Truly splendid. Fabulous. Remarkable. Marvelous.

This is so typical of my life. Lily Evans is the kid who works hard and is prefect, for goodness sake!

But no, Lily Evans does not have the French Veela hair.

Damn the Veela hair.

What about a chest?

Surely the gods would grant this female’s wish for a chest. Please. Pretty please?

A big one.

Because the flat-chested look isn't pretty.

And what about my cheekbones? I need them sculpted and looking sharp. They need to be able to cut through steel or else I'm not interested.

If jealously were fire I'd burn Miss Tamélie Emmanuel, foreign student from génial Paris (which means great Paris, pish tosh) to ash. Black ash. But not only that; rage and indescribable anger are also swirled in my delicate mix of emotions just now. You should hear her French insults. Simply horrendous! I could just kick her arse after that.

I went over to say “bonjour” and yes, she said hello back, but as I kept talking in babbled French she said loudly, sneering, "Tu me peles le jonc, Laurie." Charming. Simply charming. I get on her nerves? Lily Evans gets on her nerves? Well, then again, she hasn't officially met James.

I mean, Potter.

Am I going insane? Because I feel like it.

She hasn't seen the rest of me just yet. Plus, my name is Lily. Faux c'est nom, or however you say she is a wrong little minx and the name is Lily which by the way is far easier to say than her long, oozing-with-escargot name.

Tamélie. I'll call her Tam. So much easier... and shorter, actually.
You should've seen the way she flirted with Potter.
All that pathetic lip pouting with at least 5 centimetres of strawberry lip gloss on her lips, it was so thick! She looked too sticky to kiss, to be honest, and she was also applying some sort of powder thing on her neck with her head slightly tilted back, which, of course, showed how big her breasts were.

They were... simply huge.

No, seriously.

And all in front of Potter and the Marauders. They must be scarred for life now.

All the boys were goggling at her when she was staring up at Hogwarts' enchanted ceiling. And she claimed to have not “seened some of zis sort of enchantsment before.”

Lots and lots of boys are being dumped tonight all because of her.

Ho ho, I must admit, she does make me laugh.
If Tamélie and Potter were going out, well...
Tamélie would probably dump James.

I mean, Potter.
You know, since Tamélie is amazingly pretty and stuff.

Not that I like him or anything.
Meaning James not Tamélie of course. I hate her, that's obvious.
James is the one I've never liked and never will, by the way.

James is a miserable little toerag.
Not even a toerag, but a rag of a toerag.
James is a rag of a toerag.
Which, consequently, is far worse.
Did I say James? I meant Potter.
Annoying Mr. Potter.
Whom I don't give a care for.

Not one little bit of my heart is devoted to J�” Potter.
I am officially going insane.

I'm lying here on the sofa right now. Fuming soundlessly and chewing ferociously on sour apple acid pops. The taste burns my tongue, seeing as apple never was my favourite flavour.

Sighing, obviously annoyed at my loud sucking and chewing, is my best friend, Lola Robinson. I smirk, sucking slower so as not to annoy her at all.

Lola Robinson is the biggest fusspot anyone could ever meet. One small problem and she'd be all over you, frowning and complaining endlessly. If the problem never got resolved she'd go into a huff for a bit until she has to talk to you. Everything would then be okay between the both of you once she opens her mouth. It's always been a conflict cure.

Well, for her.

But she’s such a good friend, so loyal and sweet that you have to be the one who would want to be forgiven. She knows how to keep a secret no matter how big or small and she wouldn't give in to the enemy�” for example, Tamélie Emmanuel.

She is very pretty. Her hair has raven-black bangs which fall over her glasses when she ties her hair up. It’s highlighted with silver, as if trailed with riches, and her shoulder-length hair hugely complements her eyes and face. Her eyes on her tanned skin look like bright and shiny turquoise, and her nose is lightly dusted with freckles.

If she’s not being so fussy, she will become hyper at times and is really girly at heart. I smile. Lola has just reduced her constant tutting and continued reading a potions book, so I’m relieved. On my other side is my other best friend, Melissa Stepingale, arm wrestling with some notorious boys in the corner. I can hear the familiar whoop of victory from Melissa after winning yet again.

Melissa is different from Lola in many ways. For one, she’s such an annoying person to be around when she is ready to show off about something, and is also such an extreme gossip. Anything she hears will be shared out to different people, according to whom she’ll badly need to tell the new to, along with all the other useless people who won't give a damn.

Nobody is a bigger tomboy than her. She’s devoted to her fine sport of Quidditch and plays a Beater on the team. She’s always out in the air, or timing herself running around the school, or doing push-ups in the common room.

She’s very nice, though, and loads of fun. She always has some idea, either idiotic or serious. They’re not usually clever, but they’re still always so much fun! She looks the part of someone active and different. Her hair is always in a high ponytail, and among those straggly dirty-blonde hairs are streaks of all sorts of colours, from yellow to magenta; and when she’s out on her broom playing Quidditch, all you can see of her is a wave of a rainbow.

