“Sorry. I’m just...” Pedro exhales, averting his eyes. “I’m sorry. Let’s get this thing started?”

“No worries,” Victor says, flashing Pedro a smile. “Alright, the rules of the bake-off are simple. Lari and Pedro will have exactly one hour to prepare their recipes. There’s no tripping allowed in this bake-off. No name-calling. We’re all friends here, so let’s stay friends after this. At the end, all club members will try the dishes and vote on the one that should represent the cooking club at the Vozes fundraiser. Will it be Lari’s corn cake? Or Pedro’s bolo de rolo?”

I look at Pedro, and he launches me the tiniest glance back.

Victor pulls his phone out of his pocket and sets the timer for one hour. “Ready? Set! Go!”

The countdown begins.

I place Grandma’s recipe in front of me on the counter and I go back to my previous dilemma. Parmesan cheese.

“I got this,” I say to myself. “As long as you’re with me, Grandma.”

I take a deep breath and focus.

If this were an equation, my hands would know what to do before I even thought about it. But it’s not like I haven’t encountered tricky tests before. I try to approach baking like it’s a bonus question during a math contest. I can’t let it overwhelm me. So I begin by getting some of the ingredients out of the way. I’ll worry about the Parmesan cheese later.

I pour cornmeal into the blender, ignoring my shaking hands. I then try to crack the first egg the way Grandma used to, hitting it with a quick flick of the wrist against the side of the blender. But my hand isn’t as swift and the whole egg breaks, spilling its contents all over the counter.

“Problems?” Victor mouths to me, casually sliding over to my end of the counter, pretending to just be observing my ingredients. He knows my predicament.

“I’m okay,” I say in a low voice, egg slime dripping between my fingers.

“You can do this.” I tear up at his words.

I reach to get another egg from the carton, but I slip on something on the floor. I nearly fall, but Victor catches me just in time.

I look up at him, embarrassment making me blush. After a few successful experiences in the kitchen, I thought I’d broken my curse. Maybe chipped at it a little. But, no. I still have my same old impish thumb. And it’s foolish I thought it could ever be any different.