Winnie stopped short, and we all jerked forward. “Will you look at those boneheads,” she said. “Don’t they have anything better to do? I mean, we’re here trying to save a town. They’re just…wasting their lives.”

Police barricades ran across the plaza, and behind them stood a crowd of maybe forty or so people, many holding signs saying stuff like, “We love you Brynn,” and “Came from New Orleans to have breakfast with Brynn.”

Josh stooped down to get a better look out the window. “Are they wearing pajamas?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Way too many polka dots and team logos for regular clothing.”

“Look at that lady with the huge Elmo slippers.” Jeanine pointed.

“All right, everybody. Time to suit up.” Jim popped open a panel, pulled out a bag, and began handing out T-shirts.

• • •

The Petersmobile was a hit. Not with the Breakfast with Brynn fans. They were too busy trying to make sure they were up front when Brynn came out. Most of the people rushing to work also didn’t give us a second look. So who were all those people taking selfies with the Petersmobile and Zoe and Henry? Tourists. Summer in midtown Manhattan is packed with tourists—hopefully tourists who were going to make Petersville their next destination.

About a quarter to nine, a bunch of guys in black T-shirts and pants rolled Brynn’s enormous bed out of the building into the plaza.

The crowd went crazy, yelling and screaming and shaking signs even though there wasn’t a camera in sight.

“We should go,” I said to Mom.

“Too bad Brynn and her cameras aren’t here yet,” Josh said.

“I think being late would be bad.” I handed him my sign.

“Break a leg,” Jim said. “Does that work for a cooking show? Or is that just for regular shows?”

“You want him to waste time with stupid questions or you want him to go win some cash?” Winnie pulled me in close. “Good luck, Slick.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t forget,” Jeanine said.

“I know. I know. Believe and achieve.”

• • •

Mom and I signed in with lobby security, then headed for the elevators.

As we zoomed up, Mom studied herself in the mirrored doors.

“Oh, boy.” She combed her fingers through her hair, then squinted and pointed at the me in the doors. “Is that toothpaste?” She licked a finger and came at the real me with it.

I held up a hand to block her. “Hey, we talked about this. Saliva is not a cleaning product.”

Using the doors as a mirror, I rubbed the mint green stain off my chin with the back of my hand.

“Sorry. I think I’m just a little nervous about seeing JJ after so long,” she admitted to the us in the doors.

That’s when I realized something, something I should have realized the moment I’d heard I’d gotten on the show: everyone was going to find out that Mom and Chef JJ worked together, and after that, it wouldn’t matter how good my skills were, they’d never believe I deserved to be there. They’d think that I was chosen because Chef JJ was friends with my mom.