Dona Eulalia threatens to come round the counter to fight with Mom, past the invisible line between “Salt, the bakery” and “Salt, the Ramires’ home” that everyone knows not to trespass, and Pedro holds her back.

A fine layer of sand dusts his hair and clothes. I’m pretty covered in it, too. If our mothers were paying attention, they’d see our secret hiding in plain sight, and I suddenly get a jolt of fear that someone saw us together and told them.

But our mothers continue yelling at each other like they don’t even notice we’re here. Maybe this isn’t about us.

“I have proof you’ve been arranging to sell Salt!” Dona Eulalia shouts.

“Get out of my house,” Mom says, her voice shaking.

Dona Eulalia holds her phone up, showing screenshots of texts. One quick glance shows me what looks like Mom saying she won’t sell Salt for less than what it’s worth. Dona Eulalia is so angry, she drops the phone and Pedro picks it up. While she continues accusing Mom, a text catches his attention. He reads it, his expression becoming more and more severe.

I want to grab him by the shoulders and make him look at me.

I want to show him that none of this is true.

I need him to believe me. But when he finally meets my gaze, there’s so much fear and confusion in his eyes, I freeze on the spot.

I don’t want to lose him.

“There’s nothing wrong with hearing what they had to say!” Mom yells at Dona Eulalia.

And the floor could open up now and swallow me alive.

“I’ll go to Deals Deals on Friday!” Dona Eulalia threatens.

She pushes past me on her way out, and Pedro starts to go after her, but he suddenly stops. His eyes lock with mine, and I take a step toward him, but Mom stares him down. I feel his fingertips secretly brush against mine when he walks by me to follow his mother. Despite the gesture, an ominous cloud descends on my mood.

I turn to look at Mom, shaking. She’s staring ahead, her eyes glinting with tears, the tips of her hair trembling.

“Those things Dona Eulalia said—they’re not true, right?” My voice comes out like a croak. “Mom, tell me they’re not true. Please.” I feel like I’m burning up with a fever, Mom’s silence making me angrier and angrier. “When were you going to tell me? Before or after you sold Salt?”

Mom’s eyes flicker to me, furious.

“When were you going to tell me that those review sessions were a lie?” she snaps. “I spoke with your teacher this morning. She said there were no review sessions. There haven’t been any. She said you were attending the cooking club. Cooking, Larissa?”