I got a brilliant idea during French class today, and I just had to get this first chapter out. I'm not sure if I'll actually continue this story, but I hope to.

I credit Elihu for the best Total Drama Island fanfiction I've read yet (and yes, I have read both Total Drama Comeback and Total Drama Battlegrounds. Both are tied at a close second) "Wax Character". I highly suggest you read this story!

I credit my cat, Grace, for being good at the vet's and letting me work on my story rather than sleeping on the keyboard with her caramel and black striped tail flicking from side to side

I credit that 'Goth' girl at the grocery store in the Twilight shirt and black skinny jeans who told me sundresses were out of style for inspiring Gwen.

And, finally, I credit Korn, Amy Lee, Green Day, J. Geils Band, Collective Soul, John Cougar Mellencamp and Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers for filling my head with great music while I wrote this story.

PS: I just picked a random weight for Lindsay, so I know it's probably WAY too tiny for someone with boobs that big.

Excerpt from the diary of Jacqueline 'Lindsay' Beauvoir

I'm ugly.

I'm ugly, and I can't do anything about it.

I've stopped eating, I've cut my hair short and ruined it putting in three inch wide stripes of yellow, I've even started wearing the clothes that all those other girls wear. I'm still ugly, and I still don't have any friends.

Ha, friends, what a funny concept.

My 'Friends' aren't real friends. They laugh at my corny jokes, they help me on homework, they hang out with me, but they're not my friends. You want to know how I can tell?

They tell me I'm pretty.

They smile and stroke my hair, telling me how pretty I am. But, when I look in their eyes, I can see that they're lying. I can see that they're just jealous of me and my only stunning feature: my beautiful figure, my model thin figure with skin stretched so tight you can count my ribs. My hip bones flare out like elegant little wings, and my legs only touch at the knees. When I look in the mirror, I feel a little thrill... Then I look at my breasts and I hate how they just out like some sort of carry-along table or something. My face is like something out of a horror movie: Big lips, big eyes, big ears. Big ISN'T beautiful! Big is UGLY!

They try to get me to eat.

They pack extra lunches for me and bring them to school. They pack things I used to like eating, things like steak (medium rare, a red pool clinging to the foil it's wrapped it like some deleted scene from a slasher movie; Disgusting), mashed potatoes (one part potato, two parts sour cream, and, to top it all off, salt and pepper; Revolting) and celery (fresh, crunchy, simple; puke-worthy).

One of them, Nicole, likes to force something in my mouth. She makes me chew the disgusting piece of meat, enjoys seeing my jaws moving while I bite down and release more of that red blood from the chunk. I cry sometimes, I cry because I don't want to hear my teeth bite down, don't want to hear them pull up from the food, bits and pieces sticking into them and making a smacking sound as they stretch and finally snap back to their brownish cube. I especially don't want to hear my traitorous tummy grumbling for this animal cube.

I hate the way it feels! I hate the feeling of this now-mushy slop gliding down my throat and dropping into the once-tranquil chamber of my stomach. When Nicole makes me eat, I can hear the echoing plop the uninvited visitor makes as it falls into my stomach.

But I know it's all a lie. How could anyone think I'm pretty when I still have so much more work to do?

I smirked at reading my old diary. Now I'm pretty, because now I have Chris. I turned to the back of the silly black journal, back to the clean, unused pages, slightly yellowed with age, and picked up a pen.

"In response to my earlier entry:" I wrote at the top, labeling the page for future reference. Giggling with glee, I let the pen begin wildly tracing over that page, leaving curly pink letters in it's tracks.

"Then I found someone who understood, who told me that I was as ugly as I know I am. His name was Chris, and he told me I COULD be pretty if I had long golden hair, if I wore a short skirt and boots, and if I used some fake tanner. If I acted dumb and sweet, like a frosted cupcake."

I did all he said, and then I went to go see him.

He kissed me. With tongue!

He kissed me, he made me feel so special. He gently caressed my wing-like hips and told me how beautiful I was.

Then we made love.

Chris is the only one who understands me. The only one who understands Jacqueline Beauvoir. Or, as he refers to me, Lindsay."

I don't even remember this pathetic 'Jacquline Beauvior', all I know is that I am Lindsay, and that Lindsay is beautiful.

And Lindsay weighs 97 pounds.