That first moment back in New York always feels like the city’s dials have been cranked up while I’ve been away. Everything’s too loud, too bright, too colorful.

When we hit Fifth Avenue, Mom headed downtown. “It’s Fifty-First, right?”

“Yeah.” I gripped my box a little tighter.

“Six-One-One. There it is.” Jeanine pointed to a building with a gleaming brass entrance and a big fountain out front.

I could already feel my heart thudding at the back of my throat, and we hadn’t even gone inside.

• • •

“Paperwork?” The woman behind the desk put out a hand. A huge blowup of Chef JJ’s face next to CAN YOU CUT IT? in shiny red letters covered the wall behind her.

“I keep this.” She put my paperwork on a pile. “And you take this.” She slipped a card with my name on it into a plastic holder on a string and handed it to me.

I held it up to Jeanine. “Tristan? Really? The least you could have done was put Tris.”

“What? It’s your name.”

“You have to put it on,” the woman said.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” I looped the string over my head. It reminded me of those tags they made us wear when we went on field trips in preschool (If found, please return this child to West Side Playgroup).

“Tristan?” A woman in a flowing gray dress was holding open a glass door opposite the receptionist’s desk “Would you follow me please? Your family can come too.” She smiled like she was on a toothpaste commercial.

As we followed her through a maze of hallways, Samara explained how the callbacks worked. “So I’m just leading you to a lounge where you can relax with the other kids and their families. Then we’ll bring you out two at a time for your interview with Marco—he’s one of the producers—and your meeting with Chef JJ. That’s where you’ll present your food.” She stopped at a glass-walled seating area.

“When does he find out if he made it?” Jeanine asked.

“Actually, this is our last set of callbacks for the East Coast competition, and we’re on a tight schedule, so we’ll decide this afternoon. You’ll hear by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Thanks.” At least the news, good or bad, would come quick.

• • •

I didn’t want to be too obvious checking out the competition, but from a quick scan of the room, I guessed there were about ten contestants. Since we all had family with us, it was pretty packed.

We circled a few times, trying to find three seats together. In the end, we let Mom take an armchair by the TV, which was playing the show’s greatest hits on a loop, and Jeanine and I squeezed onto a couch on the other side of the room.

“Hey, watch it!” somebody said as I scooted back on the sofa.

I turned and found myself face-to-face with a steaming Starbucks cup. The girl holding it had freckled brown skin, dangly earrings shaped like whisks, and a seriously annoyed look on her face.