"This isn’t about the money," I said. "This is about me finally figuring out the other half of me—the half you’ve always kept a secret.”

She took hold of my arm, stopping me as I reached the hallway. "You don’t need to go anywhere to figure out who you are. You're Alexia Garcia: a beautiful, smart, talented girl. Can't you see that?”

I pulled my arm away from her. "You don't understand this.” She couldn't. She’d always known both of her parents. She hadn't grown up half empty.

"I understand—you're doing this because you're mad at me. It’s a bad reason, Lexi.” She reached out again but didn’t touch my arm. "Think about it before you get caught up with these people.”

"Why should I, when you didn’t?” I turned and walked away from her, but I could feel her watching my every step.

I went to the service elevator, stood inside shaking, and stared at the buttons.

Despite the scene with my mother, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know what to say to Kari. Did I tell her she was my half sister? What exactly was the proper etiquette for announcing that sort of thing? It had been a huge shock to me, and I'd had at least a little forewarning. I’d always known I had a father somewhere, and I might have brothers or sisters. But how would Kari take the news about what her father had done? How would she feel about a sister—about me being her sister?

I looked down at my worn tennis shoes and their fraying laces, at my faded jeans, and my nondescript T-shirt. I compared them to her outfit, right down to her cosmopolitan red heels and flashy gold earrings. I was glad she didn’t know who I was, and I wasn't going to break the news to her. Not now. Not until I’d talked to Alex Kingsley. Alex Kingsley—that's who he was to me. I couldn’t call him my father, not even in my mind.

I imagined myself telling him. I saw his face now, where before there had only been a blurry guy standing beside a horse.

Was it possible he would be happy, that he'd want to be some sort of father to me?

But, then again, if he hadn't cared enough about my mother to even call her, why would he care about me? Maybe he’d call me a gold digger too. I didn’t know anything about him or how he’d react.

I leaned against the elevator wall. Maybe my mom was right and it was better to have a lawyer contact him and ask for a DNA test. Only, getting a lawyer seemed like mounting an attack against him. If he felt attacked, I’d lose the chance to ever have a real relationship with him.

I pictured meeting him at some posh lawyer's office. My mom and I would drive there in our beat-up Taurus with a three-inch crack in the windshield and a side mirror that had been superglued back into place after Abuela had knocked it off while backing out of the garage.

He'd be so impressed with us.

It was better to do it my way.

I pushed the button for the eleventh floor and in a couple of minutes stood outside of Kari’s door. I took a lot of deep breaths before I knocked. Ms. Pomeroy answered. I walked in and forced a smile.

Kari had finished her meal and was sprawled out on the couch with a People magazine. I looked at her profile, taking in our similarities again. It was so obvious now that we were related, a truth standing there in plain sight—no, not standing, waving its arms around, jumping up and down. Why hadn't I figured it out the first time I saw her on a CD cover?

I knew I was staring, so I turned my gaze to Ms. Pomeroy. I kept my voice even and told myself they had no reason to suspect anything. Sometimes strangers look alike. "I'll take the job on one condition. I want to meet Alex Kingsley.”

Ms. Pomeroy raised an eyebrow. "Why?”

“I already told you I was a fan. We have all his CDs."

Kari laid the magazine on her stomach and craned her head around to look at me. "So when it was about meeting me and making a lot of money, the answer was no, but when there’s a chance to meet my father, the answer is yes?"

I shrugged. "I’ve wanted to meet him since I was a little girl."

She picked up the magazine too quickly, and the pages rustled in protest. "Well, I feel special now.”

Ms. Pomeroy walked to a desk and picked up a briefcase. "I'm sure a meeting can be arranged—after you've done a few events for Kari. Let’s get started on the paperwork, shall we? You'll be listed as an assistant. No need to tell anyone more about your duties." She pulled out a paper and handed it to me. "Here’s a nondisclosure form. This means you can't talk to the tabloids about Kari at all. No interviews, no pictures, no leaks, no book deals, or anything along those lines. We’re clear about that?"

"Absolutely,” I said. In fact, I wanted the press to find out about this less than Kari and Ms. Pomeroy put together.

For the next few minutes, I sat at the desk and filled out every piece of paper Ms. Pomeroy handed me.

She watched my pen moving across the paper. “You’ll need to learn how to write Kari’s signature to sign autographs,” she said. "Beyond that, don’t write anything for anyone while you’re pretending to be her. Your handwriting is nothing like hers.”

I nodded. "When am I leaving for California? Tomorrow? Tonight?”

She laughed at my eagerness. "We can give you time to pack, tie up loose ends, withdraw from school—"

I slid the last piece of paper back to her. "Don’t. If you give me time I’ll probably change my mind."

For a moment her gaze zeroed in on me, calculating, then she picked up the papers and straightened them into a pile. "Your mother still doesn’t approve? You did tell her you were going, didn’t you?"

"She knows I’m going. She just doesn't think I should.” Ms. Pomeroy slipped the papers back into her briefcase. "And what does your father think?”

That was the question, wasn't it? Yesterday, an hour ago, I would have shrugged, like I'd done a thousand times, and told her my mother was single. I couldn't bring those words to my lips now.

"My father doesn’t live with us." My voice sounded tense, wrong somehow. And I could see her making note of that, like she made note of everything.

She nodded, closed her briefcase, and stood up. Before she walked away, I asked, "Do you know Alex Kingsley?”

"I used to work for him before I became Kari’s manager.”

"What's he like?”

Ms. Pomeroy glanced over at Kari to see if she was listening. She wasn’t. She’d moved on to a Glamour magazine.

"I think very highly of him." The tone of her voice hinted at more than professional admiration. "When Kari’s next album comes out, I’ll probably go back to working for him." She smiled not so much at me, but at the thought of him. "I won’t have any trouble arranging a meeting for you.”

I should have been glad that she had such easy access to him, but instead my skin prickled. It was stupid to feel jealous on my mom’s behalf just because she’d kept Alex Kingsley’s posters. And still listened to his CDs. Sometimes incessantly. Until I had to retreat to my room and block out his voice by blasting my own music. Mom had moved on with her life. Still, I looked at Ms. Pomeroy's flawless makeup, her perfectly outlined maroon lips, and wondered if she’d ever kissed my father. I didn't like the thought.

* * *

Ms. Pomeroy drove me to my house so I could pack a few things. I should have invited her in. It would have been the polite thing, but I didn't. She knew my father. Maybe she’d been to his house. Somehow I couldn't stand the thought of her looking down on our cramped living room and sagging couch. I didn’t want her making judgments on the kind of life my mother had been able to provide.

Instead I got out of the car and asked Ms. Pomeroy to pick me up in a half hour. That would be all the time I needed to throw a few belongings into a duffel bag and say good bye to Abuela.