“I didn’t like it because I was scared of it, and because I’d never really done it,” I tell him. “But now I think it’s what I want to do with my life.”

“Think? I’d make sure before you decide to major in it, Ally. Your parents aren’t paying thousands of dollars in tuition so that you can get some art degree.” Some art degree? Some art degree? This from a boy who’s convinced that his broadcast journalism degree is a necessary but ultimately useless step to getting him into a Lakers uniform. “What did the professor say?”

“Well, nothing,” I admit. “I haven’t turned them in yet. But I think they’re really good. And so did my roommate,” I finish lamely.

“Your roommate? The stripper?” He sounds amused.

“How many times do I have to tell you? She’s. Not. A. Stripper. She works at Hooters.” Is he deaf? Has he acquired some sort of Floridian disease that affects his auditory powers?

“Same difference,” he says. “But, anyway, what did the stripper say about the pictures?”

“Her name’s Jasmine, not ‘the stripper.’ And it wasn’t her. It was my roommate Drew.” There. That will show him. Now he’ll have no choice but to listen to me. Some other guy, a guy I live with, told me that my photos are good. Now Corey will turn all jealous and rush to out-compliment him. “He helped me develop them,” I add for good measure. “In the dark room.”

“Well, I wouldn’t start counting chickens until the professor sees the pictures,” Corey says. What? Did he not hear me? Is he not concerned with the fact that some other guy is telling me I’m good at something? Sure, it was only my pictures he was complimenting, but doesn’t Corey realize that’s really only one step away from worshiping my body, my face, my kissing abilities? Maybe he didn’t hear me.

“Drew knows a lot about photography because his dad was a photographer,” I tell him. “But you’ll probably hear all about it on the show.” I try to sound breezy, all the while hoping Corey will fly into a jealous rage and book a flight to Syracuse immediately, demanding that I marry him.

“I don’t watch the show anymore,” Corey says.

“What?” I say, almost choking on the iced tea I’m drinking.

“I don’t watch the show anymore,” he says, sounding like it’s no big deal.

He doesn’t watch the show anymore? Is he nuts? How can he not want to know what’s going on in my life? “Why not?” I say.