I had to memorize the lyrics to Kari's songs, and if I messed up while I lip-synched them, Maren would put her hand over her eyes like I’d given her a headache and say, "Didn't you ever listen to the radio back in West Virginia? I thought everyone knew these lyrics.”

The only thing she ever complimented me on was the way I'd incorporated so many of Kari’s mannerisms. I hadn’t, of course. They were my mannerisms too.

Day after day I worked through the mundane details of turning myself into Kari. I didn’t tell my mom about most of it. I knew she wouldn't approve of me deceiving people. She already sighed a lot every time I called her. She wasn't happy that I left home, so I was more than a little surprised when she sent me her sapphire necklace.

My mom had only had one really nice thing her entire life: a sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds on a gold chain. She’d never told me where she'd gotten it, but I knew it had sentimental value to her—otherwise she would have sold it long ago to pay bills.

I don't ever remember seeing her wear it. It always sat in her jewelry box, reigning over the lesser rings and necklaces she wore day to day. Once when I was little, I took it out to play with and got in huge trouble, but Mom always told me that when I was older it would be mine.

When I found it there, nestled in a clear jewelry case next to my books, I held it in my hand, watching the light blink blue off its surface. I couldn’t believe she had sent it. Then I saw the letter explaining everything.

Dear Lexi,

Your father gave me this on the night we met. He purchased a piece of jewelry for his wife every time he went out on tour, and he’d bought this piece for her during the tour he was on when she died. He couldn’t bring himself to return it or to sell it; he couldn’t even take it out of his guitar case. It stayed there for months, causing him pain every time he pulled out his guitar and saw it.

Since I resembled her so much, he said he knew it would look good on me, and he made a present of it. I took it because I wanted to help him find a way to heal, to get past the agonizing reminders.

I only wore it that night. I’ve always felt it didn't really belong to me, but it should belong to you now. If Alex doesn't believe who you are, show it to him. Even if he doesn't remember me, I'm sure he'll remember it.

Love,

Mom

I put the necklace back in its box, a sick feeling of disappointment rattling around in my chest. I'd always loved that sapphire. It seemed like something a queen would own. I had looked forward to wearing it someday, maybe my wedding day. Now I didn’t even want to keep it. It should be Kari’s, not mine. Alex Kingsley had bought it for her mother, the woman he’d loved—not my mother, the woman he'd discarded.

So it sat in its box on the dresser reminding me every time I saw it that I’d started out life second best.

Sometimes when I was supposed to be doing my homework, I would type Alex Kingsley’s name into an Internet search. I must have seen a hundred pictures of him from different events, mostly old, but some new ones too: With a starlet on his arm at the Grammys, being inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame, as a national spokesman for abused and neglected children. I found that one ironic. I wondered what people would think if they knew he had a daughter he’d neglected to take care of her whole life.

A few times Maren caught me looking at his website, but she never said anything about it. She just raised an eyebrow, gave me a pointed look, then walked away.

I found myself wondering incessantly whether Alex Kingsley's manager had told him my mother was pregnant. Sometimes I thought my father had known about me all along. Then I felt a rage so strong it blocked out every other emotion.

I even wrote a letter to him. I poured out every angry thought onto the paper. "You don’t deserve to know anything about me,” I said. "I won’t show you my baby pictures or home videos, or tell you about myself. I will never sing for you.”

But maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe he’d write a check to cover back child support and tell me not to bother him again.

I deleted the letter so Maren couldn’t accidentally find it. But it remained in my heart. I could have repeated it word for word.

Then, other times, I was convinced Alex Kingsley's manager hadn't told him anything about me. In those moments I trembled with hope and fear. Anything could happen. He could love me.

Maren said she would take me to a benefit concert he was doing on May 13, nearly two months away. Since she had been Alex's assistant before she came to work for Kari, it would be easy enough for her to come up with an excuse to take me along backstage to see him. She would introduce me as Kari’s body double for an upcoming music video.

I wasn't exactly sure how to segue that into a longer conversation with him, and I daydreamed different scenarios.

Sometimes I slipped him a note telling him I needed to talk to him. Sometimes I said it out loud. Sometimes I dreamed that he took one look at me and knew who I was.

That scenario wasn't likely, but still I liked to think about it.

I would probably just hand him a note with my home phone number written on it and say, "You're about nineteen years overdue to talk to Sabrina Garcia. You might want to make the call this time.”

CHAPTER 6

I saw frustratingly little of Kari during my training, and I never got to see her without Maren carefully observing everything I said. It made it hard to have any sisterly bonding time. So one day I convinced Maren that I needed to observe Kari directly, to make sure I had everything down before my first public debut.

Maren drove me down to the recording studio so I could see what went on during a session. She told me that when Kari was finished, we could both go back to Kari’s house so I could study her firsthand. It was a bigger deal than I’d imagined. Before we arrived, Maren made Kari’s bodyguard and personal assistant clear anyone with a camera out of the parking lot. Maren didn't want to clue in anyone from the press that she had a Kari double with her.

She phoned ahead and told Kari’s staff and the music technicians that I was an actress working on a movie about Kari’s life, but even then, I wore no makeup and had my hair pulled up in a baseball cap so I looked as little like her as possible. We didn’t want the staff to put two and two together when I started doing events for Kari.

"Her driver will take both of you back to her house when she's done recording," Maren said as we walked into the studio. "Don’t let Kari do anything stupid.”

"Like what?”

"Like going out together in public.” After a moment's thought, she added, "Also no skinny-dipping where paparazzi might be present, no driving to Vegas, and no going online to try and refurnish her house with antiques from Italy. Returning stuff overseas is awful.”

We walked to the control room, and Maren spoke to Kari's assistant for a few minutes, then left to run errands.

I stood among half a dozen people watching Kari through a large window. Kari’s staff pretty much left me alone. Every once in a while, her bodyguard sent stony glances in my direction, but he did that to everyone, so I didn’t take it personally. Kari stood in the recording room, earphones on, swaying to the music as she sang into the mike.

I’d heard her songs on the radio, but it was still odd to see her creating one. It made it seem more real, more amazing. She had a beautiful voice, deeper and richer than mine.

I wondered for the hundredth time what it would have been like to grow up knowing we were sisters. I imagined Kari and me on camping trips, at amusement parks, running through waves at the beach, with our arms flung around each other making silly faces for the camera. She would have given me fashion tips and told me how to act around guys.