"I, um, told my editors I'd ask her that question," Frances stutters mechanically. The color drains from her face as Laney continues to glare menacingly.

"Sky and I play sisters so like all sisters we disagree sometimes, but it's nothing as dramatic as you've read," I reply, hoping it doesn't sound too rehearsed. Laney starts pulling me away. "Enjoy the movie, Frances!"

Why fight it? This is what people want to know -- not what I think of Mac Murdock. It's just a shame that Sky's and my personal relationship is so different from our onscreen one. On FA, our characters always stick up for each other. We shot an episode a few weeks ago where Sara charged a pair of $1,000 Manolo Blahnik butter-suede boots on Dad's credit card and he wigged out. Sam claimed the boots were hers, sacrificing her weekend plans so that her sister could go out on a date with this James Dean-like hottie she was crushing.

In real life, Sky would have charged the shoes to my account, called the tabloids, and told them I stole from her (even though I never could squeeze my hoofs into her size five boots).

After a few more pictures, Rodney, Laney, and I head inside the theater to take our seats. Star Wars premiered here. Maybe I'll be sitting in the same seat that Harrison Ford once sat in. Just the thought gives me goose bumps.

As Laney, Rodney, and I make our way past the Asian wall murals decorating the red- and gold-columned lobby, I spot my FA costar Trevor Wainright. He's shoveling butter popcorn in his mouth.

"Hey, beautiful," he beckons when he sees me, then gives me a big hug.

Right about now you're thinking the tabloids are right, I do like Trevor. Well, the answer is yes, but seriously, just as a friend. Trevor is a little too quiet for my taste. I prefer someone funnier and more dynamic, like ... um ... Han Solo.

FA is Trevor's first role. When he arrived in Hollywood a year ago, fresh off a bus from Idaho, having left his whole family back on the potato farm, he was immediately snatched up by an agent. Trevor still needs help in the wardrobe department (tonight he's wearing a seersucker shirt and beat-up jeans), but looks-wise he's totally a California boy -- tall, blond, and blue-eyed with mega muscles. Must be all that hay he hauled.

"I'm glad you could make it, Trev." I smile genuinely, squeezing him back.

"Gosh, are you kidding, Kaitlin?" He takes another handful of popcorn. "Did you know they're giving away free food?"

"You don't say." I deadpan. Laney rolls her eyes and walks away. She's not too fond of Trevor, having tried to sign him as a client once, but he told her he didn't see the point of a publicist. I don't think he knows yet what a publicist does. Seeing Trevor's popcorn prompts Rodney to head over to the snack line to grab something himself.