“Very convincing,” she teases to lighten the mood, but the worry in her eyes betrays her. “I feel like you’ve been avoiding me since Monday.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’m avoiding everyone.” Especially Pedro.

“Why, though?”

“I didn’t know how to cook before I joined the club, and I’m embarrassed. I was going to tell you. I’m sorry about all the setbacks I caused with my clumsiness, when you thought I knew what I was doing.”

Cintia’s eyes are understanding, but I still feel bad. “Lari, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“My family owns a bakery,” I say, my anxiety from earlier reemerging, reminding me that my college application is still waiting for me. “All the women before me were famous bakers. And I’m...not. That bothers me.”

“Because you don’t feel like you’re going to be a good baker like they expected or...?”

“Ah, no,” I say quickly, and Cintia’s eyebrows shoot up. I can hear the bitterness in my tone and I’m sure she does, too. I take a deep breath to center myself. “There’s never been any expectation about me becoming a baker. My mom doesn’t want me to—I’m not going to be a baker. That’s all.”

“What’s that then?”

She points at my screen, her finger hovering above the word application, where the cursor rests. I pull my hand away from the mouse and Cintia gives me a knowing look. I’d forgotten about the Gastronomic Society’s website. Now I can’t hide the evidence.

“I’m not applying or anything,” I say. “My grandmother was going to. I was just curious.”

Cintia’s expression falls when I mention Grandma. “I’m so sorry, Lari. I know she passed away recently. My condolences.”

I feel a twinge in my chest. “How do you know that?”

Her eyebrows knit together, and she closes her eyes for a second, like she just gave herself away. When she opens her eyes again, she seems apologetic. “Pedro told us,” she admits, and then she adds quickly, “Don’t be mad. It wasn’t like gossip or anything.”

Just hearing his name makes my pulse quicken. “He did? He told Victor and PC, too?”

“Yeah, he, well... He wanted to let you know personally that it was okay to join the club, after you showed up that day we were making smoothies, but I think you two had a fight that week, so he asked PC, Victor, and me to talk with you instead. And he asked us, you know, to be nice because you were in mourning.” Cintia presses her lips together, still agonizing over letting this piece of information slip. “Not that we wouldn’t have been, but more like... Pedro just wanted to make sure we knew you were upset. Don’t be mad at him. Are you mad?”