Airhead: Being Nikki Part 1

Meg Cabot.

Being Nikki.

FOR BENJAMIN.

ONE.

IM COLD.

Im freezing, actually.

Waves are cras.h.i.+ng against the backs of my legs, and the water, which this afternoon had been a warm turquoise, has turned an icy black. The rocks to which Im clinging are cutting into my fingertips and the bottoms of my feet. Theyre slippery as a glacier, but I cant let go or Ill fall into that frigid water, in which"no exaggeration"sharks are swarming beneath me.

And since Im wearing nothing but an extremely small white bikini and a thigh holder for the dagger Ive got clenched between my teeth, I havent got anything to protect me from their razorsharp teeth. I just have to hang on, or else face possible limb amputation or, at the very least, excruciating pain"worse than the pain Im already experiencing, even. Ive got to complete my mission, deliver the package to the mansion perched on the cliff above me Or Ill have to listen to Andre, the b.i.t.c.hy art director, go on about it all night.

No, no, no, Andre yelled from the boat where he was directing the shoot. Viv, adjust the gel on that spot over there. No, that one over there.

Seriously. I should have just fallen backward, into the water, and let the sharks eat me. I was fairly certain the sharks wanted to eat me, despite what Dom, the guy Stark Enterprises rented the boat from, told us. He said they were nurse sharks, perfectly harmless, and more scared of us than we were of them. He kept insisting they were attracted to the bright lights Francesco the photographer had set up, and werent hanging around because they wanted me for a midnight snack.

But really, how did he know? Theyve probably never tasted supermodel before. Im betting theyd find me delicious.

Nik? Brandon Stark called from the boat. How you doing?

Like he even cared. Well, I mean, I guess he cared.

But it wasnt as if he was here for any reason other than that he wanted to snag a ride on the corporate jet so he could spend the day cruising around the island of St. John on a Jet Ski. He was solicitous now entirely because it was expected of him.

Or because he thought it was going to help him get into my pants later. Like thats ever worked.

Lately, anyway.

Oh, Im great, I called back. Only you couldnt tell what I was saying, because of the dagger stuck in my mouth. Which I couldnt remove, because my hands were clinging to the rocks, keeping me from becoming a shark snack. There was spit pooling at the sides of my lips. Nice.

We just need a few more shots, Nikki, Andre called. Youre doing great. Someone said something, and he added, Can you try to stop trembling?

Im not trembling, I pointed out. Im shaking. With cold.

What did she say? Andre asked Brandon. No one could understand a word coming out of my mouth, because of the dagger.

How should I know? Brandon said to Andre. Nikki, he called to me. What did you say?

I said Im cold, I yelled. The waves were getting bigger, wetting the bottom of my suit now. My b.u.t.t was numb. Great. I couldnt feel my b.u.t.t.

Why was I doing this again? Was it for a Stark brand perfume? Or a cell phone? I couldnt even remember anymore.

And Lulu had said how lucky I was, getting to go to the Virgin Islands in December, when every other New Yorker would be"to quote her directly"freezing their b.u.t.ts off.

If only she knew the truth. I was freezing my b.u.t.t off. Literally.

I dont know what she said, I heard Brandon telling Andre.

Never mind, just shoot, Francesco, Andre said to the photographer. Nikki, were shooting again!

I couldnt tell what was happening, because the boat was behind me. But flashes started going off. I strained my neck, looking up the side of the cliff, trying to stay in my part. I tried not to think about the fact that I was in a way too skimpy white bikini. Instead, I pictured myself in body armor. I wasnt me, Em Watts, at all. I was Lenneth Valkyrie, recruiting souls of fallen warriors and leading them to Valhalla. I could do it. I could do anything.

Except that it wasnt Valhalla at the top of the cliff, just a road that tourists took on their way to the airport, with some scrubby weeds growing along it.

And I had no body armor. It made no sense, really, that a trained a.s.sa.s.sin"which is what I was apparently supposed to be"would climb a cliff barefoot in a bikini, without even a pocket where shed be able to keep a cell phone. Except possibly in her knife holder. Maybe thats why I was holding the knife in my mouth instead of where it would make sense, in the holder?

But then, Id noticed that role-playing-game designers"or art directors"never considered practicality when outfitting their characters and models.

You know what else would have made sense? Photographing me in a nice warm studio back in New York and then computer-imposing the image of the cliff and the waves and the moonlight around me.

But Francesco wanted to inject realism into his shots. Thats why Stark hired him. Only the best for Stark Enterprises.

