Pedro averts his eyes again. “We didn’t argue.” He shrugs. “We just—He told me to leave you alone. To quit bringing our families’ feud to school.”

Victor was upset when he heard my classmates calling me Salty. It’s good to have a friend who has my back. But I wish they hadn’t fought.

“Victor really said that?”

“He likes you,” he repeats like he’s proving a point.

“What...did you tell him?”

He looks me in the eye. “I told him he didn’t have to ask. I told him I—that he didn’t have to worry.”

I can’t help but smile. “Did you suddenly learn to tolerate me?” I joke.

“No,” Pedro says. “I learned to like you.”

The words come so smoothly out of his mouth, my heart does a little somersault. And I think he startles himself, too, because he goes red. “Do you want to eat something that’s not just cake?” he asks, changing the subject. “Maybe grab a coffee before we go home?”

“Coffee sounds good,” I say, warmth spreading under my skin.

When I sit behind Pedro on his bicycle, my arms go around his waist. He doesn’t twitch or tell me that I’m too close.

We find a lanchonete down the street from our school, a small family-owned shop. Some teens wearing another school’s uniform sit around plastic tables, so our secret is safe. Other patrons pull chairs outside to people watch, take selfies, and teach dance moves to each other while they eat.

It makes me think about Salt. The way it used to be before Deals Deals. Now I don’t even know what’s going through Mom’s mind after Dona Clara left the neighborhood, urging her to sell Salt. And I can’t stop thinking that Mom never told her she wouldn’t.

“Lari?” Pedro says. His cutely disheveled face is right in front of me, trying to get me to pay attention to what he’s saying.

“Sorry.” I smile, getting off his bicycle. “What did you say?”

“I was just asking if you’re hungry.” He steals glances at the burgers other customers are eating in front of the lanchonete.

“Not really, no... Just a coffee is fine.”

“I’ll be back in a second.”

When he returns, he places my coffee in front of me. “I never asked if you’re coming back to the club next semester,” he says, sitting down with his coffee. “You are coming back, right?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I admit. “I’ve been lying to my mother for so long about the club, I feel like I shouldn’t anymore.”

“Well, tell her the truth and come back next semester.”