I found Frida where she always was just before lunch: the ground floor ladies’ room the freshmen girls tended to haunt, carefully applying her lipgloss.

 

There were any number of other freshmen girls in there with her, but one look at me and they fled as if someone had pulled a fire alarm. I’m sure, given Nikki Howard’s reputation, they thought I’d gone in there to do drugs. You’d have thought they’d have stuck around to watch, maybe snap a camera pic of me wiping my nose to sell to the Enquirer for some extra cash.

 

But TAHS’s freshmen class had never had a reputation for being that enterprising. Besides, the truth was much tamer: I was in there to pump Frida for information.

 

‘Why didn’t you tell me Christopher cut his hair?’ I demanded, lowering myself on to the sink beside the one she was leaning against.

 

‘What?’ She puckered at her reflection as she reapplied. ‘Oh, yeah. Christopher cut his hair. News at eleven. Whatever. He did it for your memorial service. His dad made him.’

 

I stared at her reflection in shock. ‘That’s terrible!’

 

Frida simpered in the mirror. ‘You think so? I thought it was sort of respectful. You know, of your memory. His long hair was gross. And besides, Christopher didn’t put up much of a fight, from what I heard. He’s been like a zombie since you croaked. He doesn’t seem to care about anything.’

 

I perked up at hearing this. ‘Really? Did he cry? At my funeral, I mean?’

 

Frida shot me an annoyed look. ‘God, you are so vain now.’

 

‘I am not!’ I hopped off the sink and glared at her. ‘I am totally the least vain person you know. How can you even say that? All I want to know is if Christopher seemed sad after I died. That’s not vanity. That’s just curiosity. If you had died, you’d probably expect the city to shut down and name a day after you—’

 

‘I would not,’ Frida said with a sniff. And I suppose Christopher might have seemed sad. But I don’t even know why you care. I thought you two were just friends. And you can do way better than Christopher now. And besides, you already have Brandon Stark – and Gabriel Luna, probably, unless that Vespa ride was a fluke. How many boyfriends do you need, anyway?’

 

I ignored her. ‘Who does Christopher eat lunch with now?’ I asked her. ‘I mean, now that I’m dead?’ Not McKayla Donofrio. Please don’t say McKayla Donofrio . . .

 

‘I don’t know,’ Frida said grumpily. ‘I never see him in the caff any more. Someone said he’s been eating in the computer lab. You know he works there as a Teaching Assistant—’

 

‘Thanks,’ I said, and started to hurry off to find Christopher – but not before I heard Frida shout after me, ‘You better come eat with me, Em – I mean, Nikki! I already told everybody you were going to! Don’t you dare stand me up!’

 

But I didn’t have time to worry about my sister’s reputation amongst the junior-varsity cheerleading crowd. I only had forty minutes before lunch was over and I had to get to my next class. I raced down the hall towards the computer lab (fortunately not running into Molly Hung, who might have wondered how I knew my way around TAHS so deftly after her extremely short tour) . . .

 

And there he was, exactly where Frida had said he might be, in the empty computer lab, eating a sandwich in the glow of a solitary game of . . . Madden NFL?

 

But Christopher never played sports-related video games. Christopher hated sports. What was going on here?

 

Still, I really don’t think I’d be exaggerating if I said that, though he was doing something extremely bizarre (based on his old patterns of behaviour anyway), Christopher looked adorable with his short blond hair totally rumpled. He clearly hadn’t bothered combing it, instead having let it air-dry after his shower on his way to school. The collar of his green polo shirt was slightly askew in the back, and bits of sandwich crumb had spilt down the front. He’d never been one for working out, so his biceps, disappearing into his short sleeves, weren’t ridiculously huge-looking, like Jason Klein’s. But they weren’t nonexistent either.

 

‘Um,’ I said, since he was so involved in the game he didn’t notice me standing in the doorway. ‘Excuse me?’

 

He glanced over and nearly choked on the mouthful of soda he’d swigged. Then he couldn’t say anything at all, because he was too busy coughing.

 

‘Sorry,’ I said. Whoa. I probably should have rehearsed this a little better. What was Nikki doing in a computer lab anyway? What was my excuse for seeking Christopher out going to be? ‘I just . . . I was wondering –’

 

‘The Administration Office is down the hall,’ Christopher said, having recovered himself.

