Although we should keep our interactions limited to the kitchen at school, it’s becoming harder and harder to say goodbye to him at the end of the day. I crave being around him. Every little moment.

I even crave his annoying know-it-all smirk when he brings coconut bread he baked at Sugar and it tastes like perfect, carefree mornings. “One day, I’ll get you to have a sweet tooth like mine,” he says.

And, above all, I crave his body’s warmth. When we sit together in the empty parking lot after baking, shoulder to shoulder. For one glorious hour before heading home, it’s just us, getting distracted with random stuff. Just talking. No feud. No Deals Deals. No failed catering gig. No cooking contest anxieties. Just two new friends getting to know each other.

That’s how I learn he can’t watch horror movies because he hates getting startled.

He’s a Trekkie. Nog is his favorite character, because he worked at his uncle’s bar, just like Pedro works at his grandfather’s bakery.

And he’s a little more sentimental than he likes to admit.

He nonchalantly passes me a note this afternoon. I can’t believe it when I see that it’s a belated St. Anthony’s card. It’s not one of the heart-shaped cards that couples pass each other, but it’s one celebrating our budding friendship.

“I couldn’t give it to you on Monday,” he mumbles, looking off to the side. “And then again yesterday. The others were around, and you and Victor wouldn’t stop chatting about YouTube videos. I didn’t...want them to...you know...”

Cintia and Victor still don’t know Pedro and I are...whatever you call this thing that’s starting between us. I’m sure they suspect, though, judging by the furtive glances Pedro and I get when we stand shoulder to shoulder at the stove.

I think of the card covered in hearts waiting in the depths of my backpack. I can’t give that to him—what was I thinking?! I should have made a friendship one, too! And now he’s looking at me like he’s waiting for his card.

“It’s not just any YouTube video,” I say, quickly changing the subject. “Victor is thinking of starting a channel to talk about the dishes he tries. He’s been showing me the ones that inspire him.”

“What’s the deal between you two?” Pedro asks out of the blue, making a point to look very immersed in watching the clouds.

He is jealous. Has he been jealous of my friendship with Victor since the party?

“I told you before. He’s my friend.”

“He likes you.” Pedro looks at me this time, like he needs to see my reaction to his words.

“Why did you argue at the party?” I ask, instead.