It’s not like this has never happened, ending up on the same bus, usually when Pedro leaves his bike at home. But we’ve never sat side by side like this. It’s awkward. And wrong.

For the first few minutes, every time someone enters the bus, we duck behind the seat in front of us, making sure no one we know sees us together.

“Couldn’t we have talked at school?” I whisper to Pedro, still annoyed that he’s making me do this.

“I’m late to make this delivery.” The boxes with pão de queijo, fresh fruit, and bottled water are stacked high on his lap. “And we’re headed in the same direction, so... I’ll be straightforward with you. I’m not happy with you in my kitchen.”

I squint at him. “What do you mean?”

“You make a huge mess every time. I don’t know how things are at Salt, but at Sugar and at the club, we have high standards.”

I roll my eyes.

“You can keep this performance evaluation to yourself.”

I stand to go sit somewhere else, but the only seat available is directly in front of him. Darn it. I guess that’s as far as I’ll be able to go.

“That’s not all I had to say—” Pedro tries to lean forward, but he’s pinned down by the boxes. “I just wanted to make sure we finished what we started in the pantry.”

I whirl around to look at him, my face hot.

“We started nothing.”

He looks at me from behind the boxes. “You slandered my family,” he begins to say, but the man sitting to my left is starting to stare. He’s not a neighbor, and he probably doesn’t know our families, but Pedro gives me an impatient look like I’m the reason why others are eavesdropping on us.

I begrudgingly return to my old seat next to him.

“And none of those things are true,” he continues in an angry whisper. “That catering van you saw isn’t even ours. The client sent it to pick up our order. She deducted it from our payment. We’d never use it to offend your family, so I—” He clenches his jaw, like he’s summoning patience. He exhales and tries again. “I apologize.”

I don’t think Pedro’s ever apologized to me in my entire life!

“You—what?”