My confidence suddenly soars, and I start adding other fruit to the leftover contents in the blender, filling it to the brim with slices of mangoes and strawberries, like I’ve seen Grandma do when she was preparing “summer smoothies,” a medley of different citrusy flavors that combined so well.

PC, Victor, and Cintia flank me, watching wide-eyed.

“She’s like the smoothie whisperer,” PC jokes.

I reach for more milk, following my instinct, and fill the blender to the brim to compensate for all the extra fruit I added. Who knew that blending fruit would be this exciting? I watch all the bright, colorful pieces of fruit stacking up in the blender, looking like a beautiful mosaic.

“Sorry I’m late—” a voice begins to say behind us.

I’m so startled, I end up pressing the blend button. Without the lid on. The contents of my smoothie masterpiece go splattering all over us.

Victor pounces on the blender to turn it off, but it’s too late.

I turn around slowly to find Pedro Molina glaring at me, the front of his pristine uniform covered in chunks of fruit.

He peels a piece of mango off his forehead.

“I want to know who let Larissa Ramires in my kitchen!”

14

TUESDAY, APRIL 26

“I have an announcement before you leave,” Pimentel says the next day.

Déjà vu. But I don’t think we’re in for another equation challenge. I didn’t tell her how much of a disaster the first club meeting was, but I told her I couldn’t do it anymore. For the second time in one week—and it’s only Tuesday—I feel like I disappointed her.

If I’m honest, I’ve disappointed myself. There was this brief moment when I almost felt like I belonged at the club. It was the first time at school when I felt a little more at ease. But after the smoothie disaster, even if Pedro wasn’t there, I’m sure I’d get voted out before I could even add my name to their sign-up sheet.

I glance at Pedro. He still hasn’t confronted me about the club, but I’m bracing for the moment he does. He looked like I’d gone there to sabotage him. And now he’s probably plotting payback.

He sits two desks away from mine, slouched, staring at the ceiling fans. Luana taps him on his shoulder and nods toward Pimentel, but he yawns in response before putting on his sunglasses, looking like a knockoff Steve Harrington in Stranger Things.

Pedro probably senses my staring, because he suddenly looks at me, lowering his sunglasses to the tip of his nose. Luana follows his gaze, giving me her best death glare.

I avert my eyes.

Pimentel continues, “Before you leave, Principal Oliveira has asked me to remind you that if you still haven’t started, you should get to submitting your college applications.”