 

Then, to my utter astonishment, he turned around in his chair and returned to his game. Of Madden NFL.

 

Oh yes. Christopher Maloney had just blown me off. For a video game.

 

And not even a good video game. And he hadn’t even blown off me either, but Nikki Howard. He’d just blown off the hottest teen supermodel on the planet.

 

What was wrong with him? I know he liked Nikki Howard. I’d seen for myself how he’d stared at her that day at the grand opening at Stark’s. What was going on here?

 

And why hadn’t I figured out before what I was going to say to him? Why did talking to people have to be so hard? This would have so much easier if I could have just IMed him.

 

Wait . . . email . . .

 

‘I know this isn’t the Administration Office,’ I said quickly. ‘They said in the Administration Office that I could sign up for a student email account here.’

 

This wasn’t even a lie. That was the most glorious part of all.

 

‘Oh,’ Christopher said. He looked away from his computer screen reluctantly. ‘Sure. Yeah. I can set you up with one, if you want.’

 

‘You can?’ I rushed over and sank down into the computer chair beside his. ‘Wow, that would be so great. Thanks.’

 

I smiled at him.

 

And he completely ignored me.

 

It’s true I’d only been Nikki Howard for a couple of days in the outside world. But I had already learned in that short time what Nikki’s smile did to people. Especially guys. It rendered them completely helpless. Guys turned to total Jell-O when Nikki smiled. They would do anything – anything – Nikki wanted when she smiled. There was only one guy who had seemed immune to Nikki’s smile, and that had been Brandon Stark’s father.

 

And now the only guy in the world who I actually cared about impressing – Christopher Maloney – was immune too. He wouldn’t even look me in the face. He kept his gaze firmly on the computer screen in front of me as he drew up the school’s email database.

 

How was I going to get through to Christopher – as a person, not as Nikki Howard – if I couldn’t even get him to look me in the eye and see that there was someone in here, behind the mascara?

 

‘So,’ I began, feeling desperate. ‘You like . . . computer games?’

 

Oh my God, could I sound more lame? If I’d been in the computer lab (I mean, as Em Watts) listening to this conversation between Nikki Howard and Christopher, I’d be laughing my butt off round about now.

 

‘Some of them,’ Christopher said, tapping away at his keyboard.

 

‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Have you ever played Journeyquest?’

 

That got his attention. Finally. He turned his stunned gaze towards me. ‘You play Journeyquest?’ he asked incredulously.

 

‘Sure,’ I said, my heart giving a happy double thump, despite the fact that I probably should have been insulted. I mean, what was so weird about Nikki Howard liking Journeyquest? What, she was too stupid to play a tactic-based RPG?

 

Oh, who even cared? He’d looked at me! He’d looked me in the eye! It wouldn’t be long now until we were friends again! He’d ask me over and soon we’d be eating Doritos and watching surgery shows and getting yelled at by the Commander, just like old times. Everything would be normal again. Everything would be just like it used to be. I was so happy! Happier than I could remember being since I’d looked into that rear-view mirror and seen Nikki Howard’s face looking back at me.

 

‘Level forty-five is only as high as I’ve gotten though,’ I said.

 

Level forty-five, Christopher! It’s me, Christopher! Em! Look at me, Christopher! Look into my eyes! Do you see me? Hi, it’s me, Em! I’m looking right at you!

 

Christopher studied me a moment longer, and I could have sworn he saw me. I really thought he had.

 

But then he completely crushed me by looking away.

 

‘I don’t play that game any more,’ was all he said, and he went back to typing.

 

Wait. What? What just happened? What did he mean, he didn’t play Journeyquest any more? No one just stops playing Journeyquest. It’s not just a game. It’s a lifestyle.

 

And what about me? Me, Em? Had he seen me or not? He hadn’t. He couldn’t possibly, right?

 

Or he wouldn’t have looked away.

 

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘So your new email address is going to be Nikki dot Howard at TAHS dot EDU. It should be effective right away.’

 

What was going on? Why was he just ignoring me like this? Guys don’t just ignore Nikki Howard. Em Watts, yes.

 

But even gay guys ask Nikki what kind of moisturizer she uses (not that I know the answer).

 

‘OK,’ I said, not knowing what else to say. ‘Thanks.’