The sharks that were swarming below me, waiting to eat me when I fell off the stupid cliff face, were superrealistic.

Youre doing great, Nikki, Francesco called, clicking away. I can really see the grim determination on your face"

I vowed that when I got off this cliff, I was going to take the knife and plunge it into one of Francescos eyeb.a.l.l.s.

Except that the knife blade was made of plastic.

But I bet itd still do the job just fine.

"the sheer desperation of a girl reduced by circ.u.mstances to her most fundamental self, Francesco went on, as she struggles for survival in a world where everyone and everything seems to be pitted against her"

The funny thing was, Francesco had basically just described my daily existence.

I think shes supposed to be happy, actually, Andre said, sounding concerned. Because she knows shes wearing Stark brand deodorant, and that gives girls the confidence they need to get the job done.

Oh. So this was a deodorant ad.

Happy, Nikki, Andre called. Be happy! Were in the islands! You should be having a good time with this!

I knew Andre was right. I should have been having a good time with this. What did I have to be so unhappy about, anyway? I had everything a girl my age could want: I had a great career as the Face of Stark Enterprises, for which I was more than well compensated. I had my own two-bedroom loft in a landmark building in downtown Manhattan, which I shared with the most adorable miniature poodle in the history of time, plus a hilarious"though Im not sure she meant to be"celebutante roommate who routinely got us into all the best party spots in town.

I was rich. I had a designer wardrobe in my overstuffed closets, and Frette sheets on my king-size bed, an en suite master bath with a Jacuzzi tub, a gourmet chefs kitchen with black granite counters and all Sub-Zero appliances, and a full-time housekeeper slash ma.s.seuse who also, I recently discovered, knew how to give (almost) painless waxes.

I was even still doing pretty well in school (despite the late nights and oh-so-painful early mornings, thanks to that celebutante roommate).

And, okay, my straight-A average was pretty much shot due to the fact that my employer kept ripping me out of cla.s.s to send me to some tropical island to wave my b.u.t.t over a bunch of sharks so he could have my picture taken in the dark.

But if I spent every spare minute of my time studying, I could maybe pa.s.s the eleventh grade. Not too shabby for a girl who had spent a month of this past semester in a coma.

So why was I so freaking depressed?

Make her look happy, I heard Andre say to Brandon, who obliged by calling out, Hey, Nik! This is just like that time you and I were in Mustique together last year, remember? And you were doing that shoot for British Vogue, and we had that private cabana? And we drank all that Goldschlager? Then we went skinny-dipping? G.o.d, we had the best time That was when I remembered. Why I was so depressed, I mean.

That was also when I let go of the cliff face.

It was just that, suddenly, being eaten by sharks seemed preferable to hearing the rest of Brandons story.

Because Id heard a lot of similar stories over the past month"not just from Brandon, but from guys all over Manhattan"and I had a pretty good idea how it was going to turn out. For a seventeen-year-old"and one who was allegedly going out with her employers only son"Nikki Howard had certainly had a lot of male companions.

I heard screams from the boat. But a part of me didnt care.

I hit the water backward. It was even colder than Id imagined it would be. All the breath was sucked from my body, and the shock was so intense, for a second I wondered if a shark had bitten me in half. I knew from a doc.u.mentary Christopher and I had once watched that a sharks teeth were so sharp, their victims didnt even feel that initial crunch. They often werent aware theyd been injurednot until they were surrounded by the warm current of their own blood.

Bone-chilling cold wasnt the only thing I experienced as I hit the water, though. I was also plunged into darkness. At least at first. Until my vision adjusted to the murky water, and I saw that the lights from the boat had lit up the ocean around me. That was when I knew I hadnt been bitten in half. There werent any swirling clouds of blood around me. Just dark blobs I realized were nurse sharks, swimming frantically to get away from me. I guess Dom had been right"they were more scared of us than we were of them. I could also see my own hair, swaying like golden seaweed around me. Theyd rowed me over to the cliff so carefully in a rubber dinghy just forty-five minutes earlier so as to keep my hair"and the swimsuit"from getting wet.

And now Id ruined everything. Vanessa, the stylist whod worked for nearly an hour to get my blond tresses perfect, was going to be p.i.s.sed when I resurfaced, wet as a mermaid.

If I resurfaced.

Exceptwell, the truth was, it was kind of nice down there. Cold, yeah. But peaceful. Quiet. Mermaids had the right idea. What was Ariel thinking, wanting to live on land, anyway?

It was totally amazing, and for a second or two, I forgot about how cold and miserable I was, and that I couldnt feel my b.u.t.t. Oh, and that I couldnt breathe, and was probably drowning.

