Maybe I was just being paranoid. But waking up in someone else’s body can do that to a girl.

The rest of Nikki’s bag seemed to contain only makeup and half empty containers of acid-reflux medication. But it was comforting to know I had some money at least. All I wanted to do when I got to the loft was order some takeout for dinner (which I could now pay for — and I didn’t feel guilty about using Nikki’s money, because after that photo shoot, I felt like I’d earned it), strip off my clothes, take a long, hot bath, maybe watch some TV and go to bed.

And now I could pay the delivery guy. And pick up a bagel or whatever for breakfast on my way to school in the morning.

But when I arrived at the loft five minutes later, I saw my plan for a quiet dinner and a nice bubble bath in Nikki’s jacuzzi go down the drain… pretty much literally. Because when the elevator doors opened to let me and Cosabella out into Nikki’s place, a dozen people — including Lulu and Brandon — yelled, ‘Welcome home, Nikki!’ threw streamers, popped champagne corks and rushed to hug me.

Yeah. I was surprised, all right. Especially since the person hugging me the hardest turned out to be Justin Bay.

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 lame 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 lame 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.