Kari’s gaze ran up and down me again. "And definitely your clothes have to go . . . oh, and your walk too. We watched you come out of the school, and there’s no good way to tell you this, but you looked like you were plowing through a snowdrift." She held out her hand, palm up, as though showing me something. "You need some finesse. You know, some strut.”

"I don’t always walk like that,” I said. "I’ve had a bad day."

From the front seat, Ms. Pomeroy called out cheerfully, "We’re at the hotel. Let’s finish talking about this upstairs.”

I looked out the window. Yep, it was my mom's hotel, which meant not only did I have to worry about bumping into her, but also all the employees who knew me. I gripped the door handle and told myself I should tell Ms. Pomeroy and Kari that my answer was no now, before I got into trouble with my mom. I knew I couldn’t accept her offer.

But I didn’t. I don't know whether it was curiosity, or whether I was still star struck at being invited to come up to Kari’s room, or whether a small part of me hoped I’d find a way to make the job work.

I could earn between a hundred and twenty and two hundred and forty thousand dollars a year. I couldn’t even imagine everything I could do with that much money.

Kari slipped her sunglasses on and pulled a hoodie over her head. “The room is in Maren's name," she said, “so hopefully no one will recognize me.” Kari took another pair of sunglasses from her purse and handed them to me. "Here, as long as you're walking around with my face and those clothes, you'd better wear these.”

I’d had her face for my entire life and at times wore a lot worse than the jeans and T-shirt I had on, but I didn't argue with her.

Kari peered around the parking lot, then sighed before opening the door. “Sometimes it’s so hard to be me."

I followed her out of the car but didn't tell her that actually I had a better chance of being recognized at the hotel.

We walked quickly through the lobby, and I kept my head down. We went to the elevator and Ms. Pomeroy pushed the up button. So far so good. Kari was busy telling me that in California I’d stay in Ms. Pomeroy’s guest room and have my own driver and the use of other professional staff.

Why did elevators take so long?

Jonathan, one of the waiters from the hotel restaurant, walked past us with a dining cart on his way to the service elevator. I wanted to turn so he couldn't see my face, but Kari was still talking.

Just as our elevator door opened, he glanced over. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw me. “Hey,” he called over, “how ya doing?"

Kari flung her hand up like a traffic cop. "I'm sorry, but we don't have time to talk to fans.”

And then she grabbed hold of my arm and propelled me into the elevator.

Well, that was probably going to be hard to explain to Jonathan later.

Ms. Pomeroy pushed the eleventh-floor button, and Kari leaned against the wall and let out a sigh. "That's the thing I hate about this business. People never leave you alone. They think they have the right to talk to you whenever they feel like it.” She gazed at me with a solemn expression. “You’re going to have to learn how to deal with the public as part of your job. You can't be nice to people or you’ll be mobbed. You have to cut them off and walk away.”

Ms. Pomeroy nodded. "We’ll try to protect you as much as possible.”

The elevator opened and we stepped out. Alleen, one of the maids, walked by carrying an armful of towels. She did a double take when she saw me, then smiled. "Hey, there, what are you doing here?”

Kari shook her head and increased her pace. "Look, we're very busy and don't have time for autographs."

Alleen's eyebrows shot up at that, but I didn't have a chance to explain.

Great. There was no way my mom wouldn’t hear about this.

A few moments later, we walked into one of the luxury suites. The high ceiling, large sitting room, and flowing curtains made it seem more like a high-end apartment than a hotel room. The smell of room freshener and clean sheets surrounded me.

Kari took her sunglasses and jacket off and tossed them on the coffee table, then sank down into the couch. I sat down on the love seat and placed my sunglasses next to hers. Ms. Pomeroy picked up the room service menu and rattled off food choices until we chose something. Then she picked up the phone and ordered.

Kari said, "Tell them to hurry. I’m starving." She leaned toward me confidentially. "And despite the National Enquirer putting me on anorexia watch, I'm not one of those celebrities who think starving is a good thing.”

Into the phone Ms. Pomeroy said, "Can you bring that as fast as possible? We’ll give you an extra tip.”

I wondered if Ms. Pomeroy always did everything Kari asked. It just seemed odd to me, an adult taking orders from someone wearing a halter top.

When Ms. Pomeroy finished with the phone, she sat down on the couch next to Kari, and they both looked over at me. "Well, then, we’d better get on with the interview. You’d be willing to change your clothes and hair, wear makeup, and work on your walk and mannerisms?” Before I could answer, she turned to Kari. "Is there anything else you think Alexia needs to change?”

Kari nodded. "Her voice. She needs to lose the hillbilly accent.”

"I don’t have a hillbilly accent," I said.

Ms. Pomeroy pursed her lips as though considering it. "You’re a’s are a little too long, but besides that, your voices are similar enough that I don’t see any reason this won't work.” "Neither do I,” Kari said. "We'll see how well you can pull off being me for a couple of easy events. If you can do it, you’ll have the job for the year.”

Which still didn’t make sense to me. I said, "Changing my hair and makeup won’t fool people who know you.” Kari relaxed into the couch cushions, looking elegantly at home against the rich fabric. “I’m not asking you to fool my friends or staff. But you could pass for me with everyone else. And they’re the only ones I need to fool because they’re the ones who pay to see me.”

"You mean like at concerts?" I couldn't, even for a moment, imagine myself up in front of a stadium full of people.

"Not big concerts. I’m talking about smaller stuff, mall openings, parades, maybe lip-synching a few songs for some state fairs and rodeos.” Before I could say anything else, she went on. “They pay me forty thousand dollars a pop, and I need the money too much to turn them down. I've got some debts that are bleeding me dry, but I don't have the time to do that stuff. That’s why I need you to do it.”

"Isn't that illegal?" I asked.

Kari rolled her eyes. "That’s why you're keeping it a secret."

Ms. Pomeroy leaned forward, smiling at me like I was silly for asking. "Celebrities use doubles all of the time, and lip-synching is just part of the business.” I must not have looked convinced. She added, "Think of it as a win-win situation. People want Kari to make appearances. It helps them with fund-raisers, membership drives, getting people to come to their events, that sort of thing—but she doesn't have the time. She's got to work on her next album. If you go in her place, the groups are happy, Kari still gets things done, and you get paid four thousand dollars an event, five if it requires travel.”

I looked at my hands. Unlike Kari’s immaculate fingernails, mine had been chewed down to nothing. It was one more difference between us that she’d overlooked.

"They don’t really care about me anyway,” Kari said. "All I am is an image. If they believe they’re getting the real thing, they'll be just as thrilled."