The woman leans in, admiring the cake we brought. “This is beautiful!” she says, grabbing a sample from the platter. “Anything you’d like to explain about the dish before I take it to the other judges?”

She holds the microphone toward us. Our faces are projected on the big screen, sweaty and panicked, and I see myself go even redder like a giant tomato.

“It’s a—a guava and Parmesan corn c-cake,” Pedro says too quickly, tripping over the words. His confidence wilts in front of the dozen TV cameras pointed at us.

Our families and friends watch us expectantly. We can’t fail now.

I step in, summoning all the training Pimentel’s given me for mathematics contests. “I wish we could tell you that we created this two-layered cake to represent the bond between our families, however...”

I look at Pedro. His old confidence comes back at the right time. “...we’re actually enemies,” he finishes for me, and a buzz of surprise travels through the audience. “Well, our families are. They have been in a feud for generations, beginning with our great-grandmothers. Lari and I only started dating recently, and they literally just found out, so...yeah.”

The judge gives us a nervous smile. “You two are very brave for entering our contest together and sharing the news of your relationship this way.”

Pedro and I exchange a look. This is it. This is our last hope to bring attention to the problems in our neighborhood, and even though it’s hard to find the right words when all these lights and cameras are pointed at us, I focus on the feeling of Pedro’s hand holding mine.

I spot our families and friends in the audience. And I think of Grandma smiling at me from the kitchen counter at Salt.

I take a deep breath. I find my strength.

“I don’t know if it’s bravery or not, but we had to do something,” I say. “There’s a supermarket in our neighborhood. Deals Deals. They’re a threat to all the small businesses. We bake our goods at our families’ bakeries, and then they go and sell similar dishes for a cheaper price. Many booths at the Olinda feirinha have shut down because of them. Many family-owned businesses have had to close their doors. And now they’re pitting our families against each other, because they want to buy one of the bakeries and replace it with a coffee shop. We don’t want to lose our homes, so we hoped that if we entered this contest together and won, none of us would have to leave.”

My throat is parched from nerves. I’m terrified of failing. But when I find Mom in the audience, she nods at me, standing sandwiched between Seu Romário and Dona Eulalia, her eyes bright with tears.