She sighs. “Three A’s, three B’s, and four C’s.”

“And you’re disappointed with that?”

“Did you not hear the number of C’s?”

“Did you hear the number of A’s?”

She smiles again, though it’s hesitant this time.

“My mom isn’t exactly … thrilled.”

“Oh?”

She leans back in the chair. “Just … she has this thing about showing up my dad’s side of the family. I guess because … I don’t know, they never really liked her and I think it’s a race thing. Like they assume that because my mom is Black and Brazilian, and still has an accent, she isn’t smart enough or good enough or whatever. So she always wants me to do better.”

“Than who?”

“Than … well, everyone, really. But especially better than that side of the family.”

“So … Chyna?”

She nods, turning to meet my eyes. Her lips are pulled down in a frown.

“I didn’t, though.”

“Chyna did better than you?” I don’t mean it to come out as surprised as it does, but it does make Flávia burst into a fit of giggles, so that’s something.

“She’s pretty smart, you know.”

I shrug. “Just … she makes a habit of … I don’t know, not putting in an effort?”

“She does. I mean, she likes to act like she doesn’t care but honestly, Chyna cares a lot about this stuff. She wants to be a lawyer, you know? It’s all she’s wanted since we were kids.”

I can see that. Chyna is definitely good at manipulating the truth, at making people see her side of the situation, no matter how wrong or twisted it is. It makes me a little terrified to think of her as a lawyer. She’d be a white Annalise Keating; all the manipulation and amorality but none of the pushback from white people. Chyna would one hundred percent get away with murder, and she probably wouldn’t even have to try that hard. Of course, I don’t say any of this to Flávia. To her, I say, “You and Chyna must be pretty close, huh?”

“We … have a complicated relationship.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gives me a smile. “We’re supposed to be friends, but we’re also kind of competitors.”

“Because of your mom and that side of the family?”

She pulls at a loose thread in her shirt absentmindedly for a moment. “When I was younger, it didn’t seem like there was a difference between us, really. But the older we get, the more aware I am of just how different we are. And I think … the less aware she is.”

“Because she’s white and you’re Black?”