Jane opened the refrigerator and perused its contents, seeing what appealed to her for breakfast. Nothing to write home about, for the most part: Eggs, apples, yogurt, veggies, meh.

Bacon. Fresh cream.

Ooh.

And her mother had cleverly tried to hide the good cheese behind the boring old Jack.

Bacon and spinach omelet, here she came.

Jane pulled everything she'd need out of the fridge and piled it on the counter, assembling her breakfast quickly and efficiently. She threw together an extra one, larger than hers, for her brother, Barrett, otherwise, she knew, he'd just try to take hers.

Sure enough, he rolled in to the kitchen just as she was sliding it out of the pan.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked, looking with interest at the food.

"Omelet," she replied briefly, gesturing toward his plate.

"Thanks, sis," he said with a grin, planting a sloppy kiss on his sister's cheek.

She ostentatiously wiped her face as she sat with her own plate.

"I don't know where you put all the food you eat," Barrett said conversationally as he attacked his food.

"We have the same genetics, Bear, the same metabolism," Jane replied. She'd gotten over being food-shamed years ago. She liked to eat.

"I know, but I work out. I have football, baseball, whatever, you know? I work it off." He chewed and swallowed, taking a huge swig of milk to wash it down.

"Jesus, use a napkin, at least?" said Jane as she passed one over.

"I'm just saying," he continued, taking the proffered napkin with a nod of thanks, "I'm going to have to work like a dog to burn these calories." He gestured at his sister. "You, though, you don't do a fucking thing, and you're, like, one of those stick bugs or whatever."

Unfortunately, her brother was right. No matter what she ate, she never seemed to gain any weight.

When she'd been little, she'd looked forward to puberty, to "becoming a woman". While her friends were in the bathroom during recess, crying about the horror of getting their periods, which they'd just learned about in an antiquated movie from the Dark Ages, Jane had smiled to herself. Finally, the mystery was solved. As soon as she got her period, she'd become the soft, curvaceous girl she yearned to be. No longer would her brother be able to "pants" her, just for fun. The dreaded names of "bean pole," "twiggy," and the simple adjective "skinny" would be no more.

Maybe in another universe there was a girl with Jane's wispy blonde hair and gray eyes, becoming a buxom, curvy young woman, because it sure wasn't happening here.

All around her, Jane watched her girlfriends grow breasts and hips, morphing into women before her very eyes, it seemed, while she remained gawky and angular.

Skinny.

WTAF?

Jane sighed. "What's your point, Bear?" She moodily lifted another forkful of omelet to her mouth.

"Ah, I love you, no matter what you look like, you know that, right?" Her brother kissed her again, this time on top her head, as he rose and cleared his plate.

Jane regarded her brother with affection. It couldn't be easy to be Bear Carroway, captain of every sports team Lincoln High had, sailing blithely through life as the most popular boy, ever, anywhere, and be brother to Jane, who was socially invisible, physically gawky, just the most awkward person in New Jersey.

"Need a ride?" he asked as he gathered his books, football gear, and other myriad accoutrements of his life in his large hands.

Jane shook her head. "Meeting Camilla at Starbucks," she explained.

Her brother nodded. "Okay, see you at school, then," he said, and he air-kissed in her direction before grabbing his keys and heading out.

Jane sighed again, finished her food, and went back upstairs to finish "getting ready". She used that term loosely, as there wasn't much to be done.

She grimly surveyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Even her hair was thin. She turned away after applying a little mascara. She just couldn't deal with her reflection today.

"Jane? Jane Bennett Carroway!"

She stuck her head out of the bathroom.

"Mom, please."

Her mother wrinkled her nose at her daughter. "Oh, come on, I gave you the most lovely name, and no one ever gets to use it. Let me indulge myself."

Maybe some other girl could pull off being named after the beautiful Bennett sister in Pride and Prejudice, but Jane could not. Why, why couldn't her capricious mother have at least named her "Elizabeth," after the spunky, spirited, articulate sister? Why hadn't her father, the sensibly named "Frank," rescued her?

Her mother followed her into her room, where Jane began gathering her school stuff and putting it into her backpack. "Why can't you enjoy your name? I think it would be so wonderful and fun to have a poetic, literary name," her mother continued, ruffling her daughter's hair.

"Your name's Nancy," Jane pointed out as she passed her mom and headed down the stairs.

"Exactly," her mother replied. "I wish I had a lovely name like yours."

There was no way she could explain to her mother how horrible it felt to be named for a great beauty and not be beautiful. Her mother would respond as she always did, telling Jane that she was beautiful, that it was in the eye of the beholder, that all she needed was a little confidence, and Jane would just end up feeling like Sissy Spacek's character in the movie Carrie, when the gym teacher was talking to her.

Jane listened with half an ear while her mother followed her downstairs, reminding her to pick up the dry-cleaning on her way home from school.

"Bye, mom," Jane said, turning around at the door.

"At least smile for me?" her mother replied.

So Jane smiled as she walked out the door to face another day in Redmond, New Jersey, twenty minutes from everywhere, but in the middle of nowhere.

