I turn to Gem, who’s been following me around all morning. “Why don’t you get some lunch? I’ll be fine.”

He looks torn between his duty as bodyguard and his discomfort at being around Nelinha. Finally, he nods and lopes off. This is a relief. He’s been standing behind me so long, I’m starting to think his breath is leaving an impression on my shoulder.

“How’s that going?” Nelinha waves her screwdriver at the spot where Gem was standing.

I’m tempted to say that Gem isn’t so bad, but that’s not for me to tell Nelinha, given their history. I just shrug.

“Hmph.” Nelinha turns her attention back to the half-disassembled device in her hand.

I think back to that infamous day in September of our chum year. We were brand-new, trying to survive the meat grinder of orientation month. Two of our classmates had already dropped out and gone home in tears.

Nelinha was struggling more than most. Her English was excellent, but it was still her second language. She was relieved to sit next to me in the cafeteria because I knew some Portuguese. Then, one night at dinner, Gem’s shadow fell across our table. He stood over us, gawking at Nelinha like she was a unicorn.

“Are you the scholarship kid?” he asked. “From Brazil?”

There was no malice in his voice, but his words carried. We’d just finished a hard day of physical training. Nobody had much energy left for chatting. Our classmates turned to see who Gem was talking about.

The scholarship kid.

Nelinha’s face hardened. My fingers curled around the handle of my fork. I was tempted to stab Gemini Twain in the thigh. He’d just reduced my new friend’s identity to three words that would cling to her for the rest of the year.

Gem seemed oblivious. He started rambling about his brother who was an LDS missionary in Rocinha. Did Nelinha know him? Had she met any of the missionaries? How was life in the favela?

Eventually I would realize that being a straight shooter was just an extension of Gem’s personality. When he saw a target, he aimed and shot. He did not think about collateral damage.

Nelinha put down her utensils. She gave Gem a sour smile. “I don’t know your brother. Ana, you finished?”

She stormed off. I gave Gem a withering look, then abandoned my dinner and rushed to follow her out of the cafeteria.

Later in the eighth-grade barracks, after lights-out, I heard Nelinha sobbing in her bunk. At first, I assumed it was Ester. But Ester was fast asleep and snoring. Nelinha was curled up and miserable, shivering under her blankets. I crawled in next to her and held her while she wept, until finally she fell asleep.

Nelinha had gone through a lot in her thirteen years. She grew up an orphan—no family, no opportunities, no money. Then, thanks to an elementary-school teacher who saw something special in her, Nelinha was recommended for the HP entry tests in Rio. She blew the tops off all the mechanical-aptitude scores. She deserved to be known as more than the scholarship kid.