 

OK. Christopher didn’t want to talk to me. I mean, Nikki Howard. I could take a hint.

 

No. No, actually, I really couldn’t.

 

‘You know how to set up your student email account at home?’ Christopher asked me. ‘Right?’

 

I knew how to set up my own email account. I’d been setting up my own email accounts since I’d gotten my first one in the fifth grade.

 

My mom, the women’s studies professor, had always urged Frida and me never to act dumb just to try to win over a guy.

 

But this was one case, I felt, where she’d have understood.

 

Because suddenly I realized I had an excuse to talk to Christopher again tomorrow. And I really, really needed one. Because it didn’t look as if he was going to be asking me over for Doritos and surgery shows any time soon.

 

‘I really don’t know how to do that setting-up thingy,’ I said. I was practically batting my eyelashes, I was hamming up the defenceless-female thing so much. My mom would have had a coronary.

 

Christopher stared at me. ‘You don’t,’ he said. He didn’t sound too surprised.

 

‘No,’ I said. ‘Is it hard? Do you know how to do it?’

 

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s not hard. Do you have something in your eye?’

 

I quit batting my eyelashes.

 

‘No,’ I said, dropping the defenceless-female thing. Dang, why did flirting have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t he just grab and kiss me like Brandon and Justin had? I was good at kissing! Or at least, Nikki was. ‘If I just bring in my laptop tomorrow, will you set me up?’

 

‘Sure,’ he said. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t fallen for the eyelash thing. Which, by the way, I was pretty sure would have made Justin Bay fall over. In a coma. ‘That’ll be fine.’

 

‘Great.’ I smiled at him. I put it at full wattage, the kind of smile that had caused Raoul, the art director, to say yesterday, Nikki, could you tone it down a little? We aren’t selling used cars here.

 

But I didn’t want to tone it down any more. I wanted to do whatever I had to in order to get a reaction from Christopher.

 

Not that it appeared to be working, since he continued just to stare at me blankly.

 

‘I’m Nikki, by the way,’ I said, still smiling. ‘I mean, I know you know that. But . . . ’ I stuck out my right hand.

 

Christopher didn’t smile in return.

 

‘I’m Christopher,’ he said, taking my hand and shaking it. ‘Maloney.’

 

His grip was firm, but strangely lifeless. I don’t know how to describe it, except that . . .

 

It was like shaking hands with a dead person. I mean, someone who really was dead, only still walking around.

 

Which made no sense, since I was that person.

 

His fingers were warm, like mine. I knew he wasn’t dead. Not really. It was like something inside him had just . . . given up. Like with his battle over his hair with his dad. He’d just . . . surrendered, after all these years. He honestly didn’t care any more.

 

What was going on with him? What was wrong with him?

 

And how was I going to get close enough to him to find out, when I could barely get him to look at me to see that I was here, inside Nikki Howard?

 

I didn’t want to let go of his hand . . . and I didn’t think it was because of Nikki’s wantonness either. I mean, a hand is different than lips or a tongue. It just felt so good to be close to him again, to be in his presence, even if he didn’t know it was me.

 

But I knew I had to let go, because you can’t sit around in a computer lab holding hands with some guy you just met. Even if you were best friends with him in a past life, and you are a teenaged supermodel now.

 

So I dropped his hand . . . just a second after he tugged on it to release it from mine. Clearly he thought I was a crazy person. I half expected him to wipe his hand on his jeans. But he restrained himself.

 

‘So,’ I said, ducking to gather up my Marc Jacobs tote in an effort to hide my mortification. ‘I’m headed down to the cafeteria for lunch. Do you want to join me?’

 

I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

 

‘Uh, no, thanks,’ Christopher said, giving me a strange look. ‘But enjoy yourself. Stay away from the tuna salad.’

 

It was the first remotely humorous thing he’d said. I realized how much I’d missed his sarcastic remarks. Almost as much as I’d missed him.

 

‘Thanks,’ I said, with another smile.

 

But once again it seemed to have no effect on him. He returned to his computer screen, going back to Madden NFL without another word.

 

And I slunk from the lab, embarrassed, hurt . . . and more than a little confused.

 

‘Oh my God, there you are,’ Frida cried, rushing up to me in the hallway. ‘I’ve been waiting for, like, ever. Where were you?’

