And something extraordinary happened.
Whitney Robertson blushed.
Seriously. I never thought I’d live to see the day. But her cheeks turned bright pink with pleasure, and she smiled back at me and waved, and Lindsey, behind her, waved too.
And Whitney mouthed, Call me! And pantomimed making a phone call.
I smiled again to acknowledge her, then turned back in my seat. This being Nikki thing was easier — in some ways — than I’d thought it would be.
Whitney was all over me the minute class ended. Which wasn’t cool, because I’d just been about to turn to Christopher and make a little comment as a sort of icebreaker, like, Is this class always this boring, or what?
Only I couldn’t, because the Prom Queen From Hell was on me like ketchup on a steak.
‘How ARE you?’ she hurried over to ask me as soon as the bell rang. ‘I saw on Entertainment Tonight about your… you know. It must be so awful, not being able to REMEMBER anything!’
‘I can remember some stuff,’ I said as I gathered my things. For instance, I could remember all the times Whitney and her friends had laughed at my underwear in the girls’ locker room, because they were Hanes Her Way briefs and not Victoria’s Secret thongs, which is what they all wore.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ Whitney said. ‘Well, like I said, I’m Whitney and this is Lindsey—’
‘Hi!’ Lindsey cried. ‘I’m, like, totally your biggest fan. I loved that spread you did in Vogue in July, with the gold accessories, and the tiger—’
‘— and we’re just so excited to have you here at TAHS,’ Whitney went on, speaking right over Lindsey as if she hadn’t said anything. ‘It is such an honour that out of all the schools in New York you chose ours—’
‘Are you guys going to move any time soon?’ Christopher, who was standing behind us, inquired. ‘Because some of us need to get to our next class.’
Whitney glanced at him over her shoulder, then rolled her eyes and moved out of the way.
My heart swooped at that eye roll. Because it meant that, haircut or not, Christopher hadn’t been accepted by the Walking Dead. He wasn’t one of them! He may have looked like he was, but he wasn’t. He was still safe! He was still him!
‘Thanks,’ Christopher said as he walked by.
‘See you later,’ I said to him.
He threw me a distracted look over his shoulder — as if he’d heard someone speak, but wasn’t sure who — before disappearing into the throng in the hallway.
Beside me, Whitney sneered and said, ‘Sorry about that. Don’t pay him any mind. One of our resident freaks. So you know, if you have any questions about TAHS or need anyone to show you around, I’d be more than happy to help. What are you doing for lunch, for instance? You definitely don’t want to go to the caff. The food there completely reeks—’
‘Is that the new Marc Jacobs hobo tote?’ Lindsey interrupted, pointing to the bag slung over my shoulder. ‘Because I’m on the waiting list for one—’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I just found it in my closet this morning.’
Waiting list. Ha! ‘Well, I have to get to Spanish. So if you’ll excuse me… ’
‘Me too!’ Lindsey squealed. ‘I think we must be in the same Spanish class! Room Six Eleven? Oh my Dios! Here, let me show you where it is.’
‘God, Lindsey, calm down,’ Whitney said crabbily ‘I’m sure Nikki can find her own way.’
‘That’s OK,’ I said, turning to look Whitney square in the eye.
‘Lindsey’s being a great help. Well, bye, Whitney. It was nice to meet you.’
And I walked off arm-in-arm with Lindsey, conscious of being the recipient of a hundred envious stares as we made our way down the hall – Whitney’s the most envious of all.
But this time, it didn’t bother me.
Because for once I was having too much fun to worry about it.
Twenty-one
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, 185 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
