That night I took Liberty Lee’s poster off my wall. Felix was so happy.

“Good job, Sis,” he said. “You saw sense in the end. What about this guy?” He pointed at Bradley Porter. I’d left him there. Just for a while. Just for inspiration (and because, you know, he was my future husband and everything). Even though he was useless at teaching me American:

Bradley: Dara, you got a prom date?

Me: A what date?

Bradley: Er…prom?

Me: Listen, buster, if you’re inviting me to something, you’d better explain exactly what it is, what goes on there and what I need to wear, because I have no idea what a prom is. And after all that, you might as well explain what a pageant is, and Thanksgiving and homecoming queens. And everything else American.

Bradley: I’ll do my best. But you should know something. My real name’s Kevin Bottomley and I’m originally from Grimsby.

Me: Oh, for goodness’ sake.

I went on the Internet with Dad and found pictures of Asian actors, like Ziyi Zhang, Ki Hong Lee, Ryan Potter, Jordan Rodrigues, and some models from China, Korea, and Japan. It had become a bit of an obsession of mine. Felix and I had looked through Mum’s magazines, trying to find photos to put on my wall, and we only found one model. Felix said she looked Korean. She was on a runway wearing a large shiny bag that was supposed to be a dress. I didn’t even like the photo enough to put it up.

But we found some on the Internet, so Dad printed them out and I stuck them above my bed. I even found a Cambodian actress called Pisay Pao and put her up too. And because I’m not racist, I added photos of other people from all over the place who were my heroes as well.

The next day, we got up early and went to the stadium for the fun run to cheer for Georgia in the drizzle and the wind. I’d tell you all about it but to be honest, I spent most of the time doing a mind movie about me winning and Bradley Porter cheering me on. Of course I watched Georgia. I just drifted off for one tiny second and it was all over. Well, it was only a mile!

When she crossed the finish line, we ran over and lifted her up. A woman from the charity was there and thanked Georgia for what she’d done for the children in the home, and we were so proud of her. Even me. And I wasn’t even acting. Well, maybe a bit.

I was so glad it was over that when we got home, I took the remote control in both my hands, held my arms out and pointed it at Georgia. “Here,” I said. “It’s all yours. Watch whatever you want.”

She laughed so much, she nearly fell off the sofa.

It wasn’t that funny.

I pulled my hands back, still holding the remote control. “Fine. You had your chance.”

Huh.

Never doing that again.

The next day, school started again. It felt like months had gone by since we had been in school, but it had only been two weeks.

A new girl started in the grade below me called Lola. Somehow Lacey found out that she liked LA Girls, so she made Lola sit with us on our bench at break, talk about TV shows, and practice doing faces. I sat with them too, but I got bored after two minutes.

At lunchtime, I went to the play rehearsals and this time I actually walked in the door and didn’t just stalk outside. I took Miss Snelling up on her offer (I really had to stop calling her Snarling) and said I’d be the stage manager.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll need your advice. You can help me decide on the props and the setting, and prompt the actors with their lines when they go blank. Come on, let’s get started.”

She spent twenty minutes talking about the characters and asking the cast to think about what was motivating them. Then she asked them to read their lines in different ways to see what sounded better.

It was a teaspoonful of fascinating. I took it all in. You know, just in case my life story ever gets made into a film and I need to help out on set and meet the stars and then go to the premiere in a sparkly dress with you know who on my arm and win an Oscar and—

Oh, never mind.