“You know what?” Carmen said. “As much as I’d love to win this contest, what I really want is to have an amazing quinceañera, one that my friends and family won’t soon forget.”
“Don’t worry. That’s a given. This is going to be our best quince yet,” Alicia promised, giving Carmen a hug.
“Because you deserve nothing but the best,” Jamie said. She hugged Carmen, too.
“Cut!” Mary yelled, startling the girls. They had no idea they’d been followed.
“That was really sweet,” Sharon said, turning to Mary.
“Yeah, it’s those kind of tender friendship moments that will really make these shows work.”
“You were filming us?” Carmen asked, surprised.
“You’d better believe it,” Sharon said. “Between now and the finale, we’re always going to be filming you.”
That night, finally away from the cameras, Carmen began fitting her mother for the dress she was making her for the big day. Carmen’s plan was to have all of the important people in her life strut down the runway in custom-made outfits.
“Do you like this fabric, Mami?” Carmen asked, taking out a bolt of emerald green material.
“It’s beautiful,” Sophia said.
“My idea is that your dress is really simple, but elegant, with an empire waist and a jeweled neckline, so the jewelry is sewn right into the collar.”
“I love it, niña,” Sophia said. “How lucky I am to have a daughter who designs couture clothing just for me. So, tell me, how are you feeling about this whole television competition?”
“Fine, so far,” Carmen said. “But if we don’t win the contest, we don’t get to go to New York, and my friends will be so bummed.”
“That’s not your problem, niña,” Sophia said. “Just like making Abuela Ruben happy is not your problem.”
Her mother picked up Carmen’s sketchbook and said, “All of your life, even before you learned how to sew, you’ve had this tremendous gift for being able to imagine something beautiful and then bringing it to life on the page. That’s what your quince should be like. Your celebration should follow your dreams—not mine, not the TV people, not even your abuela’s. Because what you see and what you draw always comes straight from here.”
She put her hand over Carmen’s heart, then pulled her daughter in close for a big hug.
CARMEN AND ALICIA were once again sitting in the boat, discussing boys and quince plans.
“I’ve seen Domingo every day since our date,” Carmen said, taking a sip of her bottled water. “He’s already agreed to be my chambelán at my quince. And while that is all well and good, my friend, I was wondering about you and Gaz. Have you talked to him about maybe going a little further than the flirtation?”
Alicia sighed. She looked back to shore. On the walkway, Carmen’s Australian neighbors were dragging surfboards toward their house. She thought they’d beaten the early bird that day, but the surfers had been down to the beach, up on the waves, and were back home again—and it wasn’t even nine yet.
“I’m going to see Gaz tonight,” Alicia finally answered.
“Is it a date?” Carmen asked, intrigued. “You two never go anywhere without me or Jamie to chaperone.”
Alicia smiled. “It’s not a date, it’s a thing.”
“A thing?” Carmen asked, curious.
“Yeah. You know, a thing,” Alicia said. “I can’t explain it. I mean, yes, we’ll be alone, so it’s a date but also just a thing.”
“Can I offer you one piece of advice for whatever it is?” Carmen asked. When Alicia nodded, she said, “Just tell him how you feel. It’s not like before, when there was all that uncertainty. Now you know he feels the same way.”
“Hello, chicas!” Sharon called out from the water’s edge, interrupting them.
“Not again,” Alicia muttered. “Do they always have to be here right when we are in the middle of something?”
“Is it a day that ends with a Y?” Carmen whispered.
She and Alicia brought the boat back into shore and walked over to the TV crew.
“What’s going on?” Carmen asked.
“It’s time for the talent portion of the competition,” Sharon said, in that perfectly upbeat television-news voice.
“Talent portion?” Alicia asked, sardonically. “Is this a beauty pageant? Or a quinceañera? Where’s Raymunda?”
“She filmed her segment yesterday,” Mary explained.
“What did she do?” Carmen asked.
The girls were becoming so used to the constant presence of the Project Quince team that they hardly noticed as Arnie miked them and began filming.
