Fifteen Candles

by Veronica Chambers

  “Thanks,” Alicia said and reached up to give him the half hug, half peck on the cheek that had become their regular hello and good-bye. She felt a familiar pang and wondered why he didn’t just kiss her. On TV and in the movies, teenage boys couldn’t wait to plant one on you. It was as if they didn’t know what else to do with their lips. In real life, at least in her experience, even when a boy liked you and he knew you liked him back, he still took his sweet time.

  Just as Gaz and the girls drove away, Alex pulled up.

  “Just the party-planner I wanted to see,” her brother said. “We have a problem with the set.”

  “Problem? Please don’t say the word problem to me,” Alicia said, following him back into the house.

  “I’ve got a problem, but I’ve also got a solution,” Alex retorted, as he poured himself a tall glass of milk.

  “Excellent,” Alicia said. “I love solutions.”

  “You know how after Sarita’s big dance number she’s supposed to crawl into the spaceship and the stage fills with smoke?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, there’s no smoke. City ordinance. Smoke machines aren’t allowed in high-density public places. People think there’s a fire, they stampede, and folks get hurt.”

  Alicia could not believe her ears. “No one’s going to stampede because they see smoke at a beach,” she said. “We’re right next to the ocean! Even if there was a fire, we’d be perfectly safe.”

  “You’d think,” Alex said. “But the guy at the city council was pretty adamant. No smoke machines on the beach.”

  Alicia groaned. “You said you had a solution?”

  Alex smiled. “Bubbles,” he said mysteriously.

  “Bubbles? They’re so-o-o infantile.”

  Now it was Alex’s turn to roll his eyes. “And having a girl pretend to be an astronaut and climbing into a spaceship is really serious and mature.”

  “Point taken,” Alicia said. “Let me think about it, okay?”

  “Don’t think too hard,” Alex said, as he headed back to his room. “If I want it for Saturday, I’ve got to reserve the bubble machine in the morning.”

  ALICIA NEEDED TIME to recharge. Heading upstairs, she walked into her room and promptly lay down—on the floor. “Fudge, fudge, fudge,” she whispered into the ground.

  She had problems. She had huge, insurmountable problems. She had no cake. She had no smoke machine. And she only had a few days left. How was she going to tell Sarita?

  At that moment, her dad walked into the room. “Lici, I see you got my message,” he said, taking in her prone figure. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”

  Alicia sat up. “What message?”

  “I left you three messages on your cell phone.”

  “I didn’t get them.”

  Her dad looked concerned. “Well, I got a call from my buddy in the city-planning department. He saw there was a problem with your beach permit for the quince on Saturday.”

  Alicia felt as though she’d just been slapped. “No way,” she said. “I filed that permit weeks ago.”

  Her father reached into his shirt pocket. He looked sad. While he could be tough when he needed to be, he hated to be the bearer of bad news. “I know, Lici, but you filed the wrong form. This is for a public event.”

  “Right.”

  “But a quinceañera is not a public event, it’s a private one.”

  Alicia was pretty sure that if her life had been a movie, this would have been the part where the judge asked her if she had any last requests before she made the long walk to the electric chair.

  She let herself fall into her father’s arms and buried her face in his chest as the tears started to flow uncontrollably. It was all falling apart.

  “Dad,” she asked through her tears, “how is a party not a public event?”

  “I’m sorry, hija. I wish you had asked for my help when you were filling out the forms. A public event is open to people on the street, like a Cinco de Mayo festival or the Art Fair. A party with a select guest list is a private event.”

  Alicia tried to compose herself. “So all I have to do is fill out the right form and…”

  Her father got that Bad News Bears look on his face again. “Unfortunately, the area where you wanted to have the quince has been reserved by a group that filled out the right form.”

  Alicia groaned. “Who? Maybe if I talk to them?”

  “The group is called VOCUFANA.”

  “Voca-who?”

  Her father shook his head. “It’s the Veterans of Color United in Faith for a New Administration summer social. They’re a bunch of tough old military guys who don’t take no for an answer. Besides, they served our country honorably. You should let them have their picnic.”

