playing the banjo in a menacing way. Everybody looks...well, just like people inNew York . We haven't

met our "host family" yet. The way it works is, we are all split into groups, and then each group is

assigned to a host family, and then they work on that family's house. I was very scared about the group

thing, like, that I might get assigned to a group away from all my friends, where I wouldn't know

anybody. But fortunately, you get to pick your own group. So Michael, Lilly, Boris, Tina, Mrs. Hill, Lars,

me, Dr. Gonzales, and this one boy, PeterTsu , who is a junior and is on the wrestling team, are all in one

group.

I feel kind of sorry for our host family, to tell you the truth. Because I mean, except for Dr. Gonzales and

possibly PeterTsu ­ who I don't know anything about ­ none of us has ever built anything before. Some

of us have never even held a hammer before.

Our host family's house has a fair chance of ending up looking like complete crap.

Oh, God, there's the bell. We are supposed to gather in the "dining tent" now for orientation and

supper. I am having grave reservations about all of this. I mean, besides the tents and the whole thing

where we are probably going to end up ruining our host family's chances of getting decent housing, there

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

is the fact that they have separated the girls' tents from the boys' tents ­ which is going to make it VERY

difficult to find a place private enough to suit Michael's sensibilities for any make-out session that might lie

in our future ­ with ­ I shudder to write it ­ Port-O-Lets!

Yes!!!!! That is right!!!!!! There are not even any working indoor toilets ­ at least until we install our

hostfamily's . We have to use Port-O-Lets!

And don't even get me started on the whole shower thing. The need for solar shower bags came into

startling clarity when I saw the shower area, which is just a bunch oftarped -off stalls with hooks to hang

your shower bag from.

It looks like it's going to be wet wipes the whole way, as it is drizzling steadily and there is not a hint of

sun.

And you can't wash the smell of barf out of your hair with wet wipes. Believe me, I tried.

The bell again.Got to go.Must find a place to hide this journal so the bears/serial killers/ Blair Witch

won't find it while I am gone.

I really should try to get used to all this, because if I ever want to volunteer with Greenpeace and help

save the whales, the living conditions could be even worse.

Saturday, March 12, 9 p.m., Hominy Knob, WestVirginia

We met our host family. They are Angie and ToddHarmeyer and their two children, three-year-old

Mitchell and two-year-old Stefano. I swear that is the baby's name.Stefano. There is another baby on

the way, too. Mrs.Harmeyer is due in a month, though if you ask me, she looks like she could blow at

any moment.

Mrs.Harmeyer has a job sweeping up hair at a beauty salon in downtown Hominy Knob, which consists

of a grocery store, a credit union, a hardware store, a consignment shop, and the beauty salon. Mr.

Harmeyer has been unemployed since the local tire factory burned down. Both Mr. and Mrs.Harmeyer

are very excited about their new house. They have been living in a trailer since they got married. Mitchell

is especially excited about the prospect of having his own room. Right now, he has to sleep in the same

bed as his mom and dad.

After we met theHarmeyers , and we were all standing in line to get our dinner ­ salad, corn on the cob,

sloppyjoes (being vegetarian, I just took a bun of some of the vegetables), string beans, and cherry

cobbler, for desert ­ Mrs.Harmeyer asked me if it was true about my being a princess and the tall guy

behind me being my bodyguard, and I said it was true.

"Well,whatchadoin 'spendin ' your Spring Break around here, then, if you're a princess?" Mrs.

Harmeyer wanted to know. "If I were a princess, I'd spend my Spring Break inCabo San Lucas,ridin '

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

on one of them jet skis."

I explained to Mrs.Harmeyer that I had been compelled to join Housing for the Hopeful instead of

spending my Spring Break riding on jet skis out of a keen sense of civic duty and a desire to learn new

skills.

Mrs.Harmeyer just looked at me funny and went, "What?"

So then I told Mrs.Harmeyer I was there to make out with my boyfriend. She looked really interested

then and wanted to know which of the guys in line was mine, and when I pointed to Michael she went, "

Ooooeee, he's a looker," which filled me with internal pride but also made me feel like smacking her.

