"You're in perfect health."

I look up in time to see the doctor grinning at me. I grin back.

"Great!" I say cheerfully. "Do I get a lollypop now?"

The doctor laughs softly. "Don't you think you're a little old for a lollypop?"

I snort. "I'm never too old for a lollypop."

Maybe I should introduce myself. My name is Holly Sullivan. I'm twenty-two, I study law at university and, currently, I'm just finishing my check up at the doctors office.

The doctor turns back to the computer and begins to tap. He looks at the screen and suddenly frowns. My heart jumps into my throat.

"What?" I squeak. "What is it?"

Oh, my god. I'm dying. I have cancer. I have some sort of rare blood disease that he overlooked. I have mad cow disease. And I haven't even made out a will!

"When was the last time you were weighed?" he asks. I blink.

"Weighed?" I ask in a small voice. "You mean – I'm not dying?"

"I think not," he says dryly. "Now – when were you last weighed?"

"Umm…" I think back. "Not for a while. Why?"

The doctor is pushing back his chair and reaching behind him. It takes me a moment to realise he's reaching for a set of electronic weighing scales. My heart drops.

Hey, cut me some slack – I'm a woman. And, as everybody knows, scales make most women want to tear out their hair and run screaming in the opposite direction.

"Is that really necessary?" I ask in a deceptively light tone. "I'm sure I'm exactly the same weight as I was when I left home for university. Really."

The doctor looks up, giving me a, "Yeah, right," look, and then stands.

"Come on," he says sternly. "On the scales, now."

I resist the urge to run from the office and gingerly stand up. "Should I take off my clothes?"

The doctor quirks an eyebrow. "Are you propositioning me, Ms. Sullivan?"

I feel myself blush. "I just meant…you know, clothes weigh more, you're supposed to weigh yourself with no clothes on, and no shoes…"

I trail off as I realise I'm babbling. Whatever. I really don't want to get on those scales.

The doctor folds his arms. "You're not leaving this office until you get on the scales!"

Sighing, I resign myself to the inevitable. Kicking off my flats, I step onto the scales and squinch my eyes shut, afraid to look. The doctor bends down, reading the number. Then he clears his throat.

"What did you say you weighed before you left home?"

"Fifty-eight kilos?" I venture. The doctor frowns at me.

"Sixty kilos?"

The doctor raises his eyebrows.

"Fine," I sigh, making a face. "Sixty-three kilos. I swear! Why?" I ask tentatively. "What am I now?"

I make my way into my apartment still in shock. Tom, one of my flatmates, is sprawled on the couch watching the Rugby League, his brown hair falling over one eye. He looks up when I enter.

"Hey, Hol!" he greets. Then he does a double take. "Are you okay?" he asks in concern.

I burst into tears. "I'm a whale!" I blubber, throwing myself into one of the sofa chairs. Tom eyes me apprehensively: being a single male, he hates crying women.

I just keep on crying and Tom clears his throat, heaving himself off the couch to bend down next to me.

"Why do you think you're a whale?" he asks, obviously trying to keep a straight face.

"Because," I sob, "the doctor weighed me today and I've put on eight kilos. Eight!" I look up. "And it's all your fault!" I punch him on the shoulder.

"Ouch!" he yelps, clutching his arm. "What did I do?"

I glare at him through my tears. "The doctor says that I probably put all the weight on when I moved in with you! Because you're a male!" I go to punch him again, but he's too quick. He jumps up out of my reach and moves back to his own place on the sofa.

"Last time I try to comfort you," he mutters, his eyes glued back on the TV. "Besides, Amanda's a girl. And I don't see her resembling a whale!"

I sob harder. "I don't believe you just called me a whale!" I howl, my face in my hands.

"Me?" Tom looks outraged. "But…you just said…"

"Hello!" a new voice calls. I look up to see a tall, willowy girl with long blonde hair dressed in jeans and a t-shirt coming through the front door. She takes one look at me and glares at Tom.

"What did you do to her?" she demands, hurrying towards me. Tom looks livid.

"Nothing! I didn't do any – you know what?" Tom gets up off the couch. "I'm going to the pub. If you need me…too bad." He grabs his jacket and heads out the front door. "Bloody women," I hear him mutter before the door slams shut. Amanda rolls her eyes and hurries over to me.

"What happened?" she asks gently.

I look up and catch sight of myself in the large mirror above the vanity. My brown hair is a tangle of curly knots, my brown eyes are red, and there's mascara pouring down my cheeks.

So much for the non-streak waterproof mascara I bought at the mall on sale for $4.99.

"I'm a big, blubbering fatty mamma!" I wail, covering my face again.

"What?" Amanda sounds shocked. "Where did this come from?"

"I went to the doctor today," I blubber. "And I've put on eight kilos! Eight!"

To my great surprise, Amanda laughs. "Is that all? Eight kilos is nothing!"

"Maybe to you!" I hiccup. "Since you're a walking bean pole!"

Amanda glares at me, her expression becoming a lot less sympathetic. "Thanks a lot," she says sourly.

"You know what I mean." I rummage in my handbag for a minute and then make a triumphant noise, pulling a small book out of its depths. "But I have the solution to all my problems!"

Amanda grabs the book from me. " 'Five easy steps to a slimmer you!' by Doctor Bobby…" She looks up at me doubtfully. "Is this a diet book?"

I snatch it back from her. "Not only is it a diet book, but it is the diet book. It really works! I heard it's how Oprah took all the weight off!"

"Oh, and we all know how successful she is at keeping it off!" Amanda retorts and glares at the book. "Are you actually going to take advice from someone named Doctor Bobby? What kind of name is that?"

I'm not listening. "The book promises I should have the excess weight off in eight weeks."

Amanda snorts.

"If I follow the five easy steps," I add.

Amanda looks doubtful, and I sigh.

"This is going to work. You'll see."

"Whatever," Amanda mutters, rolling her eyes and getting up off the sofa. "I don't see why you need to go on a diet, anyway. You're not fat."

I ignore her as she heads towards the kitchen and instead flick through my book. "Five easy steps," I murmur. "Starting tomorrow, you'll see the new and thinner me!"

"For now," Amanda calls, "why don't you come help make dinner?"

Sighing, I haul myself up off the sofa, feeling immeasurably more cheerful.

Really, five easy steps to losing weight. How hard can it be?

Authors Notes: Hmm, how hard will it be? Find out in the next chapter as Holly starts to follow Doctor Bobby's "five easy steps" guide. To be posted soon! Please tell me what you think, good or bad!