‘Oh, no,’ came Lulu’s airy reply as she hopped off my bed and glanced busily down at her own (stolen) chart. ‘Just making rounds. You know.’

 

The nurse, who was clearly no one’s fool – perhaps recognizing that most nurses wore Crocs, not stilettos – narrowed her eyes. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but where’s your pass for this floor?’

 

‘Oops, there’s my beeper,’ Lulu said. ‘Gotta go, bye!’ She scooted out of the room while the nurse rushed after her, crying, ‘Wait! You, there!’

 

I totally hoped she escaped.

 

It was weird. If someone had asked me just a month ago what I thought about Lulu Collins, I’d have replied that I thought she was another shallow celebrity, obsessed with clothes and partying.

 

And I still think that about her.

 

Except . . . I think I’m starting to like her.

 

So what does that say about me?