This is my story after Deenie... Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or Pop-Tarts. Disclaimer: I know Deenie's author writes Deenie's account in first person, but I thought I'd put a twist on that and write it like I was there...


Deenie woke up, excited. This was the day the horrible brace was being taken off and she rushed downstairs, hair flying. "Mum, mum," she shrieked. "You know what day it is, don't you?"

"Of course she does," Helen, Deenie's sister, said. "She's popped out to get Aunt Rae and Daddy home, and then we can all go to the clinic so you can be rid of it. Exciting, huh?"

"Yeah," Deenie said.

"What's wrong?" Helen asked, putting a Pop-Tart in the toaster. "Well, I guess mum should be here now..."

"It's not that," Deenie lied. "Do one for me, will you? I'm starving. And I can finally be free of the devil."

"The devil?" Helen asked, puzzled.

"The brace is the devil," Deenie exclaimed.

The door opened then, and Aunt Rae rushed in. "Deenie, dear, I've contacted six modelling agencies and they all want to see you within a week...your mum thinks it's a good idea, don't you Thelma?"

"Yes, it's a good idea," Deenie's mother agreed.

"Not this again," Deenie said aggressively. "I don't want to be a model. I've been telling you and Aunt Rae that for ten years, ever since I was seven. Don't you get it?"

Aunt Rae and her mother shrugged.

"Modelling is stupid, silly, and I hate it. I want to do something with my life, be somebody. Get a degree," Deenie snapped. "I'm seventeen and I think I can do what I want to do now."

"Well, I suppose you can," Aunt Rae said.