“Chef Augusto and Chef Lorêncio are here. They’re cooking gods! On a par with Anthony Bourdain and Eric Ripert! They had a segment on a TV show I used to watch when I was little and now, look, they’re judges!” he whispers to me, his ears going red. “I can’t do this. I’m not good enough.”

I realize that as cocky as Pedro is at school, he hasn’t had any experience with contests. Who knew that all those mathematics competitions would prepare me for a cooking contest! I never thought I’d say this, but I’m grateful for Mom’s pestering me to participate and Pimentel’s guidance, because now I know what to do on stage.

“You are good enough,” I say.

“I’m not.”

Contestants to our left and right give us curious looks. “I’ve been in big contests before. And if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that you do yourself a disservice if you look like you’ve already lost.” I get on my feet, pulling him along with me. “Show them you have nothing to fear.”

“But I have everything to fear,” he whispers to me.

“Remember the guy who climbed up a ladder to get to class? Why let a cooking contest get to you, when you’re that guy?”

“That guy was being destructive and trying to get himself expelled. But this... This is my dream.” He looks up at the vaulted ceiling, beams of sunlight filtering through the skylights. “I’ll get lost.”

He looks panic-stricken.

“Then we’ll get you a map.”

“Lari.”

“Pedro. You belong here.” He still seems unconvinced. “You’re the best baker in our neighborhood. You were born for this. Don’t let anyone make you doubt your worth.”

He’s silent for a while, and then he nods, agreeing with me. “Just for the record, you just said I’m better than you.”

He just can’t pass up the opportunity to poke at me, can he?

I slap his arm. “Just you wait until I join the Gastronomic Society, too.”

A smile spreads across his lips. “You’re going to apply?”

“Yes. And so are you,” I say. Before Pedro can start protesting again, I add, “You said so yourself that this school is your dream. I’m not letting you give up. We both could study here one day.”

I see that twinkle in his eyes again.

“Chef!” PC calls out from the audience, and about a dozen teachers look at him. He waves his hands, embarrassed, gesturing that he means Pedro. Victor and Cintia, standing behind him, frantically point at the front door.

Our families are walking in.