We were at a club called Cave. It was called Cave because it was in the bowels of New York City, in a part of the subway system that the city had planned and then abandoned due to lack of funds nearly a century earlier. Someone had installed spotlights along the rock walls in strategic places, strung a sound system through it, put a couple of DJs in place, and now it was the hottest dance spot in Manhattan. There was a line out of the door that went halfway around the block, even on a Wednesday night. You couldn’t get in unless you were somebody.

 

Nikki Howard, it turned out, was somebody. Even though she was only seventeen and not legally allowed into bars.

 

But it was all right, because Nikki didn’t drink. I found this out from the bartender when I wearily approached the bar, parched from so much dancing, and he said, ‘Hey Nikki, long time no see. The usual?’

 

‘I have amnesia,’ I said. It seemed to me I’d been saying this to people all night long, as they approached me and cried, Nikki, it’s me! Don’t you remember me? It’s Joey/Jimmy/Johnny/Jan from Paris/Denmark/East Hampton/Los Angeles! ‘Didn’t you hear? I don’t know what the usual is.’

 

The bartender took a long-stemmed cocktail glass, filled it with water, added a curled piece of orange peel, then slid it towards me. If you didn’t know it was just water, it looked exactly like a Martini, only with orange peel instead of an olive.

 

‘We call it the Nikki,’ he said with a wink. ‘Only the bartenders in town know it’s just water. You can’t drink alcohol because of your stomach problems, remember? And because you’re not twenty-one of course,’ he added piously.

 

I grinned. I was kind of starting not to be so annoyed with Nikki Howard . . . something I wouldn’t have thought earlier in the day.

 

‘Thanks,’ I said gratefully, and sipped Nikki’s signature drink while I surveyed the dance floor. I couldn’t believe it was so late – nearly two in the morning – and the club was still so crowded (and only getting more and more crowded) on a week night. Of course, I had never been to a place like this before. Maybe they were always like this. Here at the bar, there was barely a seat available. I had only gotten mine because a gallant fan had surrendered his (in exchange for an autograph of course. The first time someone had asked, I had almost written Em Watts, but changed it to Nikki Howard at the last minute. I’d been so swamped by autograph seekers all night, I’d actually gotten almost used to it).

 

Out on the dance floor, bodies were gyrating to hypnotic techno, and different-coloured flashes of lights and thick clouds of dry ice made it impossible to tell who was who. I knew Lulu was out there somewhere, along with both Brandon and Justin and a ton more of Nikki Howard’s ‘best’ friends (she’d collected more and more as the evening wore on). We had begun the evening at the loft, then moved on to a boisterous dinner at one of Bobby Flay’s restaurants (and the Food Network chef had actually been there and come over to our table to wish me – I mean, Nikki – a speedy recovery from my amnesia), then ended up at Cave.

 

Lulu had been so excited about the surprise party she’d thrown together for me, I hadn’t had the heart to tell her I wasn’t exactly in the mood for a party. I’d tried to go along with the whole thing, even letting her drag me off into Nikki’s closet and choose an outfit for me to wear for the evening.

 

Which was why I was sitting at one of the many bars in Cave in black spiked ankle boots, a low-cut black top, and a gold lamé miniskirt. I looked just like a hooker I’d seen once down on the West Side Highway. Though I hadn’t wanted to hurt Lulu’s feelings by saying so. Especially since the hooker had been a man.

 

‘Aren’t you having fun?’ Lulu bounded up from out of the dry ice smoke to ask me suddenly. She was in a contrasting outfit of gold lamé ankle boots and top and black skirt. She’d teased both our hair out to stand about five inches from our heads. She was calling it Eighties Night.

 

The only problem was, we were the only two in the entire club in eighties attire.

 

‘I sure am,’ I told her. Then I added, ‘But, you know, I have to go home soon, Lulu, because I have school in the morning.’

 

Lulu’s tiny mouth popped open like a baby bird’s.

 

‘Oh my God,’ she cried. ‘I forgot! That’s right, you’re doing that school thing. You must, like, totally hate me.’

 

‘I don’t,’ I assured her. The truth was, out of all the people I’d met since waking up in Nikki Howard’s body, she was my favourite. Brandon was still acting angry with me over Gabriel, and Justin, of course, was giving me the cold shoulder because Lulu was around (for which I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk to him anyway). I didn’t know who the other people were – Lulu had introduced them, but their names and how Nikki was supposed to know them had gone right over my head. None of them had turned out to be having secret affairs with me (or rather, Nikki), much to my relief . . .