  “Dad, what am I going to do?”

  Her father smiled. “Well, when I couldn’t reach you on the phone I took the liberty of filing a permit for you at another location.”

  “Great. Where?”

  “Pier Seventeen,” he said.

  “In front of the Coronado hotel?” Alicia asked.

  He nodded. “It seemed like a good choice,” he said. “It’s near a lot of public transportation, and there’s a taxi stand at the hotel, in case some of the older relatives want to go home early.”

  “Oh, Dad,” Alicia sighed.

  “Did I not do good?” her father asked.

  “No, you did great. It’s a perfect choice,” Alicia said, kissing him on the forehead.

  After her dad left, Alicia called Sarita.

  “Hey, Sarita,” Alicia said. “Everything’s good, but there have been some developments. Would it be okay if I came over to talk to you and your mom?”

  “Sure,” Sarita said.

  Alicia told her she’d be right over. Then she went to find her mom. She needed a ride.

  It felt like ages since Alicia and her mother had had any time alone. Before Gaz and Alex had their licenses, it had always been her mom who shuttled her to dance classes and play rehearsals, and to the mall, last summer, when she, Jamie, and Carmen had worked at Cinnabon.

  “Lici,” her mom said once they’d gotten in the car, “I want you to know how proud I am that you turned things around with your internship.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Alicia said, smiling happily. At least that was going well. She had been trying. Even though she could have ridden in to work with her dad, Alicia still got up early every morning and took the bus. By the time her father arrived at the office, Alicia would have been there for over an hour, and she always had a doppio espresso waiting for him. And to Alicia’s surprise, she discovered that when she actually paid attention, there was a lot of cool stuff about the way her city was run. She was working hard, but it was worth it. It seemed her quince year was really turning into the grown-up transition that Maribelle had hinted it could be.

  Sarita and her mom lived in a beautiful old art deco apartment building in the historic part of the Gables. Alicia had assumed that her own mom would wait in the car and go over court documents, which was what she always did when she drove Alicia to dance class. But this time it was different. “Actually, I’d like to come in and meet the lucky lady whom my daughter is working so hard for,” she said when they arrived.

  Standing in Sarita’s living room, Alicia couldn’t help noticing how different the two moms were. Alicia’s mom was short and reed thin, and, despite her height, she cut an imposing figure in her four-inch Manolo heels and razor-cut bob. Sarita’s mom was taller, with waist-length hair that reminded Alicia of Rapunzel’s. She had almond-shaped eyes that were rimmed with black eyeliner, and big gold hoops hung from her ears. She was wearing an embroidered green Chinese jacket, a white T-shirt, and jeans. Even barefoot, she loomed a good six inches above both Alicia and her mom.

  After everyone was introduced, Alicia took out her Amigas binder, which not only had her checklist, but all of the contact info for the vendors, as well as the receipts and delivery schedules.

  “I
feel like I haven’t been looping you in on all the major decisions the way I should have,” Alicia said. “I’ve made some choices in an effort to save money….”

  Sarita looked embarrassed. “I know, our budget isn’t very big.”

  “No, Sarita. Your budget is just fine. I’ve just been acting like it’s my quince, and it’s not, it’s your quince. And while I thought I knew how to make it perfect, the truth is that it doesn’t have to be perfect for me, it’s got to be perfect for you.” Alicia was slightly flustered. It was tougher than she thought being in charge of something as important as somebody’s quince. She took a deep breath and started again. “I thought I could make your quince cake, and it was kind of a disaster, so we’re going to have to buy you one instead.”

  Sarita didn’t look upset. “That’s fine.”

  “There’s more,” Alicia went on. “I messed up your beach permit, so we lost our location.”

  Sarita did look slightly upset at this.

  “But, my dad filled out another one, and we’ll have it on the beach, in front of the Coronado hotel. It’s an even better spot, because it’s really central, lots of taxicabs for your guests.”

  “Okay,” Sarita said warily.

