“We didn’t sign your list,” Pedro says, his voice still calm and steady, “because it never got to Sugar. But it doesn’t mean we aren’t boycotting Deals Deals, too.”

I’m ready to keep arguing with him, but his words throw me off.

“You are?”

“Of course!”

We stare at each other. An awkward silence stretches on, and I get this weird feeling in my chest. Like why are we even still fighting in this pantry?

“I don’t need to explain myself or my family to you,” Pedro says, breaking the silence. His eyes look past my shoulder at the bottles of ketchup I knocked over when I was looking for the oil. “And if you’re going to work in my kitchen, you better start memorizing where things are.”

His patronizing tone irks me.

“You know what, I don’t believe you’re boycotting Deals Deals. You don’t look like you’re struggling like the rest of us. Your great-grandmother must really have gotten enough money from betraying my great-grandmother all those decades ago. Or maybe you’re in cahoots with Deals Deals! Who knows what your family is up to. But it says a lot that you still have a big staff, while our neighbors are closing doors up and down our street!”

His mouth opens like he’s still searching for the best words. “What?!” is all that comes out.

“My family’s business is hurting,” I say. “We don’t get enough customers now. We don’t have multiple bakers at our disposal. There are bills piling up. And we can’t even afford to rent a catering van, while your family was showing yours off on the night my grandmother died! I’ll never forgive you for that!”

I turn around to storm out of the pantry, but I trip over a bag on the floor, falling over it. It rips open, sending a cloud of wheat flour all over me.

Pedro has a coughing fit with all this powder in the air.

“How is it—” cough “—that you’re always—” cough “—so clumsy?!”

My throat is raw, my eyes are watering, and I cough like my body is trying to expel a lung. I scramble to get up, and the moment the flour settles, I open my eyes. I’m back on my feet. Pedro is right in front of me. And I realize he’s holding my hand.

He looks down at our hands, startled, and immediately lets go.

I’ve stared at him for one second too long, and now my face feels hot like a sunburn.

I scurry out of the pantry, glad that it’s dim so he can’t see my red face. My heart is beating so fast with embarrassment. That sudden physical contact between us was...weird. I keep waiting for something cosmically bad to happen, like a red meteor crossing the sky.