 

‘I went to see Christopher in the computer lab,’ I said. ‘I told you—’

 

‘God,’ Frida muttered. ‘Why are you hanging out with that geek when you could be with Gabriel Luna?’

 

‘Gabriel Luna thinks I’m a drug addict,’ I pointed out, remembering last night’s embarrassing social gaffe. Which are all I seem to have, apparently, where cute guys are concerned.

 

‘Well, whatever,’ Frida said, grabbing my arm. ‘Come on. I told everyone on the JV squad you were sitting with us at lunch today.’

 

‘And just how, exactly,’ I asked as she propelled me along, ‘are you and I supposed to have met, Frida, and become so chummy that I’m sitting with you at lunch now?’

 

‘We met outside the school on the steps this morning,’ Frida said. ‘Remember? Everybody saw us together.’

 

‘Great,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘Frida, what’s wrong with Christopher?’

 

‘He’s a freak,’ Frida said as she dragged me towards the cafeteria. ‘He always was. You’re just noticing it now because you’re finally normal.’

 

‘No, I mean . . . what happened to him? He’s . . . different. He doesn’t even like Journeyquest any more. He plays Madden NFL. Christopher hates sports. And he . . . I can’t really explain it. But it’s like he – I went in there to get an email address for Nikki, and he’d barely look at me.’

 

‘Oh, and I suppose you thought he’d be all over you,’ Frida said with a snort, ‘just because you’re Nikki Howard now.’

 

‘Well,’ I said. I didn’t want to sound snotty. But . . . ‘Yeah. I mean . . . he’s a guy, right? And guys are usually all over Nikki. Unless they’re gay. So what’s wrong with him?’

 

‘What do you want me to say, Em? I mean, Nikki. I told you, he’s been weird ever since you croaked. I mean, weirder than usual. I guess he was just always in love with you, but didn’t realize it until you were gone, and now that you’re dead, he’s wasting away. Is that what you want to hear?’ She flung a glance at me over her shoulder, saw my expression and let out a bark of laughter. ‘God! It is! Get over yourself. You can have any guy you want now. Why do you have to like the one guy who liked you better when you were just average, like the rest of us?’

 

We’d reached the cafeteria doors. Frida turned to confront me with her hands on her hips. I stared down at her with tear-filled eyes.

 

‘Oh my God, Frida,’ I said with a little sob. ‘Do . . . do you really think that’s it?’

 

Frida stared up at me. ‘Oh my God. You really like him, don’t you? Listen . . . How am I supposed to know? I’m just saying. It might make sense. But I could be totally wrong. Look, Christopher is the least of your problems right now. You are about to enter the Tribeca Alternative High School cafeteria. Only it’s a whole new ball game than it was a month ago. You’re hot now. Do you understand? You have got to get Christopher out of your head and put on your game face. You’re Nikki Howard, supermodel. Not Em Watts, weirdo. Got it?’

 

I nodded. But I wasn’t really listening. I kept thinking about what she’d said. Was it really possible? Could Christopher have realized, after I’d died, that he loved me? Was that why he didn’t want to play Journeyquest any more? Because it reminded him of me? Was that why he’d finally consented to cut his hair? Because nothing mattered to him any more, now that I was gone?

 

Oh God! That was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard!

 

But what was I going to do about it? How was I going to get Christopher interested in Nikki Howard if he was busy pining away for a dead girl? Who, by the way, happened to be me.

 

And, no offence, but you would have thought he’d have been a little nicer to me back when I’d been alive, if he’d been so madly in love with me.

 

But he’d never even so much as tried to kiss me.

 

Wait . . . maybe that’s what he was feeling so bad about!

 

Oh! That was even more romantic!

 

But before I had a chance to really digest that, Frida was yanking me on the arm and we were in the caff . . .

 

. . . where the volume of the conversation, already at an ear-splitting din, increased tenfold at the mere sight of me in the doorway.

 

‘There she is!’ The murmur rippled through the entire cafeteria.

 

And not just the Walking Dead were saying it. The geeks, the goths, the skaters, the druggies . . . all of them were saying it. ‘There she is!’

 

I felt myself turning red . . .

 

‘I don’t know about this, Free,’ I said as Frida herded me towards the hot-food line and thrust a tray into my hands.

 

‘Trust me,’ Frida said. ‘Even supermodels have to eat, don’t they?’

