“It’s not going to go by fast,” I tell Corey now. “It’s going to be like waiting for Christmas. It’s never going to come, ever.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make you one of those paper chains we always had to make in elementary school. You can take off one link a night, and before you know it, I’ll be there.”

I giggle, already starting to feel better. By the time we hang up the phone a few minutes later, I feel strong, and I head for the kitchen, ready to convince my parents that going on reality television is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to any of us.

An hour later, they’re totally trying to stonewall me.

“Why not?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice calm. Now is not the time to flip out. Must prove to parents that I am responsible, intelligent girl who can be trusted not to reveal family secrets and/or show inappropriate amounts of skin on reality TV show.

My brother conveniently disappeared after dinner, which totally sucks because I was hoping he’d help me sway them. I consider calling him back into the kitchen, but decide this might look too suspicious.

“Because it makes us uncomfortable,” my mom says. I glance at my dad, who’s finishing up the ice cream he’s having for dessert. At the best of times, my dad is clueless, so when my mom says “us” she really means “me.”

“Dad?” I try.

“Ally?” he counters.

“Dad, what do you think? Don’t you trust me?” I try to make my eyes fill with tears, but not too much. I want to seem like I’m hurt by their obvious lack of trust, but not that I’m throwing some sort of crying temper tantrum.

“I don’t know, Ally. Why would you want to even do something like this?” he asks, and they both look at me expectantly.

Um, hello? Because it seems fun? Because Corey is going to be far, far away? Because why wouldn’t I? BECAUSE IT’S A MIRACLE I EVEN GOT PICKED?

“I think it’s a really good opportunity,” I tell them. “It will force me to interact with different people, and with all the press the cast gets after the show, it will help me to make contacts for jobs and stuff.”

My mom frowns. “What sort of contacts?”

“In broadcasting,” I say, reaching. “Like Tansy McDonald? She got that job for the TV Guide Network because they have a partnership with YTV. And I’m constantly going to be around reporters and stuff after the show’s over.”

“You want to get into broadcasting?” my dad asks. He takes another spoonful of ice cream.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” I lie.