Her eyes are a shiny baby blue and sparkle when she’s in a competitive mode, during which she’ll also stick her jaw out and smirk slightly. Like a whisper of a smile.

Lola glares at me angrily, with one eyebrow raised so high you can't see it underneath her short fringe.

"Lily, don't get this annoyed at some Veela bimbo." Lola says encouragingly. I simply grunt, staring at the ceiling, my eyes fixed on a cobweb tucked in the corner of the room. "Lols, I can't help it. I get on her nerves, then I get some more French insults I can't understand, like “est-ce que vous êtes ivre?” You know, she said that after I was messing about with you and Mel..."

"Em... Lils, that sorta means... 'are you drunk?.' But I am so sure she didn't mean it in a bad way but as a joke!"

"Lola. She was sneering. Sneering ALWAYS means 'in a bad way.'”

Lola sighs, throwing her potions book on my head. "Ouch!"

"Pretend I'm Tamélie, quick!"

I smirk. This is the way Lola always wants to cheer me and Mel up. By role play.

I get into character, holding my breath so my face gets as red as my hair. "What in the bloody hell was that for?"

Lola looks at me with frightened eyes and gets down on her knees to pray in scattered French. "Lela Evone, I was just so..."

I giggle. "A bit more French, Lols, and that will do!"

"Zis is such un honour to be meeting c'est Leely Even who is the best."

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Tamélie?"

She fakes tears, sobbing into her hands and using her mascara to create runny lines of black down her cheeks. I can't help but laugh at how ridiculous my friend looks. "I am just so jealous of you, Leelah Evian!"

I give her a stage slap and scowl. "My name..." Hair flip, turn around, mysterious face... and then the icy finale. "...is Lily Evans."

Melissa snorts with laughter and, as I turn around to see her, the boys huddle around the corner, clutching their arms in pain. They are obviously planning to beat Melissa with the filthy looks they’re giving her �” which she cleverly ignores. She claps loudly, our only applause, yet Lola and I are thrilled as we bow.

"Wonderful, wonderful! The acting deserves an Oscar or something!" She hugs us both together by bunching our heads up under her armpits. I scrunch my nose up as a joke, and she punches me playfully on the arm when I escape.

"My armpits are not smelly, nor are they any smellier than yours, Lily Evans."

Lola scrunches her nose up for real when she gets out from under Melissa’s armpit and pretends to faint on the sofa. "Oh my goodness, they really do stink, Melly."

I laugh as Melissa crosses her arms and pouts.

"'Sank you, my dearest friend,” Lola says, grinning. “'Sank you so tres much anyway for watching us."

"Yeah, thanks for watching Lola make a complete fool of herself and for watching me boil up like a beetroot," I say enthusiastically.

And I guess that’s all it takes to cheer me up, and shortly after I just flop on my bed instead of the sofa, smiling, still fully dressed in my robes, and decide to doze off into sleep, without a care in the world.

That is, until I wake up.

Oh. My. GOD.

Here I was, hoping to dream of Ringo Starr from the Beatles in my sleep, cozily snug in the duvet, when old Peeves comes up and pours water on me. In the morning, too, my robes are positively soaking and I can feel the squelching on the inside soles of my school shoes. Along with this not-so-pleasant surprise is a stupid song composed by none other than Peeves. The little git.

"Lily's gonna be tardy. Lily's totally lardy!” Here he laughed through an obscene giggle. “Lily, lolly, lumpy poo! No one wants to be like YOU! Lily, lolly, smelly turd, face it, you look like an ugly bird! Squawk! Squawk!" Then he just ran away (Or rather... flew away? Because he is a poltergeist, after all), cackling and trying to find rude names rhyming with Lily. I think I just heard him say Willy. I am so going to get him.

Sob sob. He made me choke up with tears. Tears of anger �” that is, if there were such a thing. I will get him. Give me one more bloody day and I swear I will get him. And what's this about me being tardy? I'm never late, never slow... I'm not like that at all...

Oh. My. GOD.

I just missed half of breakfast! The cupcakes... and toast! They're calling my name! Lily, that is, not Willy or Lumpy Poo, or Smelly Turd, or even... Oily, I think I hear Peeves saying.

Feel free to call me Lumpy Poo, actually. Sounds rather... cute, in a disgusting way. But only between us.

No, it's official: I am insane. Not only am I calling myself an extremely embarrassing name, but I'm sharing it with my thoughts and only my thoughts. SHUT UP.

What am I doing? I'm wasting time right now and Tamélie’s probably snogging some 5th years in a broom closet for all I know!

And I need to be there to give her a detention. Filch and the Forbidden Forest will do today. If he's not up for that, I don't know what will. Though he might be busy, probably having a romantic dinner with Mrs. Norris.

My thoughts are showing some rather graphic images.

Which I should not describe just now. See, look, I'm shivering.

Wish me luck... lots of it. Tamélie Emmanuel is about to get hit. Hard. IF I spot her sucking the face off a 4th year or something.

.