 

Maybe so. But it might have been easier simply to get something out of the vending machines down the hall, acid reflux or not. I was excruciatingly aware of being the centre of everyone’s attention as I made my way down the food line. My selections were buzzed about as if I’d been Tiger Woods, lining up a game-winning putt.

 

‘She’s going for the tofu patty,’ I heard them whispering. Then, seconds later, ‘An apple! She took an apple!’

 

I wanted to throw down my tray and run from the room – run out of the school and all the way back to the hospital and up to the fourth floor into Dr Holcombe’s office. ‘I need a new body! I can’t be in this one a second longer! I can’t be Nikki Howard! I just want to be someone normal!’

 

Instead, I stepped up to the cashier to pay for my food. Then I followed Frida to her table . . .

 

Where the entire junior-varsity cheerleading team was sitting. They all stopped talking as Frida and I approached. I fully expected them to say, ‘What are you doing, trying to sit at our table, loser? The geek table is over THERE.’

 

But I’d forgotten. I’m not Em Watts, geek, any more. I’m Nikki Howard.

 

And Nikki Howard is apparently welcome everywhere (except the computer lab).

 

‘Oooh!’ a dark-haired girl cried, scooting her tray over. ‘I’m so glad you came over here. Sit by me! Sit by me, I’m your hugest fan!’

 

Frida took the place the girl was offering though, after giving her a severe look. ‘Now, Mackenzie,’ she said sternly. ‘Remember what I said.’

 

‘Sorry!’ Mackenzie turned beet red. ‘Right, no gushing. Sorry. Sorry.’

 

The other girls, all smiling up at me, scooted over to make room. I felt a little uneasy. I couldn’t quite believe I was being WELCOMED at a table belonging to the Walking Dead.

 

But it soon became apparent our table was THE table to be at. Especially when, no sooner had Frida made introductions (none of which I retained, since all her friends appeared to be called either Taylor, Tyler or Tory), a familiar voice cried, ‘There you are!’

 

And I turned my head to see Whitney Robertson standing there with a tray of salad and diet soda, Lindsey and several other key Walking Dead members from the junior class – including one from the senior class, Jason Klein – right behind her.

 

‘Oh my God,’ Whitney said. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’

 

And the next thing I knew, she was shoving red and gold uniforms aside to make way for herself, her boyfriend and her best friend.

 

‘Thanks muchly,’ she said to Frida’s friends, who hadn’t so much as moved as been pushed out of the way. ‘So, Nikki, how are you enjoying your first day here at TAHS?’

 

‘She’s liking it a lot, Whitney’ Frida, who’d apparently appointed herself my spokesperson, looked enormously pleased. I guess it’s not every day a freshman gets graced with the presence of the most popular girl in school at her lunch table. ‘Aren’t you, Nikki?’

 

I took a swig of my milk (yeah. Nikki likes milk. Two per cent. She’s got acid reflux, not lactose intolerance).

 

‘Yeah,’ I said after I’d swallowed.

 

‘I was telling Nikki today in Public Speaking,’ Whitney said – then added, as an aside to everyone else at the table, ‘Nikki and I have Public Speaking together—’

 

‘Me too!’ Lindsey cried. ‘I’m in Nikki’s Public Speaking class too! Also her Spanish class. And I’m on the waiting list for that Marc Jacobs tote . . . ’

 

‘– how we feel so fortunate that she decided to attend our school, out of all the schools in the city’ Whitney went on, as if Lindsey hadn’t interrupted. ‘Wasn’t I, Nikki?’

 

‘Yeah,’ I said after swallowing a bite of the salad I’d gotten to accompany my tofu patty . . . which tasted fantastic, and not at all like the cardboard box I’d been expecting it to taste like.

 

‘I just wish we’d had more advance notice of her enrolment,’ Whitney went on, to everyone at the table. ‘Because then we could have organized a proper welcome for her.’

 

All the girls nodded in agreement. Jason, I noticed, was staring at my boobs. I’m not even kidding.

 

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Thanks. That’s really great. But I feel plenty welcome enough.’

 

‘Well,’ Whitney said ‘I’m going to be sure to get you a list of extra-curriculars, in case you decide you might want to join in on some of the fantastic clubs and organizations our school has to offer. I, for instance, am president of the junior class, as well as captain of the Spirit Club.’

