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Back Salt and Sugar Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. EPILOGUE
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“Please, don’t think about these things. Just be here with me,” I said.

I rested my head on her shoulder, the half-eaten misto quente in my hand.

Grandma nestled her head against mine.

“I’m here with you.”

15

FRIDAY, APRIL 29

The beef pastel I picked up at the cafeteria is oily and filled with more air than meat. After one bite, I put it down. It tastes like filial tears and parental disappointment.

I bring up Federal University’s website on my phone and skim over the half-filled-out application form. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to finish it, only to give up. Sadly, the box for declaring my major has been blank long enough for me to know it won’t suddenly decide to fill in itself.

I will have to put something down eventually. Right?

Pimentel suggested we should think about the things we love and maybe that will help us decide a major. But what are the things I love? I look at the pastel in front of me. I’m not loving the cafeteria’s food, that’s for sure. Even Isabel’s worst pastel at the feirinha is better than this one.

I love good food. Can someone sign me up to just eat?

I turn my phone off.

PC, Cintia, and Victor suddenly plop down in the chairs in front of me. I look around, waiting for Pedro to finally confront me about what happened at the cooking club earlier this week, but he’s nowhere to be seen. PC unceremoniously reaches for my abandoned snack and takes a bite without asking. He makes a face.

“Now I know why you aren’t eating this,” he says with his mouth full.

“We come in peace,” Cintia says quickly, probably catching the annoyed look on my face.

“We want to know if you’re coming back to the club on Monday,” PC says.

Last time I saw them, they were frozen to the spot in the kitchen, their uniforms covered in chunks of fruit. I assumed they’d never want to see me again.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because we need you,” PC says, and then tilts his head toward his friends. “Well, they need you. My family is moving back to Caruaru because of my dad’s new job, so I’m taking midterms early and leaving soon. We all know I’m irreplaceable, I know, I know, but I kinda need to be replaced, so, can you take my spot at the club or not?”

They’re officially asking me to join? This doesn’t make any sense.

“You know who I am, right?” I ask cautiously.

PC raises an eyebrow at me. “We know. A clumsy smoothie whisperer. And you still haven’t apologized, by the way. Do you know how hard it is to remove strawberry stains from white fabric?”

“I’m Larissa Ramires,” I say, and I add quickly, “I’m sorry about that whole mess.”