“You’re happy about this?” my mom asks my brother. “I would have thought you’d have a little more sense than that, Brian.” My parents are both convinced that my brother is the more level-headed of their two children. He’s the oldest and a boy, so, it’s, like, the natural assumption. They’re probably right. Brian’s going to be a junior at Villanova, where he’s majoring in architectural engineering. He’s known he wanted to be an architect since he was seven. I, on the other hand, marked all of my college applications “undeclared.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Brian says now, setting me back down. I collapse back into my chair, my head spinning from the blood rush. “This could be a really good experience for Ally.” He grabs a tomato out of the salad sitting on the counter and pops it into his mouth.

“Brian, please!” my mom says, and I’m not sure if she’s talking about me being on the show, or him sticking his fingers in our salad. She moves the bowl to the other side of the stove. “How could this possibly be a good experience?”

“Well,” my brother says, “a lot of times cast members end up getting offered really good jobs because they were on In the House.” My mom looks at him skeptically. “Plus, this way you can keep an eye on Ally. Make sure she’s not doing too much partying at school. You don’t think she’s going to do anything bad when she knows you and Dad are watching, do you?”

My mom considers this. “Well, we don’t have to decide anything this instant,” she says slowly, rinsing her hands off in the sink. “There’s a lot of things that would have to be figured out. Let’s just worry about dinner for right now. Brian, wash your hands, they’re filthy!”

The phone rings, and I lunge for it. I see Corey’s cell phone number on the caller ID and take the cordless out onto the deck. The last thing I need is my mom over my shoulder making comments about being on the show.

“That’s so great, Al,” Corey says when I tell him my news. Corey’s the only person who calls me Al. I won’t answer to it from anyone else. I don’t like the way it sounds—like some kind of auto mechanic in a dirty gray jumpsuit who calls people “buddy.” But when Corey says it, I dunno, it sounds cute.

“Really?” I ask him, settling down into a lounge chair and taking a sip of my iced tea. “You don’t mind the fact that everyone in America is going to know about us? I mean, all our phone calls are going to be recorded, and when you come to visit, you’re going to be taped. My parents are flipping out.”