 

But while they all seemed pleasant enough, they just kept talking about people I didn’t know, and I mostly just felt left out and . . . well, pretty lonely, despite all the autograph seekers (and the fact that my mom kept calling, even though I was still sending her calls to voicemail. Why did she have to be so clingy? I was sixteen and a half, I could take care of myself) and people who evidently knew and adored Nikki Howard, who kept coming up and gushing over her.

 

Being adored was great. It really was.

 

But it had been a long day, and I just wanted to go back to the loft and get some sleep.

 

Was that so wrong?

 

‘What’s up with this school thing anyway?’ Lulu wanted to know, smiling flirtatiously at a guy who surrendered his barstool for her – seriously, it was amazing what guys would do for a pretty girl. It was a whole different world, being gorgeous; a world with which I was entirely unfamiliar – then hopping on to it and signalling the bartender for a drink. ‘I mean, why do you want to go to school so badly?’

 

‘Because,’ I said. No way was I telling her about Christopher, and I decided it would be wiser to keep my mouth shut about Frida too, ‘I want to go to college some day.’

 

‘College?’ Lulu made a face. ‘What for?’

 

‘So I can get a job,’ I said. ‘Teaching, probably. Both my parents are professors, and I’d like to be one too.’ Then, realizing what I’d said, I blanched. ‘I mean –’

 

But Lulu just waved my statement aside. She was still convinced her spirit-transfer explanation, not my amnesia story, was the correct one for Nikki Howard’s bizarre recent behaviour.

 

‘Teaching what?’ The bartender had brought her a drink without her even specifying what she wanted. Lulu’s signature drink was something yellowish that had green leaves floating in it and some crystals all along the rim. When I tasted one that had fallen on the bar, I found that it was sugar.

 

‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I like a lot of subjects. That’s another reason why I want to go back to school. To figure it out.’ Then I had an idea. ‘Hey, you should come with me!’

 

Lulu nearly choked on her drink. ‘Wh-what?’

 

‘You should,’ I said, getting excited by the idea. ‘I’m sure your dad could get you in. He’s super famous. TAHS would be so excited to have you. Come with me tomorrow!’

 

Lulu made another face. ‘Um . . . thanks, but no thanks.’

 

I shook my head. ‘Lulu,’ I said, ‘you’re only seventeen. You should be in school. You shouldn’t even be living by yourself. Why do you live alone anyway?’

 

She looked up at me, her elfin face twisted with confusion.

 

‘I don’t live alone,’ Lulu said. ‘I live with you.’

 

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But I mean why don’t you live with your parents?’

 

‘Because my mom took off with my snowboard instructor and wants nothing to do with me, silly,’ Lulu said cheerfully, ‘and my dad’s new wife is five years older than I am. How stoked would you be to live at home in that situation?’

 

And with that, she polished off her drink, jumped off the stool and jetted back off to the dance floor, leaving me alone at the bar.

 

Only not for long, because a second later, Justin Bay slithered on to the stool she’d vacated and went, ‘So you honestly expect me to believe you don’t remember anything – anything – about us . . . and Paris?’

 

I looked at the bartender and he slid another Nikki special towards me.

 

‘You shouldn’t be talking to me,’ I said to Justin. ‘You’re Lulu’s boyfriend. And no, I don’t remember anything. That’s what the word amnesia means. Memory loss. It’s Greek for forgetfulness.’

 

‘Oooh,’ Justin said, wrapping his arm around my waist and leaning his face down to nuzzle my neck. ‘One bang on the head and you’re Miss Smarty Pants, aren’t you? And you know good and well that I can trigger your memory, if anyone can . . . ’

 

It was amazing. My body’s reaction to his warm lips on my neck was instantaneous. I felt like an electric current went up and down my spine. Only it was not unpleasant.

 

The thing was, Lulu was dancing not twenty feet away.

 

What happened next was as instantaneous as the reaction of my skin to his lips.

 

And that was that I dumped the contents of the cocktail glass the bartender had just slid towards me on to Justin’s head.

 

All the people around us hooted with surprise as Justin sputtered and leaped off the bar stool. To say he seemed astonished would be an understatement. He looked completely horrified – the more so when he licked his dripping lips.

 

‘You’re drinking water?’ he cried.

 

‘It’s called a Nikki,’ I said grandly, slipping off my bar stool. ‘I don’t do alcohol. Or other people’s boyfriends. And don’t you forget it.’

 

I stalked away to the sound of applause.

 

I found Lulu dancing with three other girls, all of whom were dressed in the height of eighties chic as well. It was if she’d sent out some secret coded message before we’d even left the loft. Here I was, one of the world’s hottest supermodels, and I still didn’t get how girls did that. Figured out what to wear, I mean.

