So I spent the week pestering Mom to bake Grandma’s corn cake recipe. I wanted to watch her and secretly take notes, but Mom refused every time I asked.

When she sees me lingering by the kitchen this morning, the day of the bake-off and my final chance at getting any pointers from her, she gives me a stern look.

“I’m not baking that corn cake!” she says before I’m able to ask.

“Why not?”

“There are recipes even I can’t touch, Larissa. I need you to respect that.”

This recipe reminds her too much of Grandma. But it reminds me of Grandma, too, even more than any other recipe. And that’s exactly why I want to learn how to make it.

“You’re always procrastinating,” Mom says, diverting the conversation. “If you get up early, go study. Don’t just stand in the kitchen.”

I feel shut out.

Forget the recipe. I just wish we could spend time together, like the night she helped me get ready for the party.

“Okay...” I say, dragging my feet.

“If I were in your shoes, I’d be so excited about going to college, but you act like it’s a burden. You’ll be the first Ramires to go to college. Do you realize what a privilege that is? Your father dreamed of studying economics. He had a real talent. And you share the same skill. You’re the only one in our family who can finish what he started.”

Her words aren’t anything I haven’t heard before, but now the pressure feels unbearable. “Maybe I have my own dreams,” I mumble.

And I realize it was loud enough for her to hear. I regret the words immediately. I’ve never been open like this with Mom.

“Go to school,” she says, not looking at me. I dart out of Salt, hoping she’ll forget my honesty.

As soon as I step outside, Pedro comes out of Sugar. And right away I know something is wrong. Pedro doesn’t go for his bicycle. His hair is disheveled and he’s not in his uniform. Instead, he’s wearing jeans and an inside-out shirt, like he tossed it on in a hurry.

Seu Romário is right behind him, and Pedro turns around to offer him a hand. His grandfather normally swats anyone offering help away. But this time, he takes Pedro’s arm and leans against him, letting Pedro guide him to their car.

Dona Eulalia comes up behind them, and I immediately recognize the look in her eyes. It’s the same one Mom had when she pushed Grandma’s wheelchair in the hospital—a strained expression as she steered, careful to navigate Grandma through the busy corridors, one million worries behind her eyes that she was never going to share with me.

“He’s in pain,” Mom says next to me. I didn’t realize she’d come out to the sidewalk.