‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘They’re Nikki’s. I think they’re from her Stark clothing line. I can get you some, I think—’
That’d be awesome. Just look at them,’ she said with relish, glancing back at Whitney and the other dead-eyed wannabes. ‘They’re trying to figure out what I’m doing, talking to you. I said, DON’T LOOK.’ Then she added, ‘Oh my God, Whitney is looking over here. WHITNEY ROBERTSON IS LOOKING OVER HERE — this is amazing. Whitney Robertson is actually looking at me. ME. She’s never looked at me before, ever. This is the best day of my life.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I said, brushing by Frida to head into the school, so I could get to the Administration Office. ‘Welcome to Nikki Howard’s world, Frida. Good to know someone appreciates it.’
As I slipped through the doors, I glanced over my shoulder and saw about thirty people rush up to Frida, all clamouring to know what she and I had talked about. Frida played it cool, shrugging and playing with her hair.
But it was clear she was in heaven.
Too bad that for her to get that way, I was going to have to go through hell.
They assigned me my old locker.
I should have known that they would of course. It’s not like anyone else had dropped out mid-semester. And even if someone had, I’m sure there’s a waiting list to get into TAHS, which, in spite of its high population of Walking Dead (or perhaps because of?), is considered a very good school.
I was pretty sure, in fact, that Stark Enterprises had paid a hefty ‘endowment’ in order to get me to the top of that waiting list.
So it wasn’t any wonder that I ended up with my old locker… and in many — though not all — of my old classes.
There was apparently some concern that Nikki Howard wouldn’t be able to keep up in the AP courses Em Watts had originally been enrolled in… especially in light of her alleged ‘amnesia’. I had to do some fasttalking back in the Admin Office, but did manage to get Nikki Howard enrolled in AP English, bio and trig (I assured them that if I couldn’t keep up with any of my classes, I’d drop out of them).
Of course, having missed a month’s worth of school, there was a very good likelihood I actually wouldn’t be able to catch up… but I was willing to try, if it meant I could be in some classes, at least, with Christopher. How else was I going to strike up a friendship with him otherwise?
It was weird pretending like I didn’t know my combination so my student guide, this freshman I’d never met before, wouldn’t think I had ESP or something.
The freshman, Molly Hung, was totally freaking out over the fact that she was showing Nikki Howard around her school. She was really shy, and I saw her fingers shaking as she showed me how to spin the combination lock. After she’d let me try the combo myself a few times, to get used to it — and after I’d pulled the locker open and seen, to my dismay, that all my stuff was gone (although of course I should have expected that) she finally worked up the courage to ask a question.
‘Do you really go out with Brandon Stark?’ she wanted to know. ‘Because I saw a picture of you with him once… ’
‘Uh,’ I said. ‘Yeah. I mean, we’re kind of keeping it casual. I had, um, an accident, and I—’
‘Oh!’ Molly flung a hand up over her mouth and looked horrified. ‘Right! I forgot! You can’t remember. I’m so sorry! Really. God, I’m so stupid.’
‘It’s OK,’ I told her. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
But she went around looking like she wanted to kill herself anyway.
She walked me to my first-period class — I’d been lucky enough (sarcasm) to get back into Public Speaking — and, at the door, she said, ‘Um… I know how hard it must be, starting at a new school, where you don’t know anyone. So if you want to sit with me at lunch, that — that would be cool with me.’
‘Uh,’ I said. I hadn’t even thought about the crucial lunch-seating situation. Who would I be sitting with anyway? I had just assumed I’d sit with Frida, but I realized now that would be absurd. Why would Nikki Howard sit with some girl with whom she’d had a casual conversation on the steps in front of the school? The truth was, Nikki Howard would probably go out to lunch anyway.
Oh, who was I kidding? Nikki Howard would never have been in a regular high school in the first place. Except as some stunt for a reality show.
‘Thanks,’ I said to Molly. ‘If I have lunch in the caff, I’ll try to look for you.’
‘Well, have a good class,’ Molly said, blushing with pleasure. ‘And if you need me, here’s my cell. Call me for anything. ANYTHING. OK?’
‘OK,’ I said, and smiled at her.
To my surprise, Molly blushed even harder. Then she hurried away, giggling, and looking really… well, pleased is the only way I can describe it.
Can I just say it’s totally weird to smile at someone and have them seem so excited about it? After all, it was just a smile. No one EVER used to react like that when I smiled at them back in my old body. But in Nikki’s body, when I smile, everyone practically seems to have a heart attack.
Except Brandon’s dad.
And I knew things were only going to get weirder when I walked into Public Speaking — late, thanks to all the forms I’d had to fill out in the office, and the fact that I didn’t know stuff like Nikki Howard’s Social Security number. Every time someone asked me for it, I had to look it up (I’d remembered to charge her Sidekick), but that was OK though, because I was supposed to have lost my memory anyway.
I walked into Public Speaking, interrupting an oral presentation McKayla Donofrio was giving on the importance of reading to your children. She stopped dead when she saw me, and just stared. Soon the rest of the class woke up and did the same thing. It took a second or two for Mr Greer to notice no one was talking, and to open his own eyes and see me standing there.
‘Oh,’ he said, pretending he’d been awake the whole time. ‘Yes. They told me to expect you. Nikki Howard, right?’
‘Right,’ I said, holding out my late pass and admission slip. ‘Hi.’
‘Great, great,’ Mr Greer said, taking both slips and not even looking at them. ‘Class, this is Nikki Howard. She’s a new student who’ll be joining us for the rest of the semester. Nikki, grab an empty seat… I think there’s one over there… ’
He pointed to my old seat. Of course.
I went towards it, my head ducked, pretending I couldn’t hear all the whispers as I slid into my old seat. Christopher, I’d noticed when I’d risked a glance at him, was awake, for once.
And that wasn’t the only thing about him that had changed:
He’d cut his hair.
I didn’t mean to suddenly stagger to a standstill and stare at this guy who was supposed to be a stranger to me, but it was pretty hard not to, since I hadn’t — ever — seen Christopher with hair above his neck. Gone was the long blonde curtain that had swept past his shoulders for as long as I could remember — certainly since middle school, and all through high school. He now wore his hair in a cut indistinguishable from Whitney Robertson’s boyfriend, Jason Klein. In fact, if I’d just glanced in Christopher’s direction, I might even have mistaken him for Jason Klein, that’s how close the resemblance was now. There was nothing at all to tell him apart from the rest of the Walking Dead. He was even wearing what appeared to be a pale green polo shirt with his jeans.
What had happened? I know it must have been upsetting and all, watching me die (sort of) right in front of him, and going to my memorial service and all that.