“THIS IS SO EXCITING,” LULU KEPT saying.

 

“It’s really not,” I assured her. I couldn’t figure out why she’d insisted on coming along. Well, actually, I was starting to get a good idea. I just couldn’t believe it. I was pretty sure it had to do with the six feet of manliness striding along the hallway beside us, doing his best not to let steam blow out of his ears at the realization that he was, of all places, in a Manhattan high school.

 

Worse, a Manhattan high school at seven forty in the morning. With one of the nation’s leading teen supermodels, who was smuggling her miniature poodle in a Louis Vuitton tote, as her best friend, the celebutante daughter of one of the country’s most celebrated film directors, struggled to keep up alongside her, despite the fact that she was wearing a pair of five-inch heels. It wasn’t like anybody was staring at us or anything as we tottered down the hall beside one another. Much.

 

What I couldn’t believe was that she was being so obvious about it. Lulu, and her obsession with Nikki Howard’s brother, I mean. I was glad she’d at least dressed somewhat normally, in vintage Jordache jeans and a leather bomber jacket over an Alexander McQueen shirt (I had to wrestle the Chloé shirt and Citizens of Humanity jeans I wanted to wear away from her. Which was ridiculous because I’m about a foot taller than she is, so I don’t know how she thinks she can get away with wearing Nikki’s stuff).

 

But still. Up this early, for a guy? I guess I shouldn’t talk. When the dinosaur sticker thing had failed, in the first few weeks I’d come back to school after my surgery, I’d done some pretty stupid stuff myself, I guess, in hopes a certain boy would admire me…Every morning, I’d given myself a thirty-minute blowout Christopher had never even noticed, worn a surprisingly painful (Stark brand, of course) push-up bra that, ditto, he’d never even glanced below my chin to admire.

 

I guess I know what it’s like to be in Lulu’s designer shoes.

 

But excited to be at TAHS? Believe me, there was nothing exciting about being at Tribeca Alternative High School, as Steven had already pointed out. It was actually the opposite of exciting, if you asked me.

 

But then, Lulu had never been in a real American high school before. She was looking at all the students as we passed by them (and they ogled us in disbelief, whispering, “Isn’t that…?”), going, “Oh, my God, she’s so cute!” or “Isn’t he sweet!” like she was talking about puppies and not actual real-life fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds. It was as if she didn’t realize these people were just a year or two younger than her.

 

The truth was, because they hadn’t been as gifted genetically as she was, they did look almost as if they’d descended from another species.

 

But that was no excuse for Lulu’s behavior.

 

Especially when she saw Frida hanging out with a group of junior varsity cheerleaders by one of their lockers, and cried, “Oh, my God, look, Nikki! There’s Frida! Hi, Frida!”

 

Frida freaked when she saw us…particularly Lulu. Her friends’ jaws all dropped as well. They’d dined with me upon occasion in the TAHS cafeteria, where haute cuisine extended as far as hamburger and no further. So Nikki Howard was no longer quite the big deal she once might have been.

 

But Frida had bragged to them that she knew Lulu, and I was pretty sure none of them ever believed her.

 

But here was Lulu Collins—who had graced the red carpets of so many movie premieres, and the covers of so many magazines, and the arms of so many skeevy rock-and-roller boyfriends she really should have thought twice about dating (but who was I to criticize, seeing as how Nikki Howard dated some of Lulu’s boyfriends as well, behind her back?)—in person, strolling down the hall toward them and greeting Frida. They stared at her in total awe.

 

“Oh, my God, Lulu,” Frida cried, looking as if she were about to wet herself. “I-I can’t believe you’re here. And Nikki! This is amazing! I was just talking about the two of you. You know, about your party?”

 

“Oh, you have to come,” Lulu said. “You should all come. It’s tomorrow night. It’s to die for, really. Everybody will be there. Marc, Lauren, Paris. They love it. It’s the best.”

 

I could see the girls doing quick mental calculations in their heads—Marc Jacobs, Lauren Conrad, Paris Hilton. I said, under my breath, to Lulu, “Lulu, they can’t come. They’re in high school.”

 

“Well,” Lulu said, looking blank. “So are you.”

 

“But I’m not fourteen and living with my parents.”

 

“Could someone,” Steven asked, “explain what we’re doing here? I thought we were trying to find my mother.”

 

“We are,” I assured him. “Come on.”