She walked toward the coffee shop, enjoying the brisk edge to the air, the crisp feel of fall. The Starbucks appearing on the corner of Main and Elm (yes, the streets were really called that) was the most exciting thing to happen to their town in decades, and Jane was grateful that at least, at long last, during the summer before her senior year, a national franchise had finally come to "Deadmond," as she and her friends called it.

She waved to Camilla as she pushed open the door, savoring the wonderful smell of coffee.

"Here, I already got you one," Camilla said, pushing a cup over to her.

"Thanks," Jane said gratefully, picking it up and taking a long drink. She regarded her friend with gratitude and affection. "You know the problem with you, Camilla? You're too nice," she said, setting her backpack down and taking a seat. "You're gorgeous, first of all. Perfect hair, perfect body, perfect face," she listed. "Nothing like me at all. And you're smart, too." She took another swallow of her latte. "You should at least be a bitch. I mean, I can't even hate you in good conscience. So unfair." Jane shook her head, smiling.

Camilla smiled back. "I hate, I really hate it when you talk about yourself like that, Jane, you know that, right?" She shook her brown hair back, shifting her bangs out of her blue eyes. The thing about Camilla was that she honestly didn't seem to realize how pretty she was. Or if she did, she didn't care. Why else would she continue to hang out with Jane? Childhood friendships could only go so far, Jane thought, but year after year, as Camilla blossomed into a combination of Gwen Stefani and Ariana Grande, she still sought out Jane for company, for study sessions, for texting about guys, for all-night movie marathons. Jane had come to the surprising conclusion that Camilla really liked her. Loved her, even.

"Ah, Cam, you know you can't live without me," Jane said to her friend.

"No, I can't," Camilla responded. "Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask. I mean, it's sort of a favor. I mean, it might be a favor if it happens." She looked at Jane, eyes wide.

"What?" Jane responded. Favors for Camilla always ended up being fabulous, like when her family went to Hawaii over winter vacation, and her parents told her to "bring a friend" so she'd have company, or when she "needed" someone to go test-drive cars with her.

"There's this contest," Camilla began, leaning over the table.

Jane raised her eyebrows.

"You write an essay about why you'd like to have lunch with Charles McAllister, and if you win, you get to," she spread her hands in excitement.

Charles McAllister was worth a little excitement. He'd begun in a boyband, but had recently branched out into acting. The news that he was in the city filming a movie had roared through her school like wildfire a few weeks ago, and some of the girls had even taken the train into Manhattan to look for him.

Charles McAllister was the most alluring combination of characteristics; He had black hair that curled just a little, worn long enough to tie in the most perfect man-bun ever, along with hazel eyes that had been called "mesmerizing" by more than one talk-show host. He was English, and had the sexiest accent in the world, Jane and Camilla had decided while watching one of his movies. And most important to Jane, he was smart. She knew that he'd been accepted to Cambridge and Brown Universities, but he'd decided to pursue a career in acting over continuing his education. Jane's parents thought this was incredibly short-sighted, and in her secret heart of hearts, Jane agreed with them, though she'd never say so out loud.

Leave it to Camilla to find a legitimate, even intellectual way to meet her idol. And of course she'd win, too. Camilla had applied early decision as a journalism major to Princeton, and everyone knew she'd get in.

Jane looked at her friend with affection. "So where's the favor? You don't need help writing it, so what?"

"Well, if I win, I get to take a friend," Camilla said, grasping one of Jane's hands.

Jane yanked her hand away. "No. Camilla, no. I do not want to third-wheel it while you lunch on shrimp cocktail or whatever with your dream man!"

Camilla wrinkled her nose. "Shrimp cocktail? I'd never eat seafood on a date, imagine the smell."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Whatever the menu, my no vote still stands. I'd stick out like a skinny sore thumb, Cam! Why can't you ask Vivian?" Vivian Warner was one of Camilla's cheerleader friends. She wasn't very bright, but was very beautiful, way more appropriate for lunch with a teen idol.

Camilla wrinkled her nose again. "Eww, no. I don't even like her very much." She took Jane's hand again. "How about if I fill out the form with your name, and if I win we can talk about it again? Hm?" She nodded encouragingly. "Please? I might not even win. I mean, you know every girl in the tri-state area is going to enter. You could even enter yourself, you know? You write better than I do."

This time Jane let her friend hold her hand. Not that she'd ever consider entering the contest. Jane huffed out a deep breath. "Okay. You can put my name. But I swear to Christ, Camilla Parks, when you win, we're going to have to work out something else, because I don't feel like being the 'plain' friend on a lunch date that's going to be the lead story on Entertainment Tonight."

Camilla clapped her hands in victory. "Thank you, Jane, thank you thank you thank you!" And she came around the table to hug her friend.

"Yeah, yeah," Jane said with a resigned smile. "You can name your first child 'Jane' when you marry Charles McAllister and have bazillions of his babies, okay?" And she kissed Camilla on the cheek.

"You know I love you, right?" Camilla continued, gazing at Jane with a blue-eyed look of affection.

"I know. Let's get to school, okay? Before Chapin gives us another tardy and we get detention before it's even the end of October."

Jane patted Camilla, and the two girls gathered their stuff and headed off to school, one short and brunette, one tall and wispy blonde, friends for life.