But then, what did I have to live for, anyway? Sure, it was great, I guess, having access to the Stark Enterprises private plane and not having to do my own dishes and getting all the free lip gloss I could ever want.

But Id never actually cared about lip gloss.

The fact was, I was being forced to work for a corporation I was pretty sure was responsible for turning America into one endless, soulless strip mall.

And the guy I liked didnt know I was alive. Literally.

And if I told him I wasnt dead, Stark Enterprises, who I was pretty sure was spying on me every chance they got, were going to throw my parents in jail.

And, oh, yeah: My brain has been removed from my body and put into someone elses.

So what was the point of living? I mean, really?

I figured Id just stay down there. It was less stressful, in a lot of ways, than my real life. And that was no exaggeration.

The next thing I knew, though, there was an enormous splash beside me. And suddenly Brandon, fully clothed, was swimming toward me, and had grabbed me, and was pulling me"gasping and choking"to the surface, and then pulling me to the boat.

I was a little angry. And also s.h.i.+vering uncontrollably.

Okay, I guess I didnt really want to live on the bottom of the ocean.

But I didnt need to be rescued, either. I wasnt really going to stay under there until my lungs filled and I choked to death on brackish seawater.

I dont think.

When I looked past Brandons taut arm muscles as he towed me back to the boat, I saw my agents a.s.sistant peering at me worriedly from the bow.

Oh, my G.o.d, Nikki, are you okay? Shauna cried. Cosabella, whom she was clutching in her arms, was barking hysterically. Cosabella. Id forgotten about Cosabella. How could I have been so selfish? Whod have taken care of Cosabella? Lulu isnt responsible enough. She forgets to feed herself half the time (except for mojitos and popcorn). No way would she remember to feed a tiny dog.

Shauna had asked a good question. Was I okay? That was something Id been asking myself for a while now.

Sometimes I wondered if Id ever be okay again.

Nikki, I heard Francesco call out from the boat. Thank G.o.d. Its all right, though. I got the shot.

Great. Not: Nikki, thank G.o.d, youre all right. But: Nikki, thank G.o.d, its all right; I got the shot.

G.o.d forbid he might not have.

Because Stark Enterprises would never have let any of us go home otherwise.

Not until wed got the shot.

TWO.

I WAS ALONE IN MY HOTEL ROOM (WELL, alone except for Cosabella, who wouldnt stop licking the salt water from my face), attempting to defrost in my balconys private hot tub. Brandon and the rest of the people from the photo shoot had gone off for another one of their thousand-dollar sas.h.i.+mi dinners"expensed to Brandons father, billionaire Robert Stark, of course"at the hotel restaurant downstairs. Id declined joining them in favor of the hot tub, a burger from room service, and a few rounds of Journeyquest in front of my MacBook Air. Listening to them gossip about the Olsen twins and then dancing to technopop, which I knew would follow, didnt seem all that appealing after what Id been through.

Actually, it never seemed all that appealing to mealthough Brandon had stood outside my door for a long time, begging me to reconsider, while Id s.h.i.+vered. Id finally convinced him to leave only by saying Id come down latera total lie.

Which was why, when Nikkis cell phone played the first few bars of Barracuda, I was sure it was him calling.

Its embarra.s.sing to have Barracuda as a ringtone. But Id never gotten around to changing it. Actually, since Id never gotten over my suspicion that Nikkis Stark brand cell phone was bugged (her Stark brand PC had had tracking software on it"why wouldnt Stark be listening in on her phone calls, too?), Id just never bothered to take the time to figure out how to work her phone beyond hitting the delete b.u.t.ton. I simply avoided using it most of the time, preferring instead to make my personal calls on the iPhone Id bought with one of Nikkis credit cards.

I checked the caller ID (Id totally learned not to pick up unless I recognized the name. Otherwise Id find myself at the receiving end of a long harangue about why I hadnt called in so long and how much someone with a name like Eduardo was just dying to fly to Paris with me again) and was surprised to see that it wasnt Brandon at all, but Lulu.

What? I said. We stopped being polite with each other the night she and Brandon kidnapped me from the hospital after my brain transplant in a misguided attempt to rescue me.

Um, Lulu said. There was a guy here to see you.

Lulu. In the short time that Id lived with Lulu, Id come to love her like a sister. So Id be the first person to admit shes short a few brain cells. Theres always a guy there to see me.

It was sad, but true. The loft we shared was like guy central. The only guy whod never stopped by our loft to see me was the one guy I actually longed to have there.