I thought beauty was only skin deep?

I can almost feel the joy from across the water radiating to this gloomy side of the river. Almost. Fire works decorate the sky. The pretties laughter drifts across the water. New Pretty Town. The only place I have ever wanted to be. A sigh escapes my too-small lips, and tears leak out my muddy-brown eyes, placed too close together on my ugly, ugly face. I shake my head; at least I wasn't stuck this way. What was it that the history teacher had said? The people that had lived before us hadn't even used the surgery, and the majority of people had lived their lives as uglies. I can feel frustration beginning to imbue upon my longing. And the self-hate, and the pity. I was sick of being ugly! My entire being yearned for pretty life. The parties, the cliques, the endless fun. The perfect, muscular body, and the perfect reflection in the mirror...
I leaned out the window, wanting to get as close as I could to the pretties and their world. I needed to get away from the drab dorm, the drab faces. My drab existence. The chilly air allowed me to imagine that I was in a hot-air balloon, a beautiful face smiling at me. I could feel the air rushing past me...
I opened my eyes and saw that the ground was no longer two stories away, but rushing toward me at an alarming speed.
A flash, a moment of blinding pain. Then blackness.

* * *

I opened my eyes, ebony unconsciousness biting at the edges of my vision. The world looked different. I realised that I wasn't lying in a heap at the bottom of my window, but lying in a portrait of a dream. A gorgeous girl was staring at me from the other side of window. I smiled, encompassed by her large, deep brown eyes. Her hair was that same rich colour, and her skin was flawless. I knew in that instant that I would do anything for her, and everything to be her. Then, through my happiness of simply being in the presence of a pretty, a thought, as dirty and as rank as sewage, leaked into my mind. I'm an ugly. I couldn't even comprehend what the pretty must be thinking. Behind her perfect facade, she must be grimacing. I raised my hands to my face, in a lame attempt to hide my revolting appearance.
A ripple of shock literally shook my body. That pretty was me. I was beautiful.
Joy fulled my perfect body, like a hot-air balloon inflating. I ran my fingers through my silky hair, a smile igniting my face, like the Mona Lisa in the right light. Any doubts about the operation that had transformed me, any rumours I had heard, any concerns about my past life, were overpowered by a haze that was settling on my brain. Like a thin sheet of wool being pulled over my eyes, softening the edges. I didn't care. I was pretty, and ready for my first glass of champagne and trip to the pleasure gardens. I was pretty, my mind was pretty, my life was pretty- and that was all that mattered.

For those of you that have read Uglies and/or the whole series will understand what I have just written. I have just finished Pretties, and am eagerly awaitng reading Specials. The series is written by Scott Westerfield, who has also written So Yesterday and the Midnighters trilogy. This series is a rather good read. Besides keeping you turning the page, they make you think. While the language is nice and simple, Wetserfiled craftily toys with some interesting concepts. If you've run out of books to read (a hardly likely idea) I do recommend that you give this series a look.