Disclaimer: I DO NOT, repeat DO NOT, own Bridget Jones. This is just a sequel to the sequel Bridget Jones: The Edge Of Reason. (Good movie go see it.) This is set 17 years later and Bridget and Mark have two daughters: Pamela (17) and Camille (15). Camille is the star of this story. Also, I'm American, but I say a really mean comment about people counting carbs/calories. I'm really sorry if you're one of them, but that's what I think and if you don't like it, well then screw you.

January 1, 12:23 AM

Balcony of this really fancy place

Name: Camille Darcy. Age: 15, will be 16 this July. Weight: 120 lbs. Hair Color: dark brown with pink streaks. Number of piercings: 7. Number of times I've pissed off my parents in the last 24 hours: 2 Alcoholic beverages secretly consumed: 2

What a total bore the year has been. Mum and Dad drag me and Pamela to another stupid formal party. But this year, Mum finally broke Dad down and I'm officially allowed to wear a strapless dress. It's black and it goes down to my knees. Mum thinks I look wonderful. Dad's afraid I'll turn into a complete whore. Sorry Daddy, you already have one in the family and her name is Pamela. Oh God, how I loathe her. She gets all the guys and she's popular and pretty and grr how I hate her. She's the reason why every teenage girl on the planet goes on a crash diet. She's also the reason why bloody Americans count carbs and calories and don't get off their fat arses to excerise.

Grandmom's Christmas party was the worst. Like Mum says, all the world's perverts in one room disguised as close relatives. Uncle Geoffrey is the worst. Since Mum's been married, he usually gropes at my bum or Pamela's bum. And every year Grandmom tries to set Pamela and me up with some ugly bloke with retainers and an ugly sweater that their mum made them. But at least this Christmas, the guy I got was cute in that geeky Seth Cohen way. Haha Pamela. Take that and shove it up your ass.

His name is Alex McLean. He has curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. He's a grade ahead of me, but no matter. Still cute all the same.

"Alex, this is my granddaughter, Camille Darcy," Grandmom introduced. "Camille, Alex's father lives next door to us, but they're moving to London. Alex is transferring to your school after winter break."

"Oh dear God, I hope he survives," I replied. Alex raised an eyebrow and Grandmom gave me a look of pure shock.

"Well, what can I say? It's a freaking private school where everyone wears a freaking uniform. Half the girls are sluts and all the guys are looking for some action," I explained.

"And the other half of the girls?" Alex questioned.

"Well," I started, listing all the groups with my fingers, "There's the virgins waiting till they're married, there's the girls who are considered butt-ugly or geeky, and then you have me and my friends."

"And what are you considered?"

"Well, to my sister and her perfect friends, I'm a future spinster because I've never had a boyfriend in my life. But to my classmates, I'm either a waiting virgin or considered butt-ugly."

"Hmm. You have an interesting outlook on life, Darcy," Alex informed.

"You're the first to call it 'interesting,'" I stated.

"Well, you two can talk later," Grandmom replied, dragging me to the kitchen. The second the door closed, she turned into Grand-Mommy Dearest.

"What the fuck were you thinking!" she screamed.

"What?" I replied, pretending not to be aware why she was so upset.

"You know perfectly damn well what I mean!" she snapped.

Suddenly Mum and Dad burst through the door. "Don't yell at her, Mum!" Mum yelled.

"Well, I introduced her to Alex and she went off about her school," Grandmom said.

"Well, she's only fifteen. She doesn't need a boyfriend until she's thirty," Dad said.

"No, because I don't want to be single for another fifteen years!" I whined. "Besides, you let Pamela have a boyfriend when she was fourteen and he was seventeen fucking years old, for God's Sake!"

"Camille, language," Dad and Grandmom warned at the same time.

"All right. He was seventeen fucking years old for PETE'S sake!" I snapped. Mum tried not to laugh. She used to do that on Grandmom all the time. I learned it from her.

But yes. Moving away from that ugly scene. Turns out Alex thought I was funny. But it doesn't matter. I have a guy waiting for me back in London. He just doesn't know it yet.

William Cleaver. He's smooth, handsome, popular. In a word: perfect. He's got dark brown -almost black- hair, blue eyes, and he works out. Or so my best friend Grace has told me.

Oh God, all this thinking is making me thirsty. (grabs a glass of champagne and takes a swish, then drops it onto the sidewalk below) Oops.