‘Viable whole-body donor?’ I echoed. I was shocked. ‘You mean… Nikki Howard? I can’t believe you just called her that. I mean, Nikki… she was a person.’

‘Doctor Holcombe is aware of that, Em,’ my mom said quickly. She and Dad were sitting in a pair of leather chairs in front of Dr Holcombe’s desk, while I sat between them, with Dr Higgins and Mr Phillips, a ‘legal representative’ of Stark Enterprises, sitting on a couch a few feet away. When I’d asked, ‘What does Stark Enterprises have to do with all this?’ Mr Phillips had said, ‘You’re actually under the care of the Stark Institute for Neurology and Neurosurgery, a division of Manhattan General Hospital, of which Stark Enterprises is a primary donor. It’s the one and only medical centre in the world that performs whole-body transplants. Stark Enterprises doesn’t publicize the institute’s existence — or its connection with it, of course — because there are still some, er, bioethical concerns involved in the procedure.’

‘You mean because in order for someone to get a whole-body transplant,’ I’d said, ‘somebody else has to be declared brain-dead so they can snatch their body for the recipient’s use?’

‘Er,’ Mr Phillips had said, ‘that’s simplifying the matter a bit, but… yes, more or less.’

‘Emerson,’ Dr Higgins explained gently now, ‘Nikki Howard suffered from a rare congenital brain defect that no one — not even Nikki herself — was aware of. It was an aneurysm — basically a ticking time bomb in her head, that could have gone off at any time… but happened to go off at almost the same moment you were so gravely injured. Because there were so many medical personnel on hand at the time — the Stark Megastore staff had requested that an ambulance, in addition to a team of paramedics, be on site throughout the day in the event that the protests during the grand opening grew violent — they were able to act quickly enough to keep her — and you — alive for transport to this hospital. But once you both arrived here, it was quickly determined that neither of you had a chance to survive… at least, not on your own.’

‘Right,’ Dad said, his eyes looking very bright for some reason. I was shocked to see that the brightness in his eyes was due to tears. I had never seen my dad cry before. Except during Extreme Home Makeover, of course. ‘By the time your mother and I arrived, you were on a life support machine. They basically told us to say goodbye to you.’

‘Until,’ Mom added, her eyes equally shiny, ‘Doctor Holcombe showed up and examined you. Then he told us there might be one way to keep you alive… but that it was extremely risky. And that there’d likely be… complications.’

‘You mean like I’d wake up in someone else’s body?’ I asked. ‘That kind of complication?’

‘It’s true you’re not… well, you any more, Em,’ Mom said. ‘On the outside, anyway. But you’re still you on the inside. That’s why Doctor Holcombe and his team felt it was better not to tell you right away what had happened. You had already been through so much. You just needed time… time to adjust—’

‘Oh God.’ I dropped my head into my hands. I couldn’t believe this. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening to me.

And that Stark Enterprises was apparently behind it.

‘Look,’ I said, fighting back tears. How could my parents have gone along with any of this? How could they have allowed this to happen? ‘This isn’t right. You can’t do this. It’s… it’s sick.’

‘Now see here, young lady,’ Dr Holcombe said, looking annoyed.

‘What’s sick about it? Thousands of people are declared legally brain dead every year, and thousands more find themselves in bodies too infirm to continue living in. What is so wrong with providing those patients with a second chance at life? Besides which,’ he added, a little less irritably, ‘I honestly don’t think you have any right to complain. You went into my surgery a grievously injured girl, and came out a supermodel! Millions of girls would die — literally — to be in your shoes right now!’

That’s when I realized that even though this man had saved my life — even though at one time, he’d wrapped his hands around my brain, gently lifted it, and then spent hours carefully stitching it into place inside someone else’s head — he didn’t know me.

He didn’t know me at all.

‘But you didn’t have my permission,’ I accused him.

‘Ah,’ Mr Phillips said, ‘but we had your parents’ permission.’

I swung an accusing look at Mom and Dad. Mom’s eyes, I saw, were as bright with tears as my own.

‘You were going to die otherwise, honey,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t for what Doctor Holcombe and his team did.’

I just looked at her. I may have had Nikki Howard’s heart now, but it felt every bit as heavy as mine ever had when I was upset about something.

‘Fine,’ I said, trying to sound reasonably adult — which wasn’t easy to do, considering how high-pitched and childish Nikki Howard’s voice was. ‘But if Stark Enterprises really wants to keep this whole whole-body transplant thing a secret… well, it’s not going to stay a secret for long. Because people are going to notice something is up when I walk into school on Monday and I look just like Nikki Howard, but I’m going around calling myself Emerson Watts.’

Mr Phillips cleared his throat.

‘That isn’t going to happen,’ he said calmly.

‘But —’ I looked from him to my parents and back again. Why did my parents look so… so guilt-stricken? What was going on? ‘Yeah, it is. I mean, I can’t not go back to school.’

‘Emerson Watts won’t be going back to school,’ Mr Phillips said.

‘Because Emerson Watts no longer exists.’

‘What do you mean, I no longer exist?’ I asked. ‘I’m sitting right here.’

‘Em —’ my dad’s voice was gentle — ‘look… ’

I glanced at him. There was something about his expression — something I couldn’t put my finger on.

But I knew I didn’t like it. I saw that Mom, sitting next to him, wore much the same look on her face… sort of panicky, but sort of pleading at the same time. They both looked over at Mr Phillips, then back at me.

Wait. Why were they looking at him?

‘When we first got to the hospital,’ Dad went on, ‘and Doctor Holcombe here told us about the transplant, there were… well, there were certain conditions. Things we, as your parents, had to agree to before they would consider doing the surgery.’

I looked from Dad to Mom and then back again.

‘What kind of things?’ I asked, wondering what on earth they could be talking about.

Mr Phillips pulled a thick pile of papers from a briefcase beside his chair and handed me a heavy stack from the top. I looked down and saw forty or fifty pages of fine print, neatly stapled, and notarized. At the bottom of each page were my parents’ signatures.

‘Well,’ Mr Phillips said, flipping through the copy of the contract he had in front of him, ‘for one thing, they agreed that, in the event that your surgery was a success, you would honour all Nikki Howard’s contracts, endorsements and licensing agreements.’

My eyes bulged.

‘What?’ I looked frantically towards my parents. But both of them had their gazes glued to the floor.

‘In other words,’ Mr Phillips continued, apparently thinking I didn’t understand what he’d just said. Except that I had understood. I was just hoping against hope that he was wrong, ‘you will continue fulfilling Nikki Howard’s duties as spokeswoman for Stark Enterprises. Failure to do so will result in a full and immediate reimbursement to Stark Enterprises of the cost of the surgery, and possible legal ramifications.’

Now I wasn’t just staring. I was gaping.

‘Wait,’ I said. My heart was starting to hammer, hard, inside my chest. Or rather, Nikki Howard’s chest. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

‘I’m not certain what you think I’m saying, Miss Watts,’ Mr Phillips said. ‘But if you mean, am I saying that if you do not honour all Nikki Howard’s Stark-related professional commitments, your parents will owe this hospital two million dollars, in addition to legal fees — and fines, including possible jail time, if confidentiality is also breeched — then yes, that is what I am saying.’