She was, in every imaginable way, perfectly wrong. Her female genitalia seemed misplaced below her precisely rectangular torso, which, in profile, jutted out neither forwards nor backwards. Her dreams of being a prima ballerina were crushed when her ballet teacher tapped her pointed foot and said, "too flat." Since then, her feet had swelled to a wide seven and a half, two bricks inelegantly shoved on the ends of the two stumps supporting her five feet one inch of awkward. Although the things that were supposed to stick out didn't, the things that weren't jutted out at all angles. Her belly button puffed shamelessly outward, the skin of her elbows was stretched as though her ulnas were tipped with spears, and her legs seemed to have two doorknobs asserting themselves front and center. One side of her somewhere-between-brown-and-blonde hair crinkled up, while the other side hung hopelessly straight. Her left blue eye had a spot of brown as though someone splashed mud on it and never bothered to wipe it off. Yes, she was perfectly wrong, but Audrey couldn't keep her eyes off her.