I am Lily Hennessy, like the brandy. Always the best friend, never the lover; always the bridesmaid, never the bride. I get told the secrets because I'm the one who is quiet. I don't gossip, I don't do anything daring. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't party or go to clubs; I read and write because it's safe and more productive than waking up with a hangover. My best friend is the complete opposite of me and it's a wonder why she keeps me around.

I'm average. I'll say it now. I've never been told I was 'beautiful' or 'hot' or whatever terms of endearment men tend to call their girlfriends or random girls that pass by. 'Cute', I get. 'Cute', I can live with. I'm not put up to expectations to always look 'beautiful' and I'm not one of those less fortunate than me to have to worry about teeth decay or how much grease I can collect from my hair to make a french fry or two. I'm not perfectly skinny, nor am I overweight. I'm curvy, with hips and breasts that I'm not quite sure where they came from (according to my mother, I may as well be the mailman's daughter - thanks mom, bastard child I am) and welcome them with open arms.

I am natural. I am soft and own everything on my body. Nothing is implanted, injected or sucked out. It took me fourteen years to welcome the parts that I had not welcomed as a budding thirteen-year-old and though I will not flaunt them, I am who I am and I will not resort to extreme measures to make myself someone I am not. I am not perfect, nor do I strive to be like my older twin sisters. I am not as intelligent as a Harvard grad, much like my eldest sister. I am not a singer, a rocker or any kind; I leave that to my baby sister.

I am the second youngest of the Hennessy girls. My oldest sister, Isabelle, or 'Izzy', as she is called by my family, is thirty-three. She's a married mother of two, Tanner and Tyler, and a teacher at a very prestigious school that I could care less to remember. She was the one with schools chasing after her academically-blessed brain, finally taking a free ride to Harvard with a degree in education. She exceeded the expecations of everyone, getting her masters and now working on her doctorate, though it was slightly placed aside with the birth of her boys. Her husband, Robert, is also a professor, but works as an English Professor at the local university near their home.

Following in line would be my twin sisters, Delaney and Lucy. The twenty-nine-year-old Sex Kittens. Never without boyfriends, never without admirers, they were always loved in school, though not academically as Isabelle had been. Delaney was head cheerleader, while Lucy was the unspoken president of the student body throughout high school. They weren't close to stupid, not even average, but the two of them went hand in hand with falling in 'love' and breaking men's hearts. They dressed to flaunt what assets they did have, though they did keep their reputation less on the slut side and more on the 'hard to get' side. Neither of them had kept a boyfriend for more than six months. I have come to believe that the two of them have made a pact to not keep a guy around for any longer in case of boredom

Then, there was Charlotte, the baby. She was twenty-four and most alike to me than the other three, though not by much. She had my hips and slightly my figure, but that was where it all stopped. She was the outcast of the family, though not in a horrible way; she was the punk princess. She was lead singer of a band, engaged to the drummer. She strayed from the trademark Hennessy brunette locks that usually went mid-back and had her own chopped off and highlighted blonde to stray from the almost twin-like tendancies that the entire family had. She had goals, plans, so many things she wanted to do in her life that it made me jealous. A re-born girly girl thanks to her fiance Jeremy, Charlotte now somewhat resembled a girl in her clothing, my mother thanking him every step of the way (though she still tried to talk him out of the black nail polish and large gauge earrings).

I was the one who rarely had a date in high school. The one who had average grades and rarely skipped out (much against Delaney and Charlotte's liking) unless I had forgotten an assignment. While my twin sisters were being crowned homecoming and prom queen, rocking out at the dances on stage or accepting another scholar award, I was the one sitting along the sidelines, cheering them on and never once caring that it wasn't me getting all the attention. Here I was, twenty seven, single and okay with it. Maybe I would never get married, maybe I'd never have children - I was okay with that.

And I had been telling myself since I was twenty.

I had taken a job out in Los Angeles when I was a few years younger than Charlotte was now, basically being the personal bitch to celebrities during after parties, pre-show interviews and basically whenever I was needed. Somehow, although I'm still not quite sure how, I was referred to another celebrity as a permanent personal bitch to another celebrity that had been known in my family for quite a while. I had been with him since, and luckily, with his charm and smile, I dropped 'bitch' and became 'assistant' again.

JC Chasez was nothing like I had imagined he'd be when I first met him. Cool, collected and very much his own person, he and his best friend and manager, Rob, approached me, they both smiling widely. Rob had introduced himself first, while JC stood and waited, still smiling as he stretched his hand outward, shaking my hand firmly as I tried to keep the teenager in me at bay, giving him the most genuine smile I could muster up without it looking too fake. He had just finished recording his first album, 'Schizophrenic', and was getting ready to go on the road and do promotional tours when I stepped in.

Mid-way through the tour, he made the comment that I was just like his sister as he and I talked about aimless things. At first, it didn't phase me. This was me that we were talking about: the best friend, the confidante, the nothing-else-but-friends person. The one that never let it bother her. But suddenly, as I climbed into the box for a bed that I got on the bus, it hit me. Now, it was bothering me. The label, the fact that I let it bother me, bothered me. I knew I wasn't the prettiest Hennessy, nor the smartest, but I knew I was a good person. Good people got good things, right?

So where was mine?

I am Lily Hennessy, and I'm screwed.