  “And Gaz’s band has offered to play, as you know,” Alicia continued. She turned to Sarita’s mother. “I’ve brought along a CD for you to check out. This is his original music. But they’ve also offered to do covers, too—classic salsa, reggaeton. And, as Sarita and I have discussed, they’ll be doing a merengue number for the father-daughter dance.”

  She handed the CD to Sarita’s mom.

  “Why don’t you pop the CD in, Sari?” Ms. Lopez said.

  Gaz’s sweet alto filled the Lopezes’ living room. Alicia loved his music, but she wasn’t sure if part of that was because she was also in love with him. “What do you think?” she asked nervously.

  “I’ve always said it’s the hotness,” Sarita said. “Mom?”

  Her mother laughed. “The quince has spoken.”

  Alicia’s mother smiled. “I had no idea how talented Gaz was. If only I’d known that the boy who has been eating me out of house and home was the next Enrique Iglesias, I would’ve fed him even more!”

  Alicia smiled. “He is really good.”

  “And really cute,” Sarita chimed in.

  “Was Gaz the lead chambelane for your quince?” Ms. Lopez asked.

  Gaz her chambelane? That would have been dreamy. Maybe if she’d had a quince, she and Gaz would have been dating by now. Your chambelane was supposed to be somebody platonic, a second cousin or a family friend, someone you could count on to learn the dances and behave in front of your family, without any drama. But Alicia had been to enough quinces to know that a chambelane could start as a friend and end up as much more.

  Alicia stole a quick glance at her mom. “Um, I didn’t have a quince. My mom and dad took me and my best friend to Spain instead.”

  “Wow, Spain,” Sarita’s mom said. “I can’t wait to take Sarita to Bilbao. That’s what next year’s savings account will be targeted for.”

  “Ms. Lopez, I know how hard you’ve worked to make Sarita’s quince possible,” Alicia said. “Amigas is working hard to make sure that this is a day Sarita will never ever forget.”

  “I appreciate that,” Ms. Lopez said.

  “Me, too,” Sarita said. She tossed her long hair. “It’s not even my quince yet, and I already feel like a movie star.”

  Driving home, Alicia felt better than she had in a long time. Despite the ups—and lots of downs—things were looking better. Her mom turned to look at her. “Okay,” Mrs. Cruz said. “What did you do with my little Lici? You’ve taken her away and replaced her with this formidable businesswoman.”

  Alicia smiled. “I’m still your Lici. And Alex’s Squeak. And Dad’s intern. Just to prove how down to earth I am, I’ll let you buy me a scoop of rum raisin in a chocolate-covered cone on our way home.”

  Her mom turned right, guiding the car on the route that led past the Coral Gables soda shop and ice-cream parlor. “It would be an honor, Alicia.”

  THE MORNING of Sarita’s quinceañera, Alicia woke early, a big smile on her face and her heart beating wildly, as if it were Christmas instead of an ordinary Saturday morning in the summer. The church ceremony would not start until three in the afternoon, but it seemed to Alicia that even with nine hours at her disposal, there was no way she could get it all done. She got out of bed and threw on an old sundress that had been her mom’s. It was made of silk scarves, each printed with a part of the map of Florida. Her mother called the dress basura, but Alicia knew that it wasn’t trash; it was her lucky charm.

  She was not surprised to find Maribelle cooking in the kitchen, even though the sun was barely up. Maribelle was wearing a yellow housedress and a bright orange apron that read: Dale besitos al cocinera.

  She smiled at Alicia. “How are you doing, sleepyhead?”

  Alicia feigned being offended. “You’re killing me. It’s not even six yet.”

  “And I have been up since four thirty,” Maribelle pointed out.

  “That’s why I got up early,” Alicia said. “So I could help you.”

  Maribelle raised an eyebrow. “I like the new and improved Lici. Here’s a knife. You start peeling plaintains, and I will make you a smoothie.”

  While Maribelle and Alicia cooked, Jamie was also up bright and early. She had two hundred party favors to finish before noon, when she was due at Sarita’s to style her hair and makeup. She was hooking up not only Sarita, but also her mom and all seven of her damas.

  As her family slept, Jamie made herself a toasted English muffin and spread it with rose jelly that her grandmother had sent from the Bronx.

