‘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?

And the next thing I knew, I was being released.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised… that they were releasing me, I mean. They’d completed every test under the sun that they could conceivably do on me. The strangest part was that, well… I’d passed them all.

And these were mainly physical tests. Let’s just say that I’ve never performed well in tests of my physical endurance. I’ve never exactly aced PE. I’ve always been the last person chosen for teams in volleyball and basketball. I’ve always made a point to play outfield in softball, so that in the unlikely event a ball ever did come my way, I had plenty of room to get out of the way. I was crafty about coming up with excuses as to why I had to sit out from bowling or swimming or even Rollerblading. I’ve just never liked physical exertion. I prefer reading. Or playing video games.

So naturally some of the results from my tests astonished even me. I mean, I was required to run on a treadmill for ten minutes straight — and I could actually do it… even after having been in a coma for over a month! In my old body, I wouldn’t have lasted more than a minute, maybe two, at a slow jog. I’d have hyperventilated, or worse.

Nikki Howard, however, had kept her body in superb condition. It wasn’t actually hard to see why, since fattening foods upset her stomach, and anything processed seemed to taste like chalk on her tongue, forcing me to radically alter my former diet of chips and sweets in favour of healthy stuff I wouldn’t have touched before in a million years, like fish and vegetables. Which my new stomach found comforting and my new tongue found delicious.