“I know,” I lie and he smiles at me with a nod.

Using the heel of her hand, Cintia continues folding the batter onto itself. It’s magical, watching it fold and unfold, like the carranqueiros at the open market working with clay and turning it into statues.

“It’s like art,” I say, and realize I’ve said it out loud when the three of them look up at me. I feel my face getting hot. “Like...sculpting?”

“True!” Victor says with another of his smiles. Why is he so nice to me? I thought they’d all have turned on me the moment they realized I’m Pedro’s lifelong enemy. But they’re going out of their way to make me feel welcome.

“Your break’s over. Now you knead, newbie,” PC says all of a sudden, startling me.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he insists.

My hands are shaking, but this time I don’t step away. “Sure,” I say. “Kneading. Very...simple. A common thing in baking.”

“Right...” PC glances from the dough in front of us to me. “Go ahead.”

I take Cintia’s place at the counter, stretching my hands out so PC can grease them with oil, too.

I try to emulate Cintia’s work, squeezing the heel of my hands into the dough. I thought it would feel more like Play-Doh, but there’s elasticity to the batter, and I keep finding pockets of sour starch hiding inside.

Pedro’s voice and what I assume is the supplier’s travel into the kitchen. They sound like they’re discussing the club’s needs for the rest of the month.

“So the principal lets him order whatever he wants?” I ask.

“In general, yes. She gives him a budget and lets him purchase things for the club with his best judgment,” Cintia explains. “She has a lot of confidence in him. As long as we don’t mess with the cafeteria cooks’ work and leave the kitchen clean and well organized, she’ll let him stay in charge.”

I remember overhearing the principal was planning on writing him a recommendation letter to the Gastronomic Society, probably describing the work Pedro does in the school’s kitchen.

“Is he really going to apply to the Gastronomic Society?” I hear myself asking, like a hiccup. They look at me just as surprised. “I mean, I don’t really care, I just—I overheard him talking about it with the principal.” I try to fix the situation, but it’s too late. PC is already giving me the same look he did when I stepped out of the pantry.

“You heard that?” PC says, lowering his voice, despite the warning looks from Cintia for him to stop talking. “What? We can tell her. Did he say it was a secret?”

“I don’t think he wants you to share his stuff with her,” Cintia whispers back. And adds quickly, “Or anyone else. Nothing personal, Lari.”