There’s no way I’m going to be able to get back to sleep, so I head to the kitchen for some coffee. I usually don’t drink coffee, but isn’t that what college students are supposed to do? Live on coffee to make up for their drunken nights of partying and their sleepless nights of studying? Not that I’m really planning on doing either. I mean, I don’t really drink all that much, and what sort of work could they give you that you would possibly have to stay up all night studying? There’s, like, fourteen hours of awake time during the day. If I can’t finish all my work then, I might as well just throw in the towel now.

I turn on the coffeepot, trying to ignore Sam, who’s behind me, the camera capturing my every move. The worst part of having the cameras around is when they’re filming me doing something like this—something totally normal by myself, like making coffee. It feels weird. We’re supposed to ignore the cameras and not converse with the cameramen at all. It’s this huge rule. The production people can even get fired if they “line-cross.” I think it’s because of Corrine, who was on In the House: Las Vegas. She gave one of the cameramen a blow job in the bathroom of a casino one night, and it was this huge fiasco.

The door to the house opens as I’m pouring coffee into a Syracuse College mug with a blue handle.

“Let me guess,” Drew says, walking into the kitchen. He’s wearing mesh shorts and a gray tank top. His biceps are huge and defined. “You’re a morning person too?”

“No, not at all,” I tell him, grateful someone else is here to share the spotlight. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I should have known better than to assume you were.” He winks. What’s that supposed to mean? I look lazy? I stand up straighter.

“Where were ya, coming in at six in the morning, looking out of breath and flustered?” I ask, sitting down at one of the stools at the breakfast bar. I dump about six spoonfuls of sugar into my coffee, figuring it will make it drinkable and aid in keeping me awake.

“The gym.” The gym? At six in the morning on the first day of class? Figures. He looks like the type who would get up early and work on his body. Vain bastard.

“Bor-ing,” I say, adding cream and giving the coffee a good stir. “I was hoping it would be something a bit more scandalous, something having to do with, say, a blond girl who lives in Gradner Hall and possibly her roommate.”

“The treadmill and the bench press are sadly the only things I’ve had contact with this morning.” He sighs, heading to the refrigerator and taking out a bottle of water. He takes a long drink.

“That’s okay,” I tell him seriously. “The semester is young. You have plenty of time to create scandals that will keep America hating you.”