Slightly more than one year ago—just before the utter collapse of the economy—John McCain stood on a podium at Wright State University, in Dayton, Ohio, to announce that his vice-presidential running mate would be Sarah Palin. Three days later, as many Americans were returning home from their Labor Day barbecues and picnics, McCain’s campaign announced that Palin’s unwed 17-year-old daughter, Bristol, was five months pregnant. In a statement released by the campaign, Sarah Palin and her husband, Todd, said that Bristol was planning to marry the child’s father, her boyfriend of two and a half years, an 18-year-old former hockey star from her hometown of Wasilla. “Bristol and the young man she will marry are going to realize very quickly the difficulties of raising a child,” the statement read, “which is why they will have the love and support of our entire family.”

That young man, Levi Johnston, made his one and only campaign appearance later that week at the Republican National Convention in St. Paul. But Johnston would remain with the Palin family throughout the campaign and eventually live full-time in their house, from the end of November until late January, when he and Bristol ended their relationship.

As both a frequent visitor to and temporary inhabitant of the Palin home, Johnston witnessed never-before-reported behavior from the woman who almost became vice president of the United States of America. In this account, as told to editors at Vanity Fair, Johnston paints a vivid portrait of his time with the Palins. He debunks commonly held notions about the closeness of their family; Sarah’s relationship with her husband, Todd; the “special love” she showed her special-needs infant, Trig; and even her self-professed prowess as a hunter and commitment as a hockey mom.

This is Levi’s story.

I had been hunting sheep with my father and uncle for almost two weeks up in Delta Junction, about a six-hour drive from Wasilla. When the hunt was over we got on our four-wheelers and began driving through the woods, mud, and swamp, for five hours, back to the highway for the trip home. When we reached our truck, I looked at my cell phone—there’s no reception in the mountains—and saw that I had about 100 missed calls from my girlfriend, Bristol Palin. She was five months pregnant and I was wondering what the hell was going on. “You’ve got to come down here,” she said when I called her. “Hurry up. Mom wants you to pack your bags. The plane will be waiting to pick you up. Mom’s running for vice president.”

“I don’t know if I want to go on this trip,” I told her. I’m a country guy and I didn’t want to be involved with anything that would put me in front of thousands of people. But after about five minutes of arguing this with Bristol, she handed the phone to her mom.

“Levi, you’re coming down here,” Sarah Palin said, “even if I have to pick you up.”

Sarah’s got a way of getting her way. And at the time she was going to be my mother-in-law. She wouldn’t give up, and I headed back to Wasilla.

The whole ride home I didn’t know what to think. The Sarah I knew could carry her own and she was a hardworking lady. She was the governor. But was this really happening? I thought, Was this woman—who, at home, would literally say things that did not make sense—really running for vice president?

The Palin house was much different from what many people expect of a normal family, even before she was nominated for vice president. There wasn’t much parenting in that house. Sarah doesn’t cook, Todd doesn’t cook—the kids would do it all themselves: cook, clean, do the laundry, and get ready for school. Most of the time Bristol, now 18, would help her youngest sister, Piper, 8, with her homework, and I’d barbecue chicken or steak on the grill. I only saw Sarah help Piper—the youngest before Trig—with homework a few times, and I’ve only seen her read a book to her once. I actually never saw Sarah reading much at all—once in a blue moon, I’d see her reading a book, and I’ve never seen her read a newspaper. The Frontiersman and the Anchorage Daily News were always there in the morning, but the only one who looked through them was Todd.