 

‘Lulu,’ I shouted at her, to be heard over the incredibly loud music, ‘I’m going home. You can stay if you want, but I just wanted you to know, I’m leaving.’

 

Lulu stopped dancing and stared at me.

 

‘No,’ she said, shaking her wild-looking hair. ‘We never leave without the other person. If you’re leaving I’m leaving too. Let me just go tell Justin.’

 

‘Uh,’ I yelled, ‘Justin’s kind of . . . mad right now.’

 

‘Oh,’ Lulu said, comprehension dawning instantly. ‘Has he been hitting on you?’

 

Now it was my turn to stare. ‘You knew?’

 

Lulu rolled her huge eyes. ‘Duh. I know Nikki has a problem saying no to boys when they start kissing her . . . and also that boys have a problem saying no to kissing Nikki. But I thought that first part might have been cleared up by the spirit transfer.’

 

‘Well, I said no,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘And now he’s mad.’

 

I felt absurd standing there on the dance floor, having this conversation . . . especially since some guy who was wearing a ton of gold chains and very big trousers that showed off a lot of his underwear danced up and started grinding on me.

 

‘Aren’t you Nikki Howard?’ he asked me.

 

‘No,’ I said to him. Then I turned back to Lulu. ‘You mean, you knew this whole time?’

 

‘I suspected,’ Lulu said with a shrug. ‘But look, it’s not like Justin and I ever had this big love connection. He just always gives me really nice presents whenever he hooks up with someone else. And ever since you got back from the shows in Paris, there’ve been a lot of really nice presents.’

 

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, meaning it. I felt terrible. Even though it wasn’t my fault. It was Nikki’s.

 

And I wasn’t Nikki. Or at least, I hadn’t been at the time she’d done the terrible things that had hurt Lulu.

 

‘You are too Nikki Howard,’ Big Pants insisted, dancing up on me again. ‘Damn, girl! You are one fine piece –’

 

I turned, placed my hand in the centre of his chest as he ground his pelvis against my leg, and pushed him down.

 

‘It’s all right,’ Lulu said, stepping neatly over Big Pants as he sprawled across the dance floor. ‘You really can’t help it. It’s like you’re powerless over kissing. Anyway, if we’re leaving, we should probably get Brandon. Last time I saw him he was – Oh, there he is. See, this isn’t good.’

 

Lulu pointed. Brandon was in the DJ’s booth, arguing with the DJ about something.

 

‘I’ll get him,’ I said, and hurried over just in time to hear Brandon saying, ‘You never want to play my songs, man. Why is that?’

 

The DJ’s reply was calm, but brutal. ‘Because your songs suck.’

 

Brandon pulled back his arm as if he was going to punch the DJ in the face. I flung myself forward and grabbed his arm, throwing all my body weight on to it so that he staggered backwards with me.

 

‘What’re you doing?’ he demanded, his words drunkenly slurred. ‘Did you hear what this guy just said? I’m gonna take him out.’

 

‘No, you’re not,’ I assured him. ‘We have to go now.’

 

‘I can’t go now,’ Brandon said, trying to shake me off. ‘I gotta kill this guy first.’

 

‘No,’ I said, digging my stiletto heels into the grout of the tiled floor to keep him from moving forward. ‘Brandon, you can’t. We gotta go. The limo’s waiting for us—’

 

‘Good,’ Brandon said, dragging me inexorably forward. ‘I’ll be there in a minute. Soon as I’ve killed this guy.’

 

Not knowing what else to do – but knowing I had to distract him somehow – I gave a sort of leap, keeping one arm wrapped around Brandon’s arm and throwing the other around his neck, and clamped my mouth over his.

 

As I’d hoped, Brandon’s reflexes weren’t too badly affected by alcohol for him not to catch me the moment I leaped into his arms. And he became too preoccupied with kissing me to remember his animosity towards the DJ. Kissing really is wonderful that way. I almost forgot myself that I was doing it just to get Brandon to quit wanting to fight . . .

 

. . . until, that is, someone standing close by cleared his throat, and I dragged my lips away from Brandon’s and saw Gabriel Luna standing there staring at us, holding a CD in his hand and looking vaguely bemused.

 

‘Oh,’ I said, colour rushing into my face. I was, after all, being held in the air by Brandon Stark. Although at least this time he hadn’t slung me over his shoulder, fireman style, like when he’d stuffed me into the limo the night he and Lulu kidnapped me. ‘Hi.’

 

‘Uh,’ Gabriel said. ‘Hello. Everything all right?’

