CABOT ALERT

For the record, her name is pronounced Meg Cabot like 'habit'. Some people seem to have a bit of trouble with that fun fact.
So this book was called Size 12 Isn't Fat, and it was one of her adult novels. I swear, though, ALL of her novels are really good, chick-lit wise. And this one was no exception.
Meet Heather Wells, former teen pop star, now size 12 dorm (excuse me, residence hall) advisor:

"What gives? Normally I wear 12s... but I tried on the 12s, and I was swimming in them. Same with the 10s. Which is weird, because I haven't exactly been on any kind of diet lately-- unless you count the Splenda I had in my latte at breakfast this morning.
But I'm pretty sure the bagel with cream cheese and bacon I had with it pretty much canceled out the Splenda.
And it's not exactly like I've been to the gym recently. Not that I don't exercise, of course. I just don't do it, you know, in the gym. Because you can burn just as many calories walking as you can running. So why run? I figured out a long time ago that a walk to Murray's Cheese Shop on Bleecker to see what kind of sandwich they have on special for lunch takes ten minutes.
And a walk from Murray's over to Betsey Johnson on Wooster to see what's on sale (love her stretch velvet!): another ten minutes.
And a walk from Betsey's over to Dean & Deluca on Broadway for an after-lunch cappuccino and to see if they have those chocolate-covered orange peels I like so much: another ten minutes.
And so on, until before you know it, you've done a full sixty minutes of exercise. Who says it's hard to comply with the government's new fitness recommendations? If I can do it, anyone can."
(pg. 2)

That pretty much sums up Heather. She's not unhealthily overweight, she's just big. And she's comfortable with her size, it's not like she has a problem being that way.
Unlike other Meg Cabot books, though, this is a murder mystery. A comedic murder mystery, but still.
In Heather's dorm (sorry, residence hall) a girl is found dead at the bottom of an elevator shaft. Everyone (including the cops) says she must have been drunk and gone elevator surfing on an adrenaline kick. However, Heather thinks otherwise because with her feminine wits she knows: GIRLS DO NOT ELEVATOR SURF!!! IT'S ALWAYS THE STUPID FRESHMEN GUYS!!!
So now, with her awesomely cute detective friend and roommate that she's partially in love with but he doesn't know it yet, Cooper (is that even a proper sentence?) she decides to solve the case.
The problem is if the girl WAS murdered, it means it had to have been an inside job because nobody could have gotten the elevator key or gone up to the girl's room without being noticed.
And then when ANOTHER girl is found dead with pretty much the same circumstances, things get worse for Heather. In fact, the killer seems to be hunting her, and while he conveniently drops a potted plant on Heather's ex-boyfriend, it's just not fun and games anymore.
LOVED this book. I had my suspicions about the murderer, but I only figured it out right before it was revealed in the book, so good job on that factor, Meg Cabot. And of course it had the Cabot flair, like all her other books, which just makes me want to read more. ♠♠♠♠