“Raymunda played the shamisen,” Mary explained. “She plans to accompany her damas and chambelanes on it for their solo dance performance.”
“And what, exactly, is a shamisen?” Carmen asked.
“It’s a traditional Japanese instrument,” Mary replied as though that were obvious.
“Look at this,” Sharon said; it was Raymunda, on a portable DVD player.
“But she sounds terrible!” Alicia said.
Sharon nodded. “The thing that’s so deep is that it’s supposed to sound nonmusical.”
“You see,” Mary chimed in, “it’s a song about the horrors of World War Two.”
“And Raymunda says,” Sharon continued, “that in Japan, when you want the listener to feel your pain, then you sing out of tune.”
“Mission accomplished,” Alicia sniped.
“So, what will your talent be, Carmen?” Sharon asked cheerfully.
“You know what my talent is,” Carmen said, in a plaintive tone. “It’s sewing. I’m designing and making all of the gowns for my family and my court.”
Mary shook her head. “Not visual enough.”
“Don’t you have anything else?” Sharon asked.
“No,” Carmen snapped. “There is nothing else.”
“Your mom said you were wicked on the hula hoop,” Mary said.
“Yeah, maybe when I was seven,” Carmen said, fighting the urge to throw a temper tantrum worthy of a seven year old.
“Well, let’s give it a whirl anyway,” said Sharon, as she tossed Carmen a hula hoop that she’d apparently stashed behind a tree in Carmen’s front yard.
Carmen shrugged her shoulders, then started hula-hooping, tentatively at first, then with more confidence.
“Looking good, looking good,” Mary called out encouragingly.
Carmen continued to hula-hoop and was just beginning to have fun when Sharon yelled, “Try this one on your arm!” She tossed the girl a second hoop, and Carmen, who had been smiling, began to grimace and growl as she spun one hula hoop around her hips and a second on her arm.
“Keep it going; whoop, whoop! Whoop! Whoop!” Sharon cried out from the sidelines.
Three minutes later, Carmen let the hula hoops fall.
“Oh, too bad,” Mary said.
“Are you kidding me?” Alicia asked in disbelief. “That’s it?”
“Better luck next time!” Sharon said as the television crew prepared to leave.
When the two friends were alone again, Carmen began to cry.
“Don’t sweat losing the talent competition,” Alicia said, pulling her friend into a hug. “We’re going to win this.”
“It’s not about winning,” Carmen said. “It’s just so embarrassing.”
“Your hula-hooping was great,” Alicia said, trying to be comforting.
Carmen shook her head. “I should have just walked away. All of this crazy competition stuff is just for show. It has nothing to do with my quince or about how to throw a banging party on a microbudget. This is just a . . . a . . . circus!”
Then, without another word, Carmen opened the front door and went into her house.
For their “thing,” Alicia was meeting Gaz at the Florida Room, the old-school jazz club in the basement of the Delano Hotel. It was one of Alicia’s new favorite spots. She loved the cruise-ship curves of the walls and the gian
t art deco chandeliers that gave the room the perfect amber glow. She would have loved to have her quince in a place like the Florida Room. Too bad that at the time, a trip to Spain seemed like the most amazing thing to do. She’d learned a lot over the past few months about how important a quince was and the significance it held in developing one’s identity as a Latina. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she sometimes wished she could do it over again.
She was taking in the architecture and imagining herself in a sleek art deco dress to match the interiors when Gaz walked in. His dark straight hair was just a little too long, though it looked good on him. He was wearing a tissue-thin black V-necked sweater, khaki pants, and black loafers—and Alicia thought that that looked good, too. He waved and made his way across the room.
Alicia had been at the club since it opened, at eight, so she had managed to snag an excellent table in the back. She thought she recognized a couple of people: a model who frequently appeared on the cover of Ocean Side magazine, a singer who allegedly kept an apartment—and girlfriend—in the Delano when he wasn’t at his houses in New York or the Bahamas. But she couldn’t be sure about either one. That was the thing about South Beach: everybody looked a little famous.
“Hey,” Gaz said, sitting down. He picked up her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“What’s up?” Alicia said.