 

‘Oh,’ I said, trying to sound breezy. ‘Yes. We were just leaving. Brandon, you can put me down now.’

 

‘No,’ Brandon said sullenly as he stared at Gabriel, apparently recognizing him from the grainy photo of the two of us on Gabriel’s Vespa that had been all over the place the day before.

 

‘Ha.’ I gave a nervous laugh, and tried to smile my dewiest at Gabriel. ‘He’s kidding. Put me down now, Brandon.’

 

‘No,’ Brandon said again.

 

I closed my eyes briefly, praying there wouldn’t now be a fight between Gabriel and Brandon.

 

But I needn’t have worried. Because of course Gabriel doesn’t like me that way, considering the fact that he thinks Nikki Howard is a recovering addict and all. When I opened my eyes again, he was still gazing at me with that same bemused expression.

 

And Lulu had come up behind him and was scowling.

 

‘God, what is taking so long?’ she demanded, in a surprisingly loud voice. She looked like a five-foot-tall angry general. ‘The car’s waiting, you guys. Move it, or lose it!’

 

Obediently Brandon followed her, not seeming to notice that he was still carrying me. Not knowing what else to do, I waved goodbye to Gabriel from over Brandon’s broad shoulder. Gabriel waved back – then seemed to catch himself and lowered his hand, looking around as several people standing nearby cried, ‘Oh my God – that’s Nikki Howard!’ One or two rushed up to ask for my autograph, but Brandon just grunted and kept walking, not pausing even for a moment.

 

Being carried out of the hottest dance club in Manhattan at two in the morning by Nikki Howard’s on-again, off-again boyfriend wasn’t too embarrassing. Especially when we encountered about nine thousand paparazzi on the sidewalk between the front of the club and the waiting doors of our limo. That was especially nice. I mean, not.

 

‘Great,’ I said, after Brandon had dumped me inside the car and I’d straightened out my skirt, which had hiked up past my hips. ‘You know what that looked like, right?’

 

‘What?’ Lulu asked blearily as she reapplied her lip-gloss.

 

‘Like I was too drunk to walk and Brandon was carrying me out of there.’

 

‘So?’ Lulu admired her own reflection in the Swarovski crystal-encrusted compact she was holding. ‘You didn’t know any better than to drink too much. You forgot. You have amnesia. Remember? God, that’s the perfect excuse for everything.’ She looked up from the compact. ‘Oh, no, wait . . . how could you remember that? You have amnesia.’

 

Brandon, who’d piled into the limo after us, chose that moment to collapse on top of me.

 

‘Your place or mine?’ he asked my stomach.

 

‘Oh my God, get off,’ I said, giving him a shove. ‘I’m not going to your place and you’re not staying at mine. I don’t even like you that way I only kissed you to keep you from getting your face smashed in by that DJ. You’re in no condition to be fighting anyone.’

 

‘You’re nice,’ he said, not moving an inch and, in fact, snuggling more deeply into my lap. ‘You’re much nicer than you used to be, before you hit your head and scrambled your brains. You were so mean before. Remember, Lulu? When Nikki was so mean all the time?’

 

Lulu snapped open her bag and put her lipgloss away, cocking her head to study me thoughtfully. ‘She is a lot less bitchy,’ she said. ‘It must be because of the spirit transfer.’

 

‘I don’t care why it is,’ Brandon said, sighing happily as he hugged my belly. ‘I’m just glad she’s back. And so much nicer.’ A few seconds later, he let out a gentle snore.

 

I threw Lulu a helpless look, like, What am I supposed to do now?

 

‘Just push him off when we get home,’ she said with a shrug of her razor-sharp shoulder blades. ‘He won’t wake up. Tom’ll take him back to his place on Charles Street. It’s not like he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. He never does.’

 

‘He does this a lot?’ I asked, glancing down at Brandon’s handsome, peacefully dozing face.

 

Lulu looked at me blankly. ‘He likes to party,’ she said.

 

I could see that she had no idea what I was talking about – also that she was beginning to nod off herself, every bit as tired as I was. I was going to have to get to the bottom of the Brandon problem some day soon, I knew.

 

But not tonight. Tonight, I just wanted to go to bed.

 

Which I did, the minute we got home, carefully setting Nikki’s alarm for seven o’clock – giving me a grand total of four-hours’ sleep – so I could get to school on time.

 

Well, I guess no one had said it was going to be easy, this balancing high school with a full-time modelling career. I had no idea how I was going to pull it off.

 

All I knew was that I had to, if I was going to establish any kind of normality to my new life.

 

Normality. When I had Nikki Howard’s face and Emerson Watts’s brain. Right. Because that had been working out just great so far.