Tori has never really worked a damn day in her life.

Sure, she studies and does her homework. She does well in school. But that's only because she's smart.

The truth is, she's never worked for anything because she's never had to. She's smart, pretty, naturally rail-thin, and a good singer. And she's my little sister.

It's not supposed to work that way, is it? The older sister is supposed to be the one with big shoes to fill. People are supposed to expect a lot of her because of me, not in spite of me. They aren't supposed to be surprised that our shared gene pool could churn out such a "special, perfect" girl like Tori after a bitter disappointment like me. I love her to bits, but I can't help wanting to push her in front of a bus every time she gets the lead in the school play, or an audition for a movie, or a part in a commercial. Why? Because I've wanted to be a star since I was born. When I was little, I used to draw pictures of Oscars and Grammys, of beautiful, grown up me in a pretty dress accepting the coveted trophies, and hang them all over my room. Inspiration. I memorized scenes from plays and songs from musicals. I taught myself to play the piano, and read books on how to write screenplays.

I auditioned for Hollywood Arts six times. SIX. The first time, when I was 12, and wanted nothing more than a place in Hollywood Arts Middle School (or, more appropriately, HAMS), the admissions officer told me I had "good energy". The smile fell clean off my face when he immediately added that I "didn't have what it takes to keep up with the other students."

He was right about one thing. I had some damn good energy. And I didn't intend to give up without a fight. That night, I started learning a new number. I spent every waking hour practicing the song until I could sing every pitch perfectly. I even accompanied myself on the piano. I memorized a new monologue, even learned how to fake-cry to make it more convincing. And, six months later, when I went back for my second audition, I was told that I just didn't have the talent.

What I did have was grit. I went back on every audition day with new material, and performed the hell out of it, if I do say so myself. Finally, on my sixth try, when I was fourteen, the admissions officer finally got it.

"You're going to keep trying until you get in, aren't you?" I nodded. If that man didn't know that before, he was even dumber than he looked. That was what did it, though. They figured that, even if I didn't have the talent (which I still think I do), my tenacity would take me further than most people would ever go.

I was in, finally. But that didn't stop kids from spreading rumors that I had to buy my way in. In a way, that was more insulting than anything. They thought that, not only was I untalented, but that I was lazy! That I would just turn to my parents to fix everything for me, instead of working hard to do it myself. I worked harder than anyone to get into that school. Anyone.

And I fought, tooth and nail, to get myself a spot in that showcase. I begged Lane for days to put me in, and he finally gave up and put me with Andre. I was annoyed, since Andre, while talented, was only a sophomore and didn't have as big a name as some of the juniors or seniors. But at least I would get to perform. And by then, I had been told I sucked enough to become ridiculously nervous and self-conscious about my voice. So I tried a weird Chinese Herb Gargle, and my tongue swelled up.

And who should come sweeping in to save the day, but Miss Perfect herself, Tori. She didn't want to be a star; she wanted to be a doctor. That didn't stop Lane from handing her my spot in the showcase, no audition necessary. And so I stood backstage and watched my little sister sing my song, and get handed a place in my school. She didn't have to prepare new audition material five times. She didn't have to put all her time and energy into convincing one person to let her in. She had an entire audience begging her to keep singing, and she didn't even have to ask.

It doesn't seem fair to me that Tori should get to be not only the prettier sister, but the smarter, thinner, more popular, and more talented one as well. In fact, it must violate some law of nature that one girl should have so many natural gifts, while her older sister gets crapped on on a daily basis. But that ends now.

I, Catrina Vega, am going to show everybody what I'm made of. I'm going to be a star, and the admissions officer, my teachers, and my classmates will rue the day they ever told me I couldn't.