Genre: YA Contemporary
Word Count: 61,000
High school junior Imogen Keegan’s life can be divvied up into one of two categories: Things That Freaking Suck and Things That Suck Slightly Less. Seven years ago, her spirited stage-actress mother was killed in a car accident and since then, her anti-fairy tale life has been an endless cycle of self-loathing, bullying, and cheese fries. Now her father has gone and married Evelyn Cinder, whose daughter Ella—gorgeous, but in serious need of a cooter-punch—is making it her mission to keep Imogen in the role of the fat and crazy Ugly Stepsister.
At the urging of her one and only friend, Grant, she puts on her big-girl panties and steps in for the suddenly expelled lead in the school musical just before the final show. Imogen shines for one night, but wakes up to find the school plastered with posters picking at her biggest flaws: her Emotionally Disturbed special-ed label, her super-stubborn plus-sized status, and her completely delusional dream of being a star.
The chances of her happily ever after seem further away than ever, and now she’s on her razor’s edge facing the toughest decision of her life. She must resign herself to be crushed under the ever increasing weight of her pain, or finally accept the starring role in her own life story.
I hate buttoning my jeans.
I would rather skip straight to the inevitable muumuu phase of my life than try to encapsulate my size 20 ass into this denim prison ever again.
Come on, suck it in.
I'm not really into wishing on stars, but being able to magic my way into my paint-splattered jeans without feeling like a summer sausage would be a pretty good reason for a fairy godmother.
Oh, thank God. Houston, we have closure.
But seriously. The girls in fairy tales—they don't need the help. I mean, why would a completely gorgeous girl have trouble looking fabulous in a dress, or need help getting a handsome prince to take her to the ball anyway? I'm not fooled. Snow White has the attention of seven little men, not because she’s the only one who can reach the top of the book shelf, but because she’s a porcelain-skinned, ruby-lipped knockout. The little mermaid got a prince because she had to shut her trap for five whole seconds and looks fierce in a bikini. And Cinderella? She’s a girl who clearly demonstrates to the prince that she’s got lots of experience on her knees, and doesn’t mind getting dirty.
Hot girls get the fairy tales.
I’m not bitter. Okay… maybe I’m a little bitter. But, at least I have my reasons. Each more tragic and pitiably clichéd than the last. The most obvious—and also the most trivial—is that I am so not a hot girl. At least not according to any human being with eyeballs.