“It’s not like I’m not prepared.”

“I’m not talking cooking skills. I’m talking attitude.”

“Fine. I get it.” And I did. I had to channel the Tea King. I love to compete… I love to compete…

Every twenty minutes or so, Samara would come back to drop off two kids and take two more. After about an hour, Mom wandered over.

“I was just thinking,” she said as she sat between me and Jeanine. Imogen and her mom were gone by then, so there was space. “If you do meet JJ today, definitely tell her who you are. I think—no, I’m sure she’ll remember me, and Walter too.”

“Like that’s going to get him on the show?” Jeanine said.

“It can’t hurt. I mean, who knows how many kids they called back in total. It might help to have something to make him stand out.”

“Thanks, Mom. Great pep talk.” Did she think my doughnuts weren’t good enough to make me stand out?

“I didn’t mean… Those are spectacular doughnuts, and you know I love them. It’s just we don’t even know how many kids they’ve seen. I’m sure eventually you all just blend together in a blur, you know?”

“Can we please just drop it? You’re actually making me even more nervous.”

“Ah-ha!” Jeanine wagged a finger in my mother’s face. “See, it’s not just me. This is why I don’t let you take me to competitions anymore.”

“I don’t mean to.” Mom frowned. “Should I go back to where I was before?”

“No,” I said. “But let’s just not talk.”

And we didn’t for another whole half hour, not even Jeanine, which has to be some kind of record for her.

“Tristan Levin?” Samara called from the door.

“Here.” I grabbed my box.

“Harper Gonzalez?”

The trash-talker from earlier stood up on the other side of the room. Just my luck.

“Have fun,” Mom said. “And just, well, just remember what I told you.”

“Mom!” Jeanine shushed my mother and pulled me in close.

“Jeanine, I got to go.”

“Say it,” she ordered.

“Say what?”

“You know.” She looked around like she was about to divulge the secret formula for Coke, then leaned in and whispered, “Believe and achieve.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“Say it!” She stomped her foot.

“Inside. I’m saying it inside.”

“Not good enough.”

“Believe and achieve,” I said into the collar of my T-shirt.

“Amazing, right? It’s like magic, the way it makes you feel just saying it,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. Amazing.”

Chapter 10

Samara sent Harper to meet with Chef JJ while I met with a producer named Marco, a guy with small silver hoops in his ears and a T-shirt so tight you could see his muscles bulging through it.

We chatted for a while. He wanted to know about Petersville and The Doughnut Stop. Then he asked me a bunch of questions, none of which had anything to do with food. Mostly he’d say stuff, and then I was supposed to tell him whether what he said was true for me, like this: