Two o’clock Wednesday afternoon, and I’m waiting outside Professor Lutkiss’s office. He asked me to meet him during his office hours to talk about the photography project I turned in yesterday. If he likes the pictures I took, I’m pretty sure he’s going to invite me to apply for the photography program. If he doesn’t like them, well then, I’m not sure what will happen. I guess I’ll take another photo class next semester, keep sending my stuff out, and hope that I eventually get invited to apply. Majoring in something else is not an option. I’m 100 percent sure this is what I want to do.

His secretary keeps giving me really weird looks, and she gave me shit about Frank coming in here. Apparently she’s, like, the only person in the world who doesn’t know that In the House is being filmed at Syracuse College. I swear she thinks I’m some sort of undercover journalist trying to smuggle in a camera to expose some horrid secret, which is completely ridiculous because a) I’m wearing black flare pants and a tight, low-cut white shirt, which is way too revealing for a professional journalist, and b) If I was going to try to expose some sort of secret and get proof on videotape, I most certainly would not do it with a huge handheld camera toted around by an even huger man decked out in various kinds of bling.

It does, however, make me wonder what sorts of secrets Professor Lutkiss is hiding that’s making his secretary so worried. I saw this thing on Dateline once about a prominent lawyer who would go to Taiwan or something and participate in all kinds of illegal activity, including the sex trade and drug trafficking. Dateline totally busted him with their hidden cameras, and he was ruined. I think I remember seeing that his secretary knew about it too. Since she had to book his trips to Asia and all.

I pull out my psychology text and start reading, hoping this will give me a more authentic student air. I smile at the secretary. She glares at me and at Frank. Okay, then.

“Ally!” Professor Lutkiss says, coming out of his office. “Great to see you. Come in, come in, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I say, sliding my book into my bag and shooting the secretary a triumphant glance.

“Will your friend be joining us?” he asks, gesturing to Frank.

“He, um, kind of has to,” I say. “Unless, of course, you have a problem with it, in which case he can just wait out here.”