“We can get a wholesale discount and probably buy the equipment secondhand.” Josh grabbed a pad and pen from his bed and began to take notes.

“Then they just show up to deliver the doughnuts wherever we need them. We could even take advantage of different people’s home locations. Remember how Betsy’s in Crellin said they would sell doughnuts if we ever had enough? Maybe we could find someone who lives close to Crellin to make doughnuts for her.”

“Yes!” Josh scribbled away.

“You know what? I think this might actually work.”

We spent the next couple of hours hammering out a plan. We even wrote a want ad to put in The Petersville Gazette:

NEEDED: PART-TIME WORKERS

Want to be a part of The Doughnut Stop team?

Flexible hours. You can work from home. No experience necessary.

Interested? Send email to [email protected].

At noon, we headed to Barney’s for latkes and eggs and onions, then climbed an enormous rock in Central Park, and sat there making to-do lists.

We were just starting to come up with a budget when my phone buzzed with a text.

Dad: So dinner is at G-Mare’s at 6. Wear something nice, okay? Or at least clean-ish.

I’d gone almost a whole day without thinking about Can You Cut It? and I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to have to sit there while my aunts and uncles and cousins and grandmother grilled me about what it was like on the show and told me over and over how awesome I was for making it to the finals.

Me: I don’t think we’re coming

Dad: Come

Me: Dad I really don’t feel like it

Dad: Everyone wants to see you

Me: Sorry

Dad: Not okay. Command performance. We won’t stay late

Me: I really can’t

A second later, he was calling. Even though I really didn’t want to, I picked up. “Dad, Josh and I are—”

“I understand this is not how you want to spend the evening. Tant pis.”

The French was out. A bad sign.

“It’s more than that,” I said.

“You know what, Tris, you’re not a little kid anymore. Sometimes you just do stuff because you have to.”

Unreal.

“Tris?”

If he thought I had to stop acting like a little kid, why was he always trying to sell me fairy tales about everything being all rainbows and unicorns?

“Can you hear me?” he said.

“Fine, see you there,” I said, and hung up.

The dinner was just as painful as I’d thought it was going to be. Everyone wanted details about the callback and each challenge. And they all told me how “great” it was that I’d made it to the finals. Can You Cut It? was basically the only thing anybody wanted to talk about. Plus, my grandmother was doing the traditional French meal with like, a zillion courses, including separate ones for salad, cheese, and dessert, so we were trapped at the table forever.

I didn’t say a word to Dad at dinner, or on the way home, or back at the Airstream. He went right on talking to me though, either not noticing I wasn’t talking back, or pretending not to.