  Looking at all the party-favor elements laid out in the living room, she had to admit that it was pretty genius. She’d had the science museum order two hundred envelopes of astronaut ice cream. Then she’d taken several photos of Sarita, post–Christina Aguilera extensions, and placed them over pics of Lily Allen dressed like an astronaut in an old Common video. It had come out even more amazing than she’d hoped. The supersaturated colors of the video really popped with Sarita’s rich black hair and the huge false eyelashes that Jamie had put on her. In the photos, she looked like Penélope Cruz or Eva Mendes.

  As a final touch, Jamie had the Sarita astronaut pics made into five-by-seven stickers at Kinko’s. All she had to do now was to cover the label of the astronaut ice cream with Sarita’s astronaut stickers. She’d saved it for Saturday morning, because she hadn’t thought it would take so long, but as she carefully peeled off each sticker and affixed it to the ice cream, she worried that this might have been a bad idea. “I hope someone wakes up soon,” she mumbled, “because this chica could really use a hand.”

  Over by the canals, Carmen’s house was already buzzing. The twins rarely slept past seven, and they made such a racket racing up and down the stairs that nobody else did, either. Carmen’s stepfather was in the kitchen making pan after pan of blueberry muffins. Carmen had thought she was in the clear with Sarita’s party dress, but at the last fitting, it had been a little tight in the hips. She wanted Sarita to feel ultraconfident on the dance floor, so she’d let out the dress and started again. The machine sewing had gone quickly, but the sequins had had to be sewn by hand, and the silver-netting flounces were slippery to work with. Carmen wolfed down a muffin and a strong cup of café con leche and made her way to her favorite window seat. One sequin, two sequins, only two hundred and ninety-seven sequins to go…

  While the girls were all up early, the morning of Sarita’s quince didn’t have quite the same effect on the lone guy in the group. Gaz was sleeping soundly. He and his brothers had been up until three in the morning, rehearsing the songs they’d planned to play. While they had had a blast rocking out to songs by Shakira, Alejandro Sanz, Marc Anthony, and Daddy Yankee, the truth was, they were all a little nervous. It was one thing to play your own music, but it was quite ano
ther to do an acceptable job on songs that people knew and loved. Every time Gaz hit the snooze button, he said an impossible prayer for more time to rehearse.

  Three p.m. found Amigas Inc. sitting in the last pew of Our Lady of Divine Patience in Coral Gables. Sarita entered in her church dress, a white empire-waist design with cap sleeves that Carmen had modeled after an old Chloé gown she’d seen in a magazine. She’d covered the bottom of the dress with the same silver netting that she’d used on the party dress, and she’d sprinkled a few sequins on the bodice as a hint of what was to come. Watching Sarita walk in, Carmen was proud to see that it hit the right note between modest enough for church and unexpected and cool.

  The Amigas were all dressed in black tops and white jeans. It had been Alicia’s idea that they should wear some sort of uniform, so that they could be easily identified in a crowd, should anybody need help. They were also all carrying pocketfuls of brand-new Amigas business cards.

  They had watched the quinceañera church ceremony dozens of times. Had heard the priest bless the girl turning fifteen. Had looked on as the quince’s father helped her change from flats to high heels. Had seen the girl read her vows—promising, always, to be a credit to the community and to make her parents proud. In all honesty, they’d been a bit burned out on quinces. How many times can you watch the same thing and still find it exciting or even vaguely interesting? But as Sarita’s friends and family filled the church, as Sarita walked up to the altar and began the passage into adulthood that was so essential to the Latino cultura, each felt as if she were watching the ceremony for the first time. Sarita was not just any quince. She was their quince.

  The feeling was mutual, because at the end of her vows, Sarita looked over to where the group sat and said, “Last but not least, I need to thank Amigas Incorporated, who planned and organized my quince. Cinderella had one fairy godmother; I was lucky enough to have four.”

  Alicia, Jamie, and Carmen broke church protocol and clapped wildly. Only Gaz remained silent.

  “This is getting ridiculous,” he muttered.