And my heart skips a beat. In my panic to get through cooking today without any disasters, I totally forgot to tell Dona Selma I’d be coming by this afternoon. She knows nothing about the club—or my truce with Pedro.

He launches me a worried look, noticing Dona Selma’s surprise.

I’ve royally messed up! It feels like I’m standing in front of Grandma, waiting to see how she’ll receive this alliance with a Molina.

“I think you have some explaining to do,” Dona Selma says to me.

I pull her into the broken kitchen, leaving an anxious Pedro behind. The others watch everything with puzzled expressions. I don’t even know where to begin. My heart is beating out of my chest. So I start with the obvious:

“Please, don’t tell Mom.”

She rests her hands on her hips. “That’s Romário’s grandson.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“What does it look like?”

“We’re in a club together at school. The cooking club. And Mom doesn’t know about it, so, please, don’t tell her. It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”

She raises her hands to stop me. “Breathe, love. You’re talking too fast.”

“Do you think Grandma would hate me? Am I a traitor?”

It feels like Grandma is here, now, hearing my confession. I desperately need her to say I’m not betraying my family.

“She would never hate you or consider you a traitor,” Dona Selma says. “And neither would I.”

“No?”

“How can you doubt?”

I should feel better, getting Dona Selma’s blessing like this, but she’s always been so understanding. Would Mom react the same way if she found out? I doubt it.

“Please, please, don’t tell Mom,” I repeat, my hands clasped in front of me.

“It’s not up to me. You tell her, alright?” Dona Selma steers me out of the kitchen. “Now let’s go see what you kids brought. I’m so curious. Did you help them cook, too?”

Pedro launches me a cautious look when we rejoin them in the dining room, and I try to tell him with my eyes that things are okay. He stretches a hand out to greet Dona Selma, but she gives him a hug, instead.

He blushes, a little taken aback.

“I don’t care what your last name is. If you’re here to help, I’ll treat you like any other volunteer,” she says. “Welcome to Vozes.”

“I’m glad to be here,” he says in a tiny voice, staring at his shoes.

“And who are you?” she asks the others, and PC, Cintia, and Victor introduce themselves.

“They’re all members of the cooking club,” I explain.

“Lari’s friends are always welcome here,” Dona Selma says. And I can’t help but smile. Friends. I’ve never brought friends to Vozes before.