"Christopher!" I called running towards Christopher. I'd say that Christopher should just turn around by the fact that I was able to run in four inch, black stilettos and the probably 90% spandex, 10% boob padding green, sequenced dress I was wearing from my latest photo shoot. Chris, obviously looking for the food spread I promised him for coming to this thing, turned around only after I called him, seeming to ignore the get-up.

"Em, where's the food?" Chris asked. Resisting the urge to yell about my physic powers, I pointed him to the table filled with squares of American cheese and other fatty, disgusting foods. I know that it doesn't sound like me to be worrying about calories and cholesterol, but Nikki's body happens to not like anything (besides banana splits) that has more than like 20 "bad points," according to a chart that Nikki so helpfully made as a guide. So I kinda had to adapt. It wasn't me. It was my body.

Christopher seemed to fit in with all the crew from the shoot and the technical department that must have heard from someone about the large banquet that they all surrounded. I'd put money on Christopher being the one to let the cat out of the bag to tech.

"We'll be outta here in, like, 10," I told Christopher, luckily catching him before he stuffed his face full of gooey, processed food. I placed my hand on his shoulder, hoping for at least a little peck. Unfortunately, Christopher had other ideas and turned from my touch to scavenge some food that the others left, merely giving me a thumbs-up in return.

"Marissa?" I asked my wardrobe consultant who was standing waiting for my dress as I changed into my street clothes. I'd wanted Nikki to work as my wardrobe consultant, but, especially because she was already my agent, she worried that she wouldn't have enough time and Brandon worried that she would have too much power in the company.

"Hmm," Marissa responded, not looking up from her most recent Vogue. Marissa had dressed a number of the models in this issue and had told me she was excited to see what the world would think of them. All the outfits were from some new line that the magazine was endorsed by. Personally, most of them looked too whore-ish for me, but, then again, this is the girl who is shimmying her way out of a dress that could probably be made into a Michael Phelps swimsuit once I was done with it.

"Em," Marissa prodded. It had been a transition to get used to my new name now that the whole secret about my brain transplant was out, but it sounded better.

"Oh, sorry," I said, trying to think more about the conversation than my personal thoughts. "So, Marissa, Christopher was, like, paying more attention to the food than to me. Do you think that says something about our relationship? Is he, like, cheating on me with McKayla Donofrio? 'Cus I'm gunna cry if he is!" My voice cracked at the end and I blinked back the tears that were already there.

"Em, stop like over thinking things. He's totally and only into you. Like you talk to him and he's so in love it's sad. But boys are gunna be boys and food overtakes basically everything," Marissa explained, trying to console me, still while flipping nonchalantly through her Vogue. "Like, all my boyfriends would choose food over me, especially if they have to sit through a two hour long photo shoot. This is why there are only gay guys in fashion. None of the others could stand these long shoots. I dunno why though. I mean they all like the free food and all the models look hot in these clothes. It's like everything that guys are supposed to want right." Letting her continue to babble, I realized that I understood completely. That had been me before this surgery. We used to call it my "accident" that made me get a jumbo television dropped on my head and Nikki fall down(or, in reality, be poisoned), but, once the whole world knew everything about Stark's Operation Pheonix, then we just changed it to the "incident." It seemed more appropriate.

"Thanks for the help, Marissa," I thanked as I ran past her, throwing the dress on its hanger and into the massive wardrobe this one studio held. I was super excited because Christopher and I were going back to hang out at Lulu and my place, except for the small fact that Lulu was going to be kept up at the studio. She had devoted all of her time now to her music and some of her music was actually good and the better part of that wasn't good could be put as bearable. Now she and Gabriel were doing a duet that Gabriel had wrote about Nikki…old Nikki that is.

"Em," Marissa called just as I was about to leave, "if you, like, really want to make him think about you then, like, just…y'know with him. It's the only thing guys think about more than food. This is how most girls have kept their boyfriends in the past. I know for a fact that old Nikki did it a bunch of times to try to lead Brandon off the path of her and Jason. If you're really worried about Christopher, then that's what you need to do." Somehow I knew what she meant exactly, even if I didn't. I paused, waiting for her to laugh or in some other way tell me that she was totally joking or talking about something besides what I was thinking about, but the awkward moment just extended, with Marissa even going back to her Vogue because she saw that she wasn't going to be thanked for that last piece of advice. Walking slow, even too slow, I made my way back to the table where the guys had finished off the food and were now hanging.

"Chris," I said, trying to make my voice sound as sweet as possible, "let's head out. Lulu said she'd leave us some food for tonight."

"Cool Em," he said, turning to me quickly and flashing his smile that made me turn to mush. "Just give me a sec. I was telling them about the time we tag-teamed against the monster boss on level 17."

I smiled and left happy. He was talking about us! What other way could you tell a girl that you love here but to tell the stories of your adventures, even if they were adventures in video game format? Then I remembered. That was before the whole surgery and brain swapping incident. That was the non-resembling-Nikki-Howard Em. Once I'd become Nikki, Christopher had acted differently to me. As I stepped outside I was wondering, did Christopher not love me because of my rocking body? I know, for most guys it's the opposite, but, remember, we aren't talking about most guys. We're talking about Christopher who weaseled his way into my heart because he's different. It was heating up during early spring, but I shivered at the thought as I walked to my town car waiting to take me and Christopher back to my loft. Suddenly I wasn't sure anymore. I wasn't sure whether Christopher wanted to come back, even if it was just to make out and not do anything stupid like Marissa suggested. On the brink of tears, I got in the car. Imagine how silly that would have looked: a supermodel, pretty and perfect, about to cry. I laughed at the thought, earning me a weary look from the driver because now I was a supermodel, still pretty and perfect, laughing through glassy, close to watery, eyes. But that was me.