 

I looked at Frida and her friends dispassionately. “You guys can’t come to our party. You’re underage. Come on, Lulu.” I grabbed Lulu’s arm and began steering her away. Too late, however, since I heard an all-too-familiar voice call Nikki’s name, and a second later, Whitney Robertson was upon us, her alter ego, Lindsey, and boyfriend, Jason Klein, not far behind, oozing Axe body spray.

 

“Nikki, hi.” Whitney was eyeing Steven hungrily, not even bothering to hide her interest in him for Jason’s sake. Their relationship had always been full-on dysfunctional, however, if you ask me. Which wasn’t that unusual, considering I’d long suspected Jason of being a cyborg. “I didn’t know it was bring-a-hunk-to-school day.”

 

Steven looked appalled. I didn’t blame him. Whitney was like tooth decay: You didn’t have to know her more than five seconds before you started to realize she needed to be removed.

 

Accordingly, I ignored her and kept going, heading toward the computer lab, even though I could hear Whitney crying, “Nikki? Nikki!” in the distance. Lulu followed me, making sure Steven stayed close beside her by keeping a hand clamped on the front of his jacket. Steven didn’t appear to notice.

 

“What are we doing here?” he asked again. “How can—”

 

But I’d already reached the doors to the lab, through which Christopher was just leaving to get to Public Speaking before the bell rang. As always when I saw him, my heart skipped a beat. Today he was wearing a black Ramones T-shirt under his leather jacket. His hair was still a little damp at the ends from his morning shower, and his jeans were as form-fitting as ever.

 

To say he looked surprised to see me would be an understatement…and then I was followed by Lulu, whom he surely recognized (he was as upset with her father for butchering the direction of the Journeyquest movie as I was), and a moody, six-foot male blond version of me. Christopher’s jaw sank nearly to the floor.

 

“Uh, hey,” he said.

 

“I need to talk to you,” I said. It was difficult to get the words out when my heart was hammering so hard in my chest. But I managed.

 

“Now?” Christopher’s gaze drifted past me, toward the clock hanging in the hallway. “Class is about to start.”

 

“Yeah,” I said. I reached out and took his arm. I knew he didn’t feel the electric pulse that leapt from my skin to the leather of his jacket. But I sure did. “We aren’t going to class today. We have to go to your cousin’s house.”

 

Christopher shifted his backpack from one shoulder to another, looking from me to Lulu to Steven, then back again. His expression was impassive.

 

“Look, Nikki,” he said. “If this is about your mom, I thought we—”

 

“I have that thing you asked me for,” I said. “The password? So let’s just go, okay?”

 

His blue-eyed gaze swept over me searchingly. I expected him to ask about finals. The old Christopher would have. The old Christopher would have said, “But this is first semester of our junior year. Colleges will be looking at our grades this semester. If we screw up, it will be held against us. McKayla Donofrio is already a National Merit Scholar. We can’t mess this up.”

 

But this wasn’t the old Christopher. This was Supervillain Christopher.

 

He looked me right in the eye and said, “Let’s go.”

 

And then we were heading for the nearest exit, even as Frida, who it turned out had been trotting behind us the whole time, was crying, “Wait! Where are you going? You guys? The bell is going to ring. You guys can’t just leave.”

 

“Grab a cab,” I said to Christopher, “and tell it to wait. I’ll just be a second.” I peeled off from the group and swung around to grab Frida by the shoulder.

 

Then I pinned her to the nearest locker with one hand.

 

To say that she looked surprised by this turn of events would have been the understatement of the century. But this was too important to play the kindly big sister. I couldn’t let her mess this up for me. I had Steven to think of.

 

“Go to class,” I told her. “Forget that you saw me here today.”

 

“Where are you guys going?” she wanted to know. “You can’t cut class this week. It’s finals. You’ll flunk!”

 

“I mean it, Frida,” I said. “Tell your friends the same thing. None of you saw us.”

 

“What’s going on?” Frida was starting to look scared now.

 

And you know what? She had a lot to be scared of.

 

“Where are you taking Christopher?” she asked.

 

But I’d already turned and was jetting down the hall and toward the doors through which Lulu, Christopher, and Steven had just bailed.

 

“I’m gonna tell,” I heard Frida calling after me. “I mean it, Em! I mean, Nikki! Wait!”

 

Her voice was cut off by the heavy metal doors to the school slamming shut behind me as I hurried down the side steps, into the bitter cold and drizzle, to the waiting cab.