And, no, the Can You Cut It? folks weren’t mad about what happened, actually the opposite. They loved it. A producer I’d never met called us the day after we got home to tell us so. “Just like real reality,” the guy said. He was especially into that part where I walked off the set, because it was obvious that nobody had planned it or knew what to do next.

The reason he was calling? Not to warn us that they had the whole Killer Cupcake Craziness on camera and would be airing it. Oh, no. He was calling to inform my parents and me that we were in violation of our contract, and that I needed to return to film my “exit interview.” Oh, and if I didn’t, Mr. Real Reality explained, The Food Connection Company would sue my parents. At first, I thought this was a joke. Then I saw Dad’s face.

So Dad took me back to the city to film my exit interview. It was with Randy and Mr. Real Reality. What they wanted to know most of all? How I’d cheated. I think they were hoping for something like I got dressed up as a ninja, scaled the outside of The Food Connection building in the middle of the night with toilet plungers attached to my hands and knees, picked the lock on the roof door, and then hacked a computer.

They looked pretty disappointed when I explained how the recipe had just popped up on Terrence’s phone in the bathroom. “That’s it?” Randy said.

“That’s it,” I said. She looked so sad, I couldn’t help but add, “Sorry.” Randy wasn’t that bad.

As I biked up the hill just outside of town, one clip flashed through my brain, something else I’d missed seeing that day, Keya’s face at the moment I admitted I’d cheated. It was like a punch in the stomach.

What did she think now? She must have watched the show, seen the interview.

Phoenix had probably already called The Food Connection offices to demand that they give him another shot because I’d cheated, though he’d bombed the Egg-Off all on his own. The person who most deserved another shot was Izzy since she was the one eliminated in the Cloning Contest, and I said so during my interview.

And Harper, what did she think? I shivered imagining her staring me down on her television screen as I admitted what I’d done.

• • •

The lights in The Station House were on when I rode up. It had to be Walter. Mom never got up this early to come to the restaurant, and both my parents’ cars were there when I left home.

I leaned my bike against the porch and went inside.

“It’s me!” I called, ducking under the counter.

Walter was at the stove, stirring something.

“No pupusas?”

“Atol de elote.”

The sweet, milky corn drink wouldn’t fill me up like pupusa, but it was a close second to my favorite of Walter’s dishes from back home.