So then I thought I had better change the subject, and asked Mrs.Harmeyer if she knew the sex of her

unborn child yet. Mrs.Harmeyer surprised me by saying she didn't want to know, since if it was another

boy, she knew she'd never push.

I was shocked to hear a woman in West Virginia echoing the exact same thing my mom back in New

York City is always saying, and I asked Mrs.Harmeyer if she, like my mom, was an opponent to the cult

of the patriarchy, to which Mrs.Harmeyer replied, "Gosh, no, I just want somebody I can buyBarbies

for, instead of G.I. Joes."

After informing Mrs.Harmeyer that I fully understood her feelings, I took my food and went and sat

down by Michael. Lilly was at out table, too, filming everyone. She filmed all the Hominy Knob locals

who filed curiously past our table, pausing occasionally to ask me where my tiara was ( answer: "Back in

New York"), what it felt like to be a princess ("Okay") and why on earth I'd come to Hominy Knob

("To achieve self-actualization through selflessly helping others"). I didn't think the locals ­ aside from

Mrs.Harmeyer ­ would appreciate hearing about my desire to suck face with my boyfriend.

After dinner, Lilly declared she had enough footage for a miniseries, let alone a single episode of her

show. She decided she was going to have to do a month-long tribute to Hominy Knob on her cable

access show. She decided to call the documentary "Sour Mash and Medicaid: The Failure of the Federal

Government to Ease the Burden of the Rural Poor."

It will, she says, bring the current administration to its knees.

After dinner, Dr. Gonzales talked for a while, but I didn't pay much attention because I was thinking

about the Port-O-Lets. Now I know why we'd been instructed to bring flashlights. There are no lights in

the Port-O-Lets, so if you have to go in the middle of the night, you have to use your flashlight to see by.

What's more, there's no telling what else might be sharing that Port-O-Lets with you. I mean, if you ask

me, it's the perfect hangout for spiders, possibly black widow spiders whose bite can be deadly.At least

according to the Discovery Channel.

I am definitely bringing my insect repellant with me to the bathroom every time I have to go.

It was after Dr. Gonzales's long, boring talk that things really started to look up. That's because, walking

back to our tents, Michael took my hand (it was dark out, so no one saw), then pulled me behind a tree

and started kissing me in a highly romantic manner. It definitely took my mind off the Port-O-Lets for a

little while. Good thing I had my cherryChapStick handy.

But then Michael was like, "What's that smell?" and I sniffed and realized he was talking about my hair,

whichstill smelled like Boris barf.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Why didn't I bring anyFebreze with me? WHY?

Anyway, the barf smell kind of ruined the mood. Besides, you couldn't even see any stars, it was

drizzling so much.

Oh, no.The "lights out" bell. We have to turn out our flashlights now, and go to sleep. I don't know how

anyone can be expected to sleep out here in the wilderness. There are all sorts of weird noises, like

hooting owls and crickets and stuff. At least we don't have to worry about bears, though. Lars opened

his duffel bag and pulled out a pup tent, complete with an inflatable air mattress, and set it up right in front

of our door. While this will make going to the Port-O-Lets in the middle of the night slightly difficult- and

will also, sadly, discourage any nocturnal visitations from boys ­ it makes me happy to know that Lars is

out there with hisGlock9 mm and hisnunchaks ...even if he, like the rest of us, can't sleep due to the

incredibly noisy owls.

I missManhattan already. What I wouldn't give to be lulled to sleep by the dulcet tones of a car alarm.

Sunday, March 13, Noon, the dining tent

Oh, my God, every inch of me is sore. It is no joke trying to sleep on the ground. And the sides of our

tents kept flapping all night, and I thought it was the Blair Witch trying to get in.

Plus when we woke up, everything was drenched with dew.DEW. There is no dew inNew York City .

Pigeons, maybe.Lots of rats.But no dew.

Dew is my new enemy. Although thanks to it, my hair no longs smells like Boris's barf. Now it just

smells like...dew.

It doesn't help that I've done all morning is hold up wood frames. Apparently I am hopeless at

hammering, sawing, drilling, and pouring cement. Good thing I came all the way toWest Virginia to find

that out.

So I was in charge of holding up the woods frames while other people hammered them in, a task that