My name is Evita and I'm 29 years old. I've got 20 GCSEs, including Biology, Business, Chemistry, Critical Thinking, Engineering, English Language, English Literature, French, General Studies, German, History, Law, Maths, Media, Philosophy, Physics, Psychology, Religious Studies, Spanish and Technology. My A-levels were in Biology, Critical Thinking, Engineering, French, General Studies, Philosophy, Psychology and Technology. I went to Cambridge University to study to become a psychologist. It went amazingly. Due to my amount of qualifications, I quickly climbed the ladder and now own my own company, specialising in treating the grieving, the mentally ill, and we also run a course on exam stress. Could my life be better? Of course it could…

When I was ten years old, everyone else wanted makeup for their birthday. All of the girls. I wanted a scientific calculator. At fifteen, I was the only girl in my year not to wear a push-up bra. And at the time when everyone else was watching what they ate, I was testing it. Not that I really needed to diet. I was slightly under the average weight, but with all the anorexic girls around me, I looked like a sumo wrestler. I was left out of everything - parties, gossip, friends… I was too busy studying to even care. I got my grades. Good grades. My parents paid for me to have extra exams. I was an only child, but by no means spoilt. They wanted me to do well in life, but I had to make my own way there. And even at the tender age of eight, I knew that meant I had to be different. I figured I could pick up the social crowd again in my twenties. But here I am, about to hit thirty, and I'm single. Friendless. I have no friends at work. I'm respected, admired even, but not seen as a friend. They leave every night to go to a club, or to a wedding, or to spend the weekend in the country with their boyfriend. While I'm stuck in a rut. And heaven knows I've tried to get out…

Today is the first day back at the office since the Christmas break. Again, I spent it alone, my parents far too concerned over the health of their new child to give a toss about me. So I treated myself. I've got a fake-tan, dyed-blonde hair with extra long extensions, stiletto heels, a push-up bra, a blouse that's way too small for me, a skimpy pencil skirt and a face covered with foundation, eye shadow and mascara. I look at myself in the office's floor length mirror. Showtime….

Patia was the first in. She is the person who I most consider to be my friend. She took one look at me and her dreary it's-morning-and-I'm-in-need-of-a-coffee-look flew straight off her face and a smile took its place. "Wow! You certainly look more cheery!" I looked back to the mirror, just to check that my I-am-so-scared-about-not-being-accepted-I-think-I'm-going-to-wet-myself-look was still there. It was. I turned back to face her with a brave smile. "Thanks."

"No, honestly. You look a right babe. Hey, how'd you like to come out with me and the girls tonight? We're thinking of hitting The Klub with storm!"

And it was that easy. I was accepted. And all because of looking like a stupid slut. I started to laugh…