8:30 P.M.
Later I get the full house tour from Ruben and Clay. There's the den (or ''gizame room'' as Ruben calls it) with a fake banana tree, a requisite box of Twister, and, of course, a pool table. Keep going and you hit the gym (''This is the last time I'll be in here,'' Clay says, though Simon may have something to say about that). Down some stairs there's the long, narrow pool with breathtaking views of the city. Corey is ebullient about the gang's new neighbor, Drew Barrymore. (''I'm going to be like, 'Put us in ''Charlie's Angels 3''!''') Roommates were chosen earlier in the day by drawing straws -- well, actually RedVine licorice. Ruben, Corey, and Charles got the carpeted room, while Clay, Josh, and Rickey are upstairs. Carmen, at 17 the baby of the bunch, shares a suite with her guardians, and the rest of the girls occupy a palatial room with a deluxe bathroom.
Last week's goodwill seems to have dissipated. It's abundantly clear that the girls' room is days away from becoming a nuclear war zone. ''I had three roommates and none of them worked out,'' Trenyce says. ''It wasn't me. It was always them.'' When Rickey, the sweetest of the group, giggles at her comment, she shoots back, ''Okay, never mind. Cut the cameras.'' (The weird part is that for once, there are none around -- but Trenyce doesn't seem to notice.) Indeed, she soon takes to her bed and cranks up the heat, which doesn't make roomie Kimberly Caldwell very happy. ''I can't sleep in a room this hot,'' she gripes. ''You have your window!'' Trenyce shoots back. Corey, for one, is prepared for the meltdowns. ''Those girls are four in a room. Meeeeee-ow!''
Before any of the catfights can get truly scary, toothy former beauty-pageant contestant/''American Idol'' loser Kristin Holt (who will serve as a correspondent from inside the house) storms in and grabs my tape recorder. ''You wrote a story about me last year that I'm snobby and I'm a bitch, and I've never even talked to you in my life,'' she sniffs. (Actually, I called her my ''least favorite human being on television.'' Potato, potahto.) ''Just be careful what you say around her, guys. Just letting you know. It might get a little twisted.'' And then she storms off to eye rolls from the contestants, who don't seem to understand why she's living with them to begin with. ''You can write I'm a bitch,'' Kimberley Locke offers. ''Just write I'm a bitch who can sing.''
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