Thank you so much for the reviews. I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to update; I've been busy. I'm also sorry if this chapter isn't up to the standard I set with the first chapter.
Dylan Marvil was praying to God about electric blue numbers.
The digital scale wavered beneath her vampy red toenails, sliding up, as did the fervent urgency of her prayer, and then down again. She sighed in relief, only to induce the numbers to climb yet again. Her two older sisters, of course, were both size-negative-sixes and fully capable of eating ice cream with every meal – and then losing weight. Dylan, however, would be unable to fit into her size-(positive)-four True Religions if she so much as ate a single Cheeto.
Dylan stepped off of the black scale conveniently located in her bathroom and watched as the numbers skated back to zero. She hadn't always been so envious of her sisters. She had been seven when she realised that her mother actually favoured her first two daughters over the third. Seven years old. Barely in second grade. Nevertheless, she idolised her mother and took pride in the few similarities they shared: red hair (though her mother's was professionally dyed), a mutual love for the camera (but then, so did the rest of America), and an obsession with US Weekly. That was all. Her sisters were beautiful and thin and blonde and tall and sophisticated, whereas Dylan was ugly (in her opinion) and fat and redheaded and short and boisterous, not to mention incredibly immature. She belched and made crude jokes to make girls at school laugh. And, she assumed, if they laughed, they liked her. This was how Dylan Marvil had taught herself to obtain and maintain friends.
Dylan reached for the green bag of bran chips by her computer, scrupulously counting out five chips so as not to overeat. It was part of the new diet her mother had enlisted her to take part in. "If you lose five pounds by the end of the month, I'll let you get extensions," Merri-Lee had said the day before over dinner. Her sisters had been snickering to each other and Dylan had been absolutely positive it was about her.
"I don't want extensions, Mom," she had almost implored. "I just want to spend time with you and I want you to like me. Just like me – you don't even have to love me. Please just like me." But she hadn't. Instead, Dylan had pasted a cheery smile over the grimace toying with her lips and conceded, "Great! Thanks."
This was why Dylan strove to be one of them. One of the girls with it. One of the girls who was envied, one of the girls who fit in, one of the girls who was relentlessly surrounded by a plethora of friends and adoring fans, one of the girls who was accepted by everybody...loved by everybody. This was the life Dylan aspired to lead and she would do anything in order to get so much as a glimpse of this impossible fantasy. She really would.
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