Pedro looks a little taken aback. I don’t know if he’d heard this saying before, but I think I got to him this time.

He’s quiet for a while, a hand raised to answer his equation, but he exhales, turning back to me. “Believe it or not, it really was a one-time situation. The client commissioned empadinhas from Sugar because it was too last-minute to find a replacement for Salt. It’s not our fault.”

“How convenient,” I say the words slowly. “In that case, maybe we’ll start offering wedding cakes to our catering clients too!”

“Time’s almost up!” Pimentel announces behind us. “Diego, are you alright?”

“You call us backstabbers, but you know what I’m starting to think?” Pedro lowers his voice to an angry whisper. “I think you’re envious of Sugar. At first, I thought your mother sent you over when I was carrying the wedding cake. But revenge is more your thing, I think.”

His words sting.

I hate the smug look on his face, thinking he figured me out, my nefarious plans to take his family down.

I hate the way he smirks.

I hate everything about him. Even his bangs that keep falling over his eyes.

“How dare you question my morals, when everyone knows your family never even signed the boycott against Deals Deals? Speaking of which, what did that lawyer want at Sugar?”

Our classmates are back cheering for Pedro, urging him to finish the equation before me. He does a little double take of the situation, throwing them a fake smile. But when he looks back at me, I realize I caught him off guard with my question.

“How do you know he came by?” he whispers.

“I saw him leaving Sugar.”

“I saw him leaving Salt,” he retorts like it’s a big “gotcha” moment.

We stare at each other for a long second, his breathing stirring strands of his bangs.

He doesn’t need to answer. I know when he’s trying to hide that he’s worried. He’s the most arrogant person in Olinda, so he wouldn’t be asking me about Deals Deals if he weren’t terrified for Sugar. That lawyer must have made an offer to them, too.

We size each other up before going back to work.

I’m nearly finished answering the challenge, when I notice that Pedro’s marker begins to fail. He swears under his breath, cycling through more dry erase markers.

I double my speed, reaching the last line of the equation. I can already taste victory, when Pedro’s arm suddenly crosses over my vision, trying to get a marker to my right.

“Watch it!” I complain.

When Pedro finally moves out of the way, I realize what he’s done. His shoulder erased half of my equation. And now he looks from my ruined work to my face, his mouth turning into a fake, exaggerated O.