My name is Tiffany and I'm 15 years old.

The name doesn't suit me. A Tiffany is a princess-like, happy-go-lucky girl, probably blonde and model thin. I am fat with tangled hair the color of a dead dandelion.

I have tried everything to lose some weight or tame the rat's nest on my head, but no good results. I got depressed and as one thing led to another, I thought about killing myself.

Soon those thoughts got me to the girl's bathroom at school, holding pills to my mouth. Those pills were an overdose of sleeping medicine; it would have put me to sleep, forever. My hands were shaking so badly that the small white pills nearly dropped to the dirty floor of the bathroom.

I closed my tear-reddened eyes and took deep, shaky breaths. I will do this. I told myself.

When I do this, everything will be over and I will rest at last. No more dreading to get up in the morning to the stares and the not-so-stifled giggles made to my face. No more lessons led by teachers who acknowledge me by looking at my bulging body with disgust. No more coming home to a tired mother who only sleeps when she isn't at work with not two, but three jobs. No more Dad, who I will probably never meet again after he packed and left me and my mother in the middle of the night when I was in second grade. He went to live with the girlfriend he had an affair with since seven months after he married Mom.

Two fat tears poured down my tilted face and went into my ears.

And no more thinking of Neal, my older brother, who died in a horrific car accident a year and a half ago. He was only sixteen.

They found what remained of his body. I saw it myself. His once tall, lanky body was mauled beyond recognition.

I finally opened my mouth.

Then I heard a noise. It was a wheezing, groaning sound. I quickly hid the pills behind my back looked at the door.

I heard the squeaky sound of opening a door, and the next thing I knew, the bathroom door opened.

I quickly hid the pills behind my back. I saw was a young man with a head of shiny brown hair, puppy-dog eyes, large hands, and a blue bow tie.

"Tiffany!" He yelled in surprise. What? He knows me? How?

"Who are you?" I ask. "And this is a girl's bathroom! For all you know I could have been, I don't know, um . . ." I blushed.

"So sorry, wrong time. It's not April yet, is it? We had lots of fun then, yes." He turned around and closed the door. I didn't move.

I heard that same wheezing, groaning sound, and I ran to open the door. I saw a fading image of what looked like a blue telephone box, and wind all around it. Then it faded completely and it was as if it wasn't there to begin with.

That was weird. Who is this man? How does he know my name? And what does he mean by 'it's not April yet'? Of course it isn't! It's almost March now. I feel like I should know something.

I put the pills into my pocket. I had to know what was going to happen in April. If May comes and nothing happens, I'll kill myself.