“Wait,” I say, and he stops by the door. It’s strange that they argued, but I shouldn’t push it any further. Whatever happened, I’ll trust Victor’s belief that they’re back to being friends. And I’m so relieved he’s still my friend, despite the slight awkwardness between us. “You, Cintia, and PC mean the world to me. Thank you for accepting me just the way I am, even though I splattered smoothie all over you guys when we first met.”

He bursts into laughter.

Just then a blur darts past us into the kitchen like an arrow. Victor and I exchange a confused glance. Neither of us noticed him entering the cafeteria.

“Pedro?” I say, following him inside.

He’s focused, traveling back and forth between the pantry, the fridge, and the counter to gather the ingredients for his family’s bolo de rolo recipe. Tubs of guava paste, wheat flour, sugar, eggs, and butter. He doesn’t say a thing. That’s how I know he’s upset.

I want to ask him how everything went at the doctor’s, but he’s making such a point of getting his mise en place ready, I stay out of his way. His single-mindedness reminds me of Mom’s a little.

“Lari, your ingredients!” Cintia says, yanking me back from my thoughts. “Hurry!”

The bake-off!

I pull Grandma’s corn cake recipe out of my pocket with a trembling hand, reading the ingredients:

Sweet corn, cornmeal, vegetable oil, eggs, baking powder, Parmesan cheese, and cinnamon.

I’m supposed to blend everything and my stomach is already knotted with nerves, because the last time I tried using the blender, disaster struck. And that’s not even my only problem. I realize that the bullet point indicating the Parmesan cheese doesn’t specify the amount!

How did I not notice this before? All these years competing in mathematics contests, Pimentel trained me to look for all the key elements to solving equations, but I failed at reading Grandma’s favorite recipe?

Victor blows his whistle, and I nearly have a heart attack. Pedro jumps too, letting a bowl fall to the floor.

“What did you do that for?” he barks, getting another bowl from the shelf. “This is a kitchen. Not a soccer field!”

Even Cintia, who wasn’t a fan of the whistle either, looks surprised at Pedro’s outburst. Something tells me they’re not as okay as Victor seems to think they are, but then again... Pedro had a stressful morning.

“He didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, defending Victor.

Pedro looks like he wants to chew him out some more, but after a few tense seconds, he finally makes eye contact with me. He seems embarrassed by his outburst.

“I’ll stop with the whistle, if it’s really that annoying,” Victor says, his tone still amiable.