“Oh, but you haven’t tasted the—”

She put up her hand. “We’re done.”

That was it?

At the very least she should take another bite to get to the butterscotch. You didn’t get the full effect without the cream. “Just, I don’t think—”

“Please tell your mother and Walter, I said, ‘hello.’” She pushed the box back across the table.

So this really was it. “Um, okay. Bye.” I picked up the box, turned around, and headed for the door.

“See you soon!” she said as I stepped out into the hallway.

Wait, did that mean what I think it meant?

• • •

“This is very exciting!” Mom’s smile was so big, her face looked like it was going to crack in half. “Isn’t it exciting, Ma?”

We’d gotten the official call from Can You Cut It? when we got to Grandma Esme’s apartment, and Mom hadn’t stopped talking about it since. By the end of our ride to Chinatown, everyone on our subway car had congratulated me.

“What’s the name of that tofu dish I love?” Grandma Esme asked, browsing the menu as we waited for a table at China Palace.

“I’m just so proud of you.” Mom gave me a squeeze.

I forced myself to smile back at her. I must have looked like one of those clowns with the painted-on grins.

“How awesome is it that Tris is going to be on Can You Cut It?” Jeanine said to her friend Kevin.

“So awesome,” Kevin said.

“It was my idea, you know?” she said.

“Such a great idea,” Kevin said.

“Right? It’s going to be fantastic publicity for Petersville,” she said.

My pocket buzzed for the fifth time since I’d left the studio, and just like the other times, I didn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t handle more people celebrating me for something I hadn’t done. Chef JJ hadn’t even eaten enough of my doughnut to judge it. Did I have the guts to go on the show when I knew there was no way I’d gotten on because of my cooking skills?

“So, did you tell Chef JJ who you were?” Mom asked.

“Um, yeah. She says…hi.”

“It’s going to be so much fun to catch up with her.” Mom looked happier than I’d seen her in weeks.

“Kira, the tofu dish? The crispy one?” Grandma Esme waved the menu in Mom’s face.

“Salt and pepper, Ma.”

“Right. Salt and pepper.” Grandma Esme’s eyes lit up. It’s no secret where my family’s food obsession comes from. “And what’s the name of the duck dish I hate?”

One more family speaking rapid-fire Chinese squeezed through the narrow entrance into the crowded space between the door, the register, the lobster tank, and the golden, roast ducks hanging in the window.

“What number are we?” I figured talking about anything other than the show was a good plan.

Mom grabbed my head and kissed it. “I’m just so…happy.”

Plan clearly not working.

“Believe and achieve.” Jeanine nodded knowingly. “Works every time.”