“Are you kidding me?” I ask, wondering if it’s possible that Grant has recently developed an eye condition that compromises his ability to see. “Look at them! Seriously, it’s like one of those dreams where you’re walking around naked. Only it’s worse, because it’s not a dream, and because IT’S ON NATIONAL TELEVISION.”

Grant looks around the student union, where we’re having lunch. People are staring but pretending not to, except for the ones who are gaping openly. Frank the cameraman sits at the table across from us, the handheld capturing our every move. Once every few minutes he scratches his chest where his necklace rests against his skin.

“Do you think this will be on the show?” Grant asks, lowering his voice and leaning toward me. “Because I think maybe I should have worn something a little, uh, dressier.” He looks down at his button-up navy Banana Republic shirt and khaki pants. Most people around here are dressed like slobs and look like the walking dead. I give Grant a mean look for obsessing over his own clothes when I’m the one with the cameraman recording her every move.

“Sorry,” he says, taking a sip of his iced tea and leaning back in his chair. “So tell me about your roommates. Are they all nuts?”

“A stripper, a gangster, a virgin, and a player. Oh, and this morning the player told me that I got on the show so that America could watch my relationship fall apart.”

“Are you serious? What an asshole! Is the player hot?” Grant harbors this illusion that every hot guy who sleeps with tons of girls is secretly gay and compensating for their in-the-closetness with their sexual conquests.

“Well, he didn’t say that exactly,” I admit, spearing a forkful of salad and trying to ignore the two blond girls in the corner who are trying to pretend they’re not paying attention to what Grant and I are saying. “He said my role was ‘the hot girl in the long-distance relationship who has to watch out for temptation.’ Or something. And yeah, I guess he’s hot, in one of those preppy jock kind of ways.”

“Sweet,” Grant says. “So wait, he called you hot?”

“Grant, please! This is serious. Focus.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, shoving another fry into his mouth.

“That’s not true, Grant, is it?” I ask him. “I’m not on the show just because of Corey, am I?” I lower my voice, mindful of the girls in the corner hanging on my every word.

“Well,” Grant says slowly, chewing on his fry, “I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re on the show, no. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t think it has something to do with it.”

Corey and Grant have a love/hate relationship. Actually, Grant has a love/hate relationship with Corey. He likes Corey as a person, but can’t fathom the fact that people who meet in high school may just be together forever.