A/N:  It was Amber's birthday on the 18th, and this chapter is to celebrate.  I tweeted her, but I didn't get a response.  Wouldn't that be so cool, though? Lol. 

Also, in this story, Amber is a solo musician and model.  This is an alternative universe fic, so she's not in F(x) in this story and isn't a K-pop star.  So, for this story, pretend that all of F(x)'s songs are just her solo songs, and are sung in English, Okay?  I love F(x), but they aren't in this fic, b/c it's in a made-up world.

On with the story....

                BACK IN 2010 (the past):

“Get out of the way, you little twerp!” you yell at your ten-year-old brother, Mike, as you push the rolling chair he’s sitting in away from the house computer.

“Hey!” he exclaims, “What are you doing, weirdo?”

“I need to use the computer,” you state dryly.

“Come on!” he whines, “I was just about to make it to the secret level.  You made me lose!”  He gestures at the stupid baby game her was playing on Cartoon Network’s website.

“Whatever,” you huff, typing in the web address for Twitter.

“Let me play!” Mike yells, getting up and pushing you, “It’s my turn on the computer.”

“Shove off,” you tell him, pushing him away, “I’m seven years older than you, and mom left me in charge while she’s gone, so I’m the boss.”

“Why can’t you go online later?” he pouted, “I have a game to play.”

“Well, I have a report to do,” you lie as you log onto your account.

“No you don’t.  If you did, you wouldn’t be on Twitter.”   Man, that kid isn’t as easy to fool as you thought.  Meh, you might as well tell the truth.

“Okay, I lied,” you say, “But I need to be on the computer.  Why don’t you just go watch TV?”

“Just hurry and tweet your friend or whoever and go,” he complained.

“No, no, little bro,” you say, ruffling his hair, “It ain’t that simple.  I have to stay on here all day and keep watch.”

                “All day?”  he repeats, shocked, “What for?  What are you keeping watch of?”

                “Are you stupid?” you ask him, “Don’t you know what freaking day it is?”  You’re surprised.  How could he not know?  How could anyone on the face of the Earth not know?

                “No, what day is it?” he wonders.

                “It’s Llama Day, fool.”

                “What the heck is Llama Day?” he grunts, “You’re just making that up!”  He pushes you down and seizes control of the computer, logging out of your account.

                “Mike, stop it,” you command, getting up, “This is really important.”

                “No, it isn’t,” he sasses you.

                “Yeah, it is.  It’s only the most important day of my life.”

                He furrows his brow in confusion.  “How so?” Mike asks, becoming slightly intrigued.

                “Because it’s Llama Day,” you tell him, feeling you don’t need to explain.  It’s so obvious why Llama Day is the most important day in the history of forever.  At least, that’s what you think, anyway.

                “Why do I have to have such a freak for a sister?” Mike snorts, going to get his rolling chair.  You take that chance to make the computer yours again.

                “Oh, no you don’t,” he grunts, pushing the chair back in its place and sitting in it.  He swats your hands off of the keyboard, and puts his fingers in the position, ready to type.

                “Oh, come on, Mike!  You gotta let me use it!  Just for today.  You can play all day tomorrow, I promise.”

                “No,” he asserted.

                “Oh, come on! Please!”

                “No.”

                “I will fight you,” you grunt, pushing him out of the chair.  For a good while, the two of you wrestle on the floor, pushing and pulling at each other.  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” you cry as he pulls your hair, “Stop it, you little creep!”

                “Not unless you surrender the computer to me.”

                “I need it, Mike, I need it!” you whine like a little child.

                “Why?”

                “It’s Llama Day,” you say once more.

                “What’s Llama Day?” he queries.

                “The most important day ever,” you answer, finally freeing you hair from his grasp, “Come on, let’s stop this already.  I’m tired.”  You lay down on the floor, breathing heavily. 

                Mike lies down beside you.  “What’s Llama Day, ?”

                You gasp.  How does he not know?  “You mean you seriously don’t know?”  He shakes his head.  “It’s my Llama baby’s birthday, duh.”  He sits up and gives you a strange look.  Obviously, he doesn’t get it.  “Today is September the 18th,” you explain, “It’s Amber’s birthday.”

                “Amber, who?”

                “Amber Liu, you dummy,” you rejoin, “Today’s her birthday, but all of her fans refer to it as Llama Day.”

                “Oh, you mean that stupid, ugly girl you have a crush on?” Mike chuckles.

                “She is not ugly!” you exclaim.

                “She looks like a man,” Mike scoffs.

                “You look like a man,” you comeback.

                “That wasn’t an insult, you know?” he says smartly.

                “Well, whatever,” you grumble, “And I do not have a crush on her.”

                “Oh, yes you do,” he asserts, “You’re obsessed with her, for crying out loud.”

                “I am not.  I just admire her work as a musician and a model, that’s all.”

                “You have a million posters of her in you room.”

                “I only have five, liar.”

                “You only have five, that are hanging up, sis,” he counters, “You have others that are still in their tubes.”

                You grind your teeth.  You brother is such a jerk at times.  “So, that doesn’t mean anything.”

                “You also have postcards and fans with her pictures on them, you own literally every album of hers on cd, including special and limited editions as well as versions with alternate cover art…”

                “So what?” you interrupt.

                “Let me finish,” he demands before continuing, “You have a little plush doll in her likeness, not to mention a Barbie of her.”

                “It is not a Barbie,” you correct him, “It’s not even made by the same toy company that makes Barbie.”

                “Whatever, same thing.  You have photobooks, a pair of socks with an anime version of her on them, a watch with her picture on the face, a ring with her name carved in it, two pairs of official licensed earbuds, seven shirts, a jacket, buttons with her face on them, ink pens, a calendar, stickers, balloons, a necklace, a lanyard…”

                “Okay, Mike, that’s enough,” you grunt.

                “You have a bracelet, a mug, a notebook and folder, a cellphone case and cell phone charm, and you have a flash drive that’s of her in cartoon form.  Not to mention, you also have that purse that you stenciled her lyrics on, and…most importantly, you have a few hats and a pair of shoes that look a lot like the ones she always wears.  Face it, sis, you’re an obsessed fan girl with a crush.”

                “Okay, yes, I did buy some hats that I saw looked like hers,” you agree, “BUT…for your information, those shoe ARE, well WERE hers.  I won them in that contest.  They’re even signe