I just need the actress who plays Amara to be one of them.

I clear my throat, not wanting to sound overly eager. “It sounds too good to be true, being you.”

“I promise it isn’t. No strings attached. Oh, and rule three: don’t talk about Amara. About her death. Wanting her to live. Whatever. That thing you did on the panel, you can’t do it again.”

My face pinches. “Why don’t you want to save Amara—your job?”

Jessica waves her hand dismissively. “It’s none of your business.”

Ugh. I chew on the inside of my cheek. I’m not going to stop just because she can’t see a good thing right in front of her. Amara deserves to be saved—and what Jess doesn’t know while she’s off being me won’t hurt her. Besides, she’ll thank me later. I’m sure of it.

“Fine,” I lie, crossing my fingers behind my back. “I won’t.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Perfect. Besides, Ethan will be with you the whole time.”

The nerfherder and I give each other the same look—a glower that could cut straight to the soul. I really, really dislike him. Like to a degree I don’t think I’ve ever disliked anyone.

“And that brings me to the fourth rule,” Jessica says, looking between the two of us. “Don’t flirt with anyone.”

My cheeks redden. “I—what?”

“Don’t flirt. With anyone.”

“Why would you—but I wouldn’t—”

She levels a look at me. “And you won’t. Understand?”

“Fine! I don’t know who I’d flirt with anyway.”

“Darien,” she says, “Calvin, the volunteers, Ethan—”

“I would never flirt with him,” I say at the same time as he says, “I’d never flirt with your two-bit clone.”

“Clone? Well that’s rude,” I say.

He clicks his tongue admonishingly. “And I want to keep my job.”

Jessica snaps her fingers to draw our attention back to her. “Children, children. I need you two to play nice. Rule five, be nice to Ethan.”

I jab a finger at him. Again. “He started it!”

“Rule six”—she holds up six fingers, as though I need a visual aid—“you will wear contacts at all times.”

I laugh. “Sorry. I don’t do contacts.”

“My eyes are blue, so now you will,” she says matter-of-factly. “Rule seven, you will be nice to my fans but you will not take selfies with them outside of photo ops. Rule eight,” she brings up the finger count again, “no interviews without my consent, no signing things, no nothing. Rule nine is no soda. I don’t drink sodas.”

“They’re gross; I agree.”