It’s not until I reach the sidewalk of Drew’s apartment building that it hits me—the show is really over. No more cameras, no more interviews. Just getting back to real life. I think about how excited I was when I first found out I was going to be cast, and how so much can change in just a few months. And finally, I think about how even though so many things have ended—the show, Corey and I, my first semester of college—I can’t help but feel like something’s just starting. Only this time, the credits say, “Ally Cavanaugh, as herself.” I run up the stairs and knock on Drew’s door.

7:00 P.M.

I lose everything. Keys, my wallet, money, library books. People don’t even take it seriously anymore. Like when I lost the hundred dollars my grandma gave me for back-to-school shopping, my mom didn’t blink an eye. She was all, “Oh, Eliza, you should have given it to me to hold on to” and then she just went on with her day.

I try not to really stress out about it anymore. I mean, the things I lose eventually show up. And if they don’t, I can always replace them.

Except for my purple notebook. My purple notebook is completely and totally irreplaceable. It’s not like I can just march into the Apple store and buy another one. Which is why it totally figures that after five years of keeping very close tabs on it (Five years! I’ve never done anything consistently for five years!) I’ve lost it.

“What are you doing?” my best friend Clarice asks. She’s sitting at my computer in the corner of my room, IMing with her cousin Jamie. Clarice showed up at nine o’clock this morning, with a huge bag of Cheetos and a six-pack of soda. “I’m ready to party,” she announced when I opened my front door. Then she pushed past me and marched up to my room.

I tried to point out that it was way too early to be up on a Saturday, but Clarice didn’t care because: (a) she’s a morning person and (b) she thought the weekend needed to start asap, since my parents are away for the night, and she figured we should maximize the thirty-six-hour window of their absence.

“I’m looking for something,” I say from under my bed. My body is shoved halfway under, rooting around through the clothes, papers, and books that have somehow accumulated under there since the last time I cleaned. Which was, you know, months ago. My hand brushes against something wet and hard. Hmm.

“What could you possibly be looking for?” she asks. “We have everything we need right here.”

“If you’re referring to the Cheetos,” I say, “I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to need a little more than that.”