It wasn't as if I could do anything with my hair, either. My longish red hair is curly and does whatever it wants - not what I tell it to.

    And then there's my nose. All my relatives say I got it from my grandfather. Well, if it were up to me, he could have it back! Just about the only thing I could change was my shirt. So I did. And my jeans, too, for the heck of it.

    I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed hopelessly. I don't consider myself very pretty. But it never used to matter to me. Then I met Ben Hobart.

    All of a sudden, for the first time in my life, I wished I were gorgeous. But to my surprise, Ben seems to like me just the way I am. (Talk about a lucky break! Then again, Ben isn't shallow, like some boys who only care about looks.) Liking a guy is so weird. There's just no way to explain why suddenly you're so crazy about someone. By movie-star standards, Ben isn't a hunk or anything. (Even though I think he's totally adorable.) He has reddish-blond hair, sort of a round face, and freckles. He's tall. And he wears glasses. (Which makes me feel less self-conscious about my glasses.) Oh, and there's one thing that's very cool about Ben. His accent. His family is from Australia. When the Hobarts first moved to Stoneybrook, Connecticut (thaf s my town), some of the kids in school made fun of Ben's accent. I'm sure they were just jealous. Now everyone is used to it and no one teases him anymore. Personally, I would love to have an Australian accent. (I used to long for a French accent, but, since meeting Ben, I've switched to longing for an Australian accent.) In a few minutes the bell rang. I bounded down the stairs and pulled open the front door. "Hi," I greeted Ben. "Come on in." Ben stepped into the living room and looked around. "Kind of quiet in here, isn't it?" he observed.