I catch PC dabbing at the corner of his eyes with the tissues that were supposed to be for Amandinha. He looks away, standing up abruptly. “Sorry, I think Victor needs help distributing the rest of the quentinhas,” he mumbles quickly. “I’ll be right back.” He steps out of the room, rushing past Victor on his way out.

Cintia and Pedro notice he was getting emotional, too, because they exchange a worried glance.

I swallow the knot in my throat and continue, “But when I do eat, it actually feels like my grandma is with me. She loves cooking.”

Amandinha looks down at the rice and beans. “My mom loves cooking, too!” Her voice rises with excitement. “She likes making rice and beans for my cousin and me. But I don’t like rice and beans.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper to her. “I didn’t like beans growing up either. They looked like bugs to me.”

“What?!” Pedro says, like I’ve just said the most sacrilegious thing.

Something about the genuine surprise in his voice makes her giggle. “What?” Amandinha echoes him, and we all laugh in surprise.

“But one day I decided to give beans a try, and I liked them,” I say.

She isn’t too convinced.

“Have you ever had boiled peanuts at the beach?” Cintia asks.

“I like boiled peanuts!” she says.

“Beans taste a bit like that!” Cintia says, and Amandinha looks at the quentinha with renewed interest. “Rice and beans will make you strong, too. That’s probably why your mom likes it. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to. We brought some delicious spaghetti, too.”

“But I think you’re in for a treat with these beans,” Pedro adds.

“You know, we made them,” I say, giving Amandinha a wink. “And I added my Grandma’s magic to them.”

She widens her eyes in awe. “Magic?”

“Did you know some people have fairy hands? It means they make the most delicious food.”

“You have fairy hands?” She looks at my hands like she’s expecting them to sparkle.

I think about the flower soup incident again. I glance at Pedro’s encouraging smile. Doesn’t he remember it? Doesn’t he remember what a deluge of bullying he started that day?

“Me? No,” I explain, my throat a little dry. “But my Mom and Grandma do. And I borrowed some of their magic so I could turn these bugs,” I nod at the quentinha, “into delicious beans.”

She pulls her meal box closer and happily starts eating.

Pedro gives me a wide smile of relief. But I don’t return it.

“I’ll go check in on PC,” Cintia whispers to me, and after planting a kiss on Amandinha’s cheek, she leaves to look for him.

We rejoin Dona Selma. “My, my, that’s a miracle,” she says. She turns around to help another kid open her quentinha box.