“I know a thing or two—” I stop, feeling like I just gave myself away. “I mean I know I could learn a thing or two,” I measure my words carefully like how I measure flour at the club. “You just have to show me how to bake one amazing recipe, and we could enter the contest together. We could stand up in front of all those cameras and tell them that Deals Deals is making everyone in the neighborhood go under.”

Dona Clara slams her hand on the counter. “Do it, Alice! Show them what Salt can do!”

For one second, Mom looks like she’s considering my idea, getting intoxicated with my excitement, but then her eyes travel to my textbooks on the counter, and it’s like they’re a reminder of everything she’s always hoped and dreamed for me. Everything that I could lose, if I’m not one hundred percent focused on school.

“You’re studying for the vestibular,” she says. “I didn’t sacrifice so much for you to get distracted with a contest that’s already a lost cause. You’re not a baker. And you have no business getting involved with these things. So spend your time wisely. College is your lottery ticket, filha.”

I place the sunflower back in the vase, fighting back tears.

When I turn around to grab my books and head upstairs, I spot Pedro leaving Sugar. He takes off on his bicycle, wind stirring his hair. And just like that, I have one of my wildest ideas so far.

What if Pedro and I enter the Gastronomic Society’s cooking competition together? I know the contest is for families, but then again... Aren’t Salt and Sugar kind of like estranged sisters?

33

MONDAY, JUNE 6

I arrive early at the club Monday afternoon, catching Pedro alone. He goes red the moment he looks up. He’s been avoiding me, too. “I have to do inventory,” he announces, super skittish, ready to dash into the pantry. But the finished list is on the counter right in front of me.

“Pedro, do you have a moment?” I say.

He turns around gingerly. “What’s up?”

He must have been working on his family’s bolo de rolo recipe again, because the kitchen smells deliciously sweet, bringing back dizzying memories that I try to shove out of my mind.

“There’s something I need to ask you.” I take a deep breath, summoning courage. “Did you know the Gastronomic Society has a yearly cooking contest?”

His demeanor changes, immediately guarded. “Yes,” he says, shortly. “It’s for members only.”

“Not anymore. And I think we should—” I fidget with the dish rag on the counter. “I think we should enter together.”

Pedro looks at me like I’ve just spoken gibberish. “What?”

“I’m serious. We need a way to keep Deals Deals from coming after us once and for all.”

“And you think that contest is the answer?”

“Yes!”