Living in Soviet Russia.

 IMPORTANT: This book is based in a world where everything is the opposite to the steriotype. It is suppose to be humerous, though I understand that I have an odd sense of humour. :)

Chapter One:

Waking up had never felt worse. I stood up, put on my Gucci crocs, Prada sweatpants and tried to brush some knots into my hair, without success, before looking in the mirror.

‘God, I looked so skinny,’ I thought as I tried to grab some fat, just any fat from my flat stomach without success. It was times like these where I wished that I wasn’t a cheerleader like my mum was. You see, no one in our family was popular. I wasn’t that lucky in the genetics department either. All you could see looking in the mirror was a tall girl with tanned skin, an unfortunately high metabolism, platinum blonde hair that shined in any room I was in and legs as long as the road to heaven. Sometimes I wished that I was as beautiful as everyone else that goes to my school so much that I would spend nights putting stuffing in my shirt and drawing on beauty warts just to be like them. But it never worked. I would forever be an outsider.

Day in day out I was bullied. I tried to stay to the outskirts of society, just trying to blend in. But it never worked, they always found me somehow. And I simply can’t imagine how.

I sighed as I drove my cherry red Porsche into school, wishing I could take the bus like everyone else. Even just to sit next to someone, sharing the answers to the latest math problem, discussing the advantages and disadvantages of homeostatic mechanisms. God, I wish I was just that cool.

Stepping out of my car, I saw the rest of the school walking leisurely to the ‘The Reject Shop’ next to our school. ‘Why aren’t I that poor?’ I asked myself wistfully as I walked passed through the school doors and into the corridor where I was then shoved into various lockers on the way to my first class, bouncing off of them and landing flat on the tiles. Snickers followed me wherever I walked as I tried my hardest not to be noticed. But to no avail as the person I idolised most in the world, Agatha, stumbled up to me with five mars bars somehow jammed into her mouth, showcasing her usual graceful perfection.

“Hey Valerie, skinny, why don’t you gain a few kilos,” she asked between mouthfuls, all the while managing to retch a mixture of saliva and mars bar at my face. All of her followers pissed themselves laughing, and I glanced down enviously at the pools of yellow at their feet.

Sometimes all that I wished was that I could have friends who didn’t have to pretend that everything that I say is the funniest thing that they’ve ever heard, friends that would stick by me when all I resembled was a stick.

“I’m sorry,” I replied and tried to run into the shadows of the corridor so that no one else would see me, but before I could, Agatha managed to heave her exotic, beefy arm up and slammed it into the locker just in front of me. I flinched, not expecting this; why would she move more than she had to, it wasn’t lady-like.

“Princess,” she began with a grotesque face, her friends laughing at the insult, “You’d better watch your front, for if you mess with me, I’ll let them have it…” while pointing at her friends. After putting on a very confused face and thinking for a fair few minutes, she abruptly figured out where she’d gone wrong, “I mean that I’d let them have you!” She said flushing in happiness as she strode away.

Not that she’d ever know, but I didn’t even realise her mistake, or any of her glorious speech – though I wish I had - because all I was thinking was if I could look like she did, I’d have an everlasting supply of Facebook profile pictures, instead of an everlasting supply of Farmville requests.