A/N It appears that I have been affected by the festive mood...and so I'm posting my new fic two weeks early! I think I may have an addiction to WIPs (along with other things, Deema :-P) but I'm seeking help. Merry Christmas for Tuesday, everyone - please feedback about this.

TODAY'S HEADLINE: DE SILVA STRIKES GOLD IN WILD-WEST THRILLER!

It seems that the teenage heart-throb can do no wrong in Hollywood.

Chapter One

Suze and Anna

"Does my butt look big in this?"

I don't even look up at my sister Anna before replying. I know that the blue – "Periwinkle, Suze!" – dress that she had whisked off the rack several minutes before would be hugging her perfect, cellulite-free body in all the right places, and none of the wrong ones.

"No," I reply, turning the page of my gossip magazine scathingly. "Of course not. Nothing of yours could ever look big in anything. You make me sick." Anna waves a dismissive hand impatiently and wanders back into her cubicle.

Her voice floats over the wall. "Whatever, Suze. We're not here to talk about your problems. Everyone knows that your fat ass couldn't fit into anything I own." I scowl, and turn the page again. I am not fat. I'm not even a size twelve, which, I persistently remind my twin sister, is the average women's dress size, according to People magazine. It's just…well…anyone with an addiction to Doritos and therefore not a size zero would look the size of a house next to my sister Anna. Only in my case, it's more like an apartment block, because I'm so freakishly tall.

But I don't bother lecturing her, as I am rendered speechless by the sight that greets me on the next page of my magazine – Hector De Silva, best known for his chiselled jaw and his six-pack…and occasionally for his work on blockbuster films. There is no kind of imperfection on his face, except for a chalk-white scar through his eyebrow, no doubt caused by some heroic swordfight on the set of his latest film. He does all of his own stunts, whilst simulaneously thrilling everyone with some kind of quotable line.

"So then Kelly discovered that there were over three hundred calories in this brunch bar that we all swore by…" Anna was still muttering, mostly to herself. I hadn't been listening for the last five minutes, anyway. "Suze?" My name wakes me up a little, as does her annoyed voice. She pushes the cubicle door open and stands there for a moment, with her hands on her hips, before she realises. "Oh, for God's sake. Are you still mourning over that tool's latest hook-up or whatever?" She reaches forwards to snatch the magazine from me, but I pull it close to my chest protectively.

"He is not a tool," I argue, and then I realise for the first time that she has taken the dress off, and is standing in a full changing room with nothing on but her lacy bra and Juicy Couture jeans. "Anna," I hiss, scandalized, noticing some frowning old ladies in the corner. "Put some clothes on!"

"This is why you have never been on a date," she says, in reference to the magazine I am still clutching to my heart. She waggles her fingers in the women's direction. "You don't live in the real world." She hunts in the cubicle for her shirt, and comes out again with it on. "Are you ready to go? You know how much I hate it when Mom sends you shopping with me."

"Mom's just trying to keep us together," I reply, defensively. "You know, as a family." Anna snorts, and lays her dress carefully in front of the cashier. She digs in her purse and I notice that she hands over Mom's credit card.

"Please." Anna sounds disgusted. "We haven't been a family since Dad died. Maybe even before that. How old were we when we grew out of diapers?" I don't answer, hating how she was so blasé about Dad. It was true, however, what she was saying. We hadn't sat down for a family meal since I could remember, and Mom knew nothing about either of us. She had no idea that I was flunking math, and how I was forced to forge her signature on every one of my failed tests, and she didn't know how Anna went out partying every weekend, only to come back and mar my bedroom carpet with yet another orange stain. And obviously, she had no idea that Anna was using her credit card to buy a Spring Fling dress.

"What are you doing?" I demand, as Anna surrenders the card and watches it get swiped. "That's Mom's – she has to buy groceries with that on Saturday. What if it gets maxed out again?" Anna pretends like she hasn't heard me, and collects her purchase with a dazzling smile. I feel like throttling her.

"Oh, cry me a river," she says, eventually. "Maybe if Mom spent less on cigarettes, we'd have more to buy important stuff with." I follow in her Chanel No.5-scented wake, irritably, out into the parking lot. Anna whips out the car key, and the Camarro's lights gleam in the distance.

