'Nanny Diaries' Authors Show 'The Real Real'

Photo: Book Cover: "The Real Real," a novel by Emma Mclaughlin and Nicola Kraus

The best-selling authors of "The Nanny Diaries" give their fictional take on reality television in their new book, "The Real Real."

In it, Jesse O'Rourke gets picked to star in a reality show that follows her through her senior year of high school. Since it comes with a tuition check that will allow her to be the first in her family to attend college, she takes the chance.

She soon learns not only has her crush made the cast, but that she might also have to trade in her true friends for the "it" clique she's tried so hard to avoid during her school years.

"The Real Real" shows how producers manipulate the lives of their characters to heighten the drama, and Jesse has to figure out what's really real in her life.

Read an excerpt of this book below and check out more interesting titles in the "GMA" Library.

Chapter 1

"Single file! Everyone, line up on the LEFT!" Mrs. Gesop shouts to be heard over the din of students crowding into the impractically narrow hallway between the stairwell and the auditorium. "We will let you in when everyone is lined up neatly against the wall!" It's a physical impossibility for the hundred-plus seniors of Hampton High to fit along the eight-foot stretch of wall, and as more students step off the stairs we're getting packed in here like panicked cattle. Just open the double doors, lady, and let us in.

Caitlyn wriggles into the air pocket at my right, her face flushed and damp. "What's going on?" she pants, tucking her most recent DIY blond streak behind her ear. "I got to bio late because the Camry wouldn't start—of course, I get one semester to park at school, and the crapbox dies every time it snows—and run into an empty room with just the chalkboard saying come here. What does it mean? Is it terrorists?"

"It's probably some stupid college thing." I pat her on the shoulder. "And at least you have a crapbox."

Caitlyn snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Okay, focus." She flips open her phone to show me the last text she received before the eight o'clock bell. "Rob says Drew Rudell showed up puffy-eyed to cross-country practice this morning."

"Really. Why?"

"Dumped over Christmas break. One semester of long-distance love was all she could handle."

"She dumped him?" I grab her wrist to steady myself as we sway in the middle of the bovine huddle. "They were practically married last spring. What is Sarah Lawrence, a two-hour, three-hour drive? For him I would've Rollerbladed that." We reflexively drop our chins to our chests and try to look out through our bangs to locate Drew, while I furtively brush on some Benetint.

"He's behind you," she says. "And, despite said puffiness, does have a certain . . . available vibe to him. Looks like your year of silent prayers and that Santeria candle we bought have finally paid off."

I turn to her, making full-force eye contact. "Find out everything you can before lunch. Did she really initiate the breakup, was there infidelity, and who got custody of the windbreaker."

"On it."

"ALL RIGHT, SENIORS! Since we cannot seem to convince you to line up, I only ask that when we open the doors you move in AN ORDERLY FASHION to the front of the auditorium and take seats. In an ORDERLY FASHION!"

The double doors finally give, and everyone flies down the aisles as if cash prizes were at stake.

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