BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
5:00 a.m.
She swore her dam-DARN alarm clock would be the death of her.
The brunette teenager got up sluggishly out of her downy bed, suddenly feeling quite attached to it, and looked in the mirror. It happened every morning. She would examine her flabby, pimply face; short and stout body; slumping posture; every little flaw for what seemed like hours, until she finally came to a conclusion; the same conclusion she comes to every morning:

She wasn't, and never would be, pretty.

She knew how the boys at her school thought of her. She was nice enough and smart enough, but all she was to them was a lost puppy, following them affectionately around until she moved on to her next crush. They thought it was sweet, in an annoying, pathetic sort of way.
You never would have thought it by just looking at her, but she wasn't at all happy. She always strived to be popular, and the only way, in her eyes, to achieve that goal is to make as big a fool out of herself as possible. What did it matter? She knew she would never be good enough for anyone.

That is, until she met him.

As soon as she saw him on the island, she knew that somehow, they would be together. She couldn't help it. There was just something about him that made her heart want to leap out of her chest. He was just so perfect. Just seeing her reflection in his sky blue eyes made her seem more confident. He would always be complimenting her (that is, until she found out he was looking at himself), always sticking up for and being nice to her. She swore he liked her for who she was inside, and tried to find the best of what was on the outside. She wanted so bad to be able to believe all the kind words he spoke to her in his ever so soft voice. She'd give anything to trust him. He was different than other boys. Or so she thought.

But it all turned out to be a big, fat lie.

He had been using her the whole time. Lying straight to her face. She didn't know why she didn't see this coming. They were all the same. Shallow, two-faced, and only cared about one thing. Boobs. Well, no. Looks was a better word for it. But still, boobs played a large roll.

Stupid genetics.

She really only had two friends. Big Bertha (she was her pet pig, so she was more like a sister), and Lindsay. Ah, Lindsay. The object of every teenage boy's desires. Blonde, bubbly, and buxom (A/N: That's such a stupid word XD). If she wanted a guy, she could have him with a wink, a wave, and a hair flip. Beth tried to mimic the blonde's actions, but the only reaction she got was boys asking her if she was feeling alright, as they noticed she was "twitching" a lot, and wanted to know if she needed to see the nurse. Beth came to terms that she just had to face the fact that she would always live under Lindsay's perfect shadow; she would never be able to compare to her, no matter how many perfect guys with 12 pack abs, bronze skin, and pairs of eyes as blue as the ocean came her way.

After all, she wasn't, and never would be, pretty.