 

‘Really,’ I said. ‘The Spirit Club. What’s that?’

 

Not that I didn’t know. I just wanted to see if she’d describe it the way Christopher and I used to: as the Society for the Lame.

 

‘Oh, well, the Spirit Club makes an effort to foster school spirit amongst the student population by promoting events in and around Tribeca Alternative such as pep rallies, health fairs, aluminium can drives, casino nights, weekend carnivals—’

 

‘Casino nights,’ Lindsey chimed in.

 

‘I said that already,’ Whitney said, giving Lindsey a dirty look. ‘Really what it’s all about is –’ Whitney lowered her voice as if she was afraid of being overheard – ‘some people who go to this school don’t appreciate all the fantastic programmes and opportunities it has to offer. So the Spirit Club does its best to get students excited about these events, such as games, community-service programmes . . . things that will look great on their college applications.’

 

I blinked at her. ‘Why are you whispering?’

 

She glanced around, then seemed to realize that the school’s two worst malcontents – Em Watts and Christopher Maloney – weren’t within hearing distance. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that some people think having school spirit is silly. But I don’t think there’s anything silly about wanting to take as much advantage as possible of what, for me at least, have truly been some of the best years of my life!’

 

Whoa. If high school was supposed to be the best years of my life – at least so far – I was truly destined to have a sucky adulthood.

 

‘Wow,’ I said again. ‘That sounds . . . great.’

 

‘Enough about this school crap,’ Jason Klein said, leaning forward so that his massive – and, to me, revolting – biceps swelled beneath the sleeves of his pink polo. ‘What clubs can you get us into?’

 

‘Jason!’ Whitney lady-slapped him on the shoulder while she giggled. ‘Stop! Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s so bad.’

 

Jason ignored her. ‘I saw you got into Cave last night,’ Jason said. ‘Can you get us into Cave?’

 

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’

 

‘Maybe what?’Jason demanded. ‘Can you get us in or not?’

 

‘If it’s Jerks Who Interrupt Their Girlfriends Night,’ I said. ‘Then I can probably get you in.’

 

Whitney gasped. Lindsey let out a giant horse laugh.

 

But what impressed me most was that quite a few of the JV cheerleaders turned around and high-fived one another, impressed by the fact that I’d dissed Jason Klein. If this, I realized, was the kind of company Frida was keeping, then I had been quite badly underestimating the TAHS JV cheerleading squad – and possibly cheerleaders everywhere. They were a fun bunch.

 

Frida, however, just glared at me. I mouthed What? and shrugged. I really don’t see what else she’d expected me to say.

 

But Jason took it good-naturedly.

 

‘OK, OK,’ he said, smiling sheepishly. ‘You got me. I’ll shut up.’

 

Which was just another sign of how different life is when you’ve got a supermodel’s face as opposed to just a normal one. If I had said something like that to Jason back when I’d been in my Em Watts body, I’d never have heard the end of it . . . especially from Whitney.

 

But since I was Nikki, and not Em, all was forgiven. In fact, as we were putting our trays away, just before the bell rang, Whitney sidled up to me and, to show there were no hard feelings, said in a low voice, I guess so the others wouldn’t overhear, ‘Listen, Nikki, if you’re not doing anything after school, maybe you could come up to my place and I could help you out with some of your homework. I know it must seem like you’re never going to catch up at this rate – plus I know it’s been a while since you were last in school. So I just thought—’

 

‘Gosh,’ I said. ‘Thanks. But I have a shoot.’

 

Even if I hadn’t, no way would I waste any of my precious time going to Whitney Robertson’s penthouse so she could show me the wrong way to compute the area of a triangle. Or try on different-coloured sparkle eyeshadow, or whatever it is the Walking Dead do in their spare time.

 

‘Some other time though,’ I added with a smile when I saw her face fall.

 

As soon as she saw the smile, Whitney smiled back.

 

‘Great!’ she gushed. ‘Well, toodle-oo!’

 

Seriously. That’s what she said to me. Toodle-oo.

 

I kind of wished Cosy had been with me, because I could have looked down at her and gone, ‘Well, Toto. I guess we’re not in Kansas any more.’

 

Except that I’ve never actually been to Kansas.

 

Although I’m fairly sure Nikki has. Nikki’s been everywhere.

 

Except where I most want to be.