If Grandma were here, she’d be the only friend I need. She’d find a way to convince Mom that I studied enough. She’d order espetinhos from Seu Floriano’s booth at the feirinha, who’d always send extras because he had a crush on her. Bell pepper and onion skewers dripping with garlic hot sauce and a little lime. Chicken and steak skewers wrapped in bacon. And a side of farofa so we could dip the skewers and feel the crunch of kasava flour soaking up juices from the meat. We’d then sit on the sidewalk and watch the neighbors coming and going, and we’d eat together, laugh, and wonder about the future of her favorite telenovela characters...

It hurts to think about her. More than anything.

“Saudades, Julinha,” I hear Dona Selma say, her old nickname for Grandma, and the sadness in her voice matches the ache in my heart. She has one hand lightly touching the sunflowers under the fubá cake recipe.

She turns around and comes back to join me at the counter, peering over my shoulder to look at my notebook.

“Ave Maria! Do you understand all these things? These numbers and symbols?” She shudders playfully, sounding just like Grandma.

“I’m not a fan of geometry, but, yeah,” I say.

“It seems difficult.”

“It’s alright.”

Dona Selma suddenly grabs my face with both hands and plants a proud kiss on top of my head that nearly makes me fall off the stool. The gesture is so unexpected, it steals a smile from me I didn’t know I had to offer. “No wonder your mother always says you’ll be the first Ramires to go to college!”

Mom comes out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of French bread, the delicious aroma filling the bakery.

“Don’t praise her too much, Dona Selma,” she says. “She’s been slacking off lately. She didn’t even get to retake a quiz and now her grade will look bad, more like my grades when I was in high school—now guess who didn’t get to go to college?”

All the customers waiting in line glance at me, and I feel myself shrink, shrink, shrink with embarrassment until I’m a grain of sand.

“I’m still number one in my class...” I say in a small voice.

Mom puts the tray down a bit too forcefully.

“The Molina boy is number four in your class. I heard Eulalia bragging about it at the feirinha. Four, like it’s a good thing. But then she said that he’s number four, even though he missed school. Imagine if he hadn’t.” Mom glares at me from behind the counter. “Larissa Catarina Ramires, I’ve been warning you to take your studies seriously, but you don’t listen to me. Now that boy is giving you a run for your money.”