"Important stuff?" I repeat. "Oh, you mean like Spring Fling dresses?" Anna doesn't answer, and instead proceeds to the Camarro, her Jimmy Choo knock-offs clacking furiously. "How did you manage to score the Camarro anyway? It's like, Jake's baby."

"I'm very persuasive," Anna remarks, with a sparkle in her eye, and she climbs into the driver's seat, throwing her handbag and shopping bags into the back seat. "Get in, dork." I climb in reluctantly; the only thing stopping me from staying in the parking lot is the cool fog beginning to roll in from the bay. She smiles, satisfied, and turns on Jake's stereo loudly. To my disgust, it's hip hop.

Jake is the oldest of the Ackerman boys, who live up the street in the huge 19th century house on the hill. It's beautiful – and so it should be, seeing as Mr. Ackerman is a carpenter – though its age still creeps me out a little. I don't like old houses. I'm not sure why.

Anyway, Mr. Ackerman ("Call me Andy, Suze!") seems to have the hots for my mom, who is too busy working her butt off to notice. He fixed our deck last summer, after Anna pushed me out of the double doors and I went right through it, and refused to receive payment for it, blushing furiously when my mom tried to write him a check. Jake also tagged along, attempting to chat up Anna as she painted her nails. Except for Andy, the Ackermans and I ignore each other, even though I'm convinced the smallest, David, would prove very useful at the times of math homework, and could possibly save me from that dreaded 'F' on my report card.

We pull up on their drive now, and the middle kid, Brad, just 'coincidentally' happens to be working out on the front lawn, despite the sky being a deep pink, and the sun hovering over the horizon. He jumps up at the sight of Anna, and turns a deep shade of purple as his older brother pushes him out of the way.

"Hey, Anna," Jake says, with a goofy grin. I nearly barf. "Did… did the Camarro run smooth for ya?" Anna returns the keys with a flirtatious expression, and Jake nearly falls over.

"Smoothest car I've ever driven," she replies, before turning on her heel and beckoning me to follow her. "Bye now, Jake. Bye, Brad." The two boys wave excitedly back at her, though both their gazes are fixed on the keys she had in the palm of her hand only seconds ago. No doubt they will become part of their shrine to her.

"Why do you put up with them?" I ask her, as we're walking back to our house. "I mean, you could have Bryce Martinson, if you wanted. Why bother with the Ackermans." We set foot on our driveway, and Anna shakes her deep brown curls free of her barrette, whilst my mousy locks stay fixed in a ponytail.

"Oh, Susie," she says, with a patronizing pat on my head, despite the fact that we are exactly the same age. "You have so much to learn. The Ackermans are just useful, O.K?" Sure, they're useful, if she needs to borrow a car, or needs to learn how to lift dumbbells. But couldn't she see that they were both infatuated? They were going to get hurt if she didn't nip it in the bud soon.

I relay this back to her, and she merely shrugged. "Infatuated?" she repeats, thoughtfully. "You mean, like you are about that Hector du Whatsit?" I roll my eyes, knowing that she got his name wrong on purpose, just to bug me.

"De Silva." I can't help correcting her. "And I'm not infatuated. But even you have to admit he's good-looking. And he can act – he totally made you cry in Death's Last Door." Anna had pulled a lip-gloss from her hand-bang and was attending to her already made-up pout.

"He did not," she insists. "I had something in my eye. I guess he's O.K looking, but I totally prefer blondes." She put her gloss back in her bag thoughtfully, and turns on the TV. "Oh, look. E! True Hollywood Story – Hector De Silva." My attention is drawn immediately. "I'm taking the last Cinnabon – is that O.K?" I wave her away, and she gladly leaves, satisfied.

"Hector Jorge De Silva was born to Jorge and Marisol De Silva, in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California in 1985. He has one sister, Maria, and currently lives in L.A, leaving his family and a large horde of grandparents and cousins in Northern California..." My mouth nearly dropped open – Hector De Silva was born in Carmel! Carmel? The place that I had spent all of my sixteen years in… I had to call –

Well, no-one. Being sister to the most popular girl in school, everyone tended to warm towards her, and not me. So whilst my sister was out cheerleading, or organizing the school dances or saving the world one beach clean-up at a time, I was seeking refuge in the library, where not even the geeks would talk to me. Man, I really needed a best friend.

It was funny, how when I was thinking all of this, Jesse De Silva was about to ring the doorbell of my house and ask to speak to me, and not my sister.