“Long day. I kind of can’t wait until school starts up again next week. Working is for the birds.”
A waiter came by and they ordered their usual virgin mojitos.
When the drinks arrived, Alicia looked at her watch. Eight thirty. It was summer, so her parents let her stay out a little later, but if she stayed out past ten, they weren’t going to be happy about it. And her house was more than thirty minutes away, with all the traffic. She had to get right to the point.
“Look, Gaz,” she began, “I don’t know how to say it, so I’m just going to say it. I don’t want a flirtationship anymore. I want to be boyfriend and girlfriend, for real.”
The words came out quickly, and almost immediately she wished she could take them back. In the silence that followed, she looked around the club. She counted the number of people wearing sunglasses inside—four. She counted the number of girls wearing short shorts and heels—eleven. She counted the people with visible tattoos—seven. Gaz still hadn’t spoken, and she wanted to look anywhere but at his face. Finally, when she just couldn’t take it anymore, she looked at him.
“Did you hear me?” she said.
“I heard you,” he said, staring down into his drink.
“Do you not want to be my boyfriend?” She could feel her voice shaking as the words came out, and then she could feel the tears just behind her eyes ready to tumble out, too.
“No,” he replied. He still hadn’t looked at her.
“Just no. No explanation?” she asked, tugging on her necklace. All of a sudden, it was as if she couldn’t breathe.
“Nope,” he said.
“That’s really it?” Alicia said. She bit her lip and wished only that she could bite it hard enough to draw blood; in any case, she felt as if she were already bleeding.
“Yep,” Gaz said. He finally looked at her, and his eyes were still dark and handsome, his lips were still plump and dark pink. He didn’t look like a monster, but he sat there saying monstrous things.
“After all we’ve been through, Gaz!” Alicia whispered, to keep herself from screaming. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you have anything you want to say to me?”
Gaz shook his head and said, again, “Nope.”
Alicia felt as if she were choking. Gasping for air, she ripped the necklace off and held it clutched in her fist.
“I’m out of here,” she said, frantic to be far away.
Gaz looked at her again, and, for an instant, she thought she saw something tender, something not callous and cruel.
“What is it, Gaz?” she asked hopefully.
“Do you want a ride?” he asked.
“Are you serious,” she said, trembling as she stood. “No, I don’t want a ride—ever.” Then she walked away.
“Alicia, wait,” he said, getting up and running after her. “I want to explain, it’s just that it’s complicated, and I’ve been thinking about it so much, and it’s way too important, and—”
“You’re not making any sense right now,” Alicia said, her sadness replaced with the beginning twinges of anger.
“I’m trying, Lici,” Gaz said.
“Trying to let me down easy? Trying not to break my heart?” Alicia asked.
“All of that,” Gaz said.
Alicia could barely hold back the tears. “Well don’t bother Gaz. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
She started to walk away and then stopped. “Oh, and by the way, don’t bother coming to Amigas meetings. You’re not welcome.” Then, with nothing else left to say, she turned and walked out of the club. As she made her way toward the taxi stand, she could hear the DJ playing “Tell Me Something Good.” Good news would have been nice at this point—even just quasi-good news.
Even after she got home, brushed her teeth, changed into her pajamas, and got into bed, she still hoped she’d wake up the next day and discover that it had all been a horrible nightmare. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Gaz hadn’t said he loved her, hadn’t told her he wanted to be with her. He had dumped her. And the worst part was, they hadn’t even been going out.
ALICIA LITERALLY didn’t get out of bed the next day. Maribelle brought her some breakfast, which she didn’t eat. At lunchtime, Maribelle brought her a bowl of gazpacho and a Jarritos soda. Alicia ate two spoonfuls of gazpacho and downed the soda.
Convinced that her Lici had developed a nasty summer cold, Maribelle then prepared a big bowl of homemade chicken soup for her dinner, which Alicia did not touch. After Alicia had fallen asleep, however, Maribelle did find several peanut M&M’s wrappers underneath her bed, which gave her the reassurance that, while the girl might have been sick, she was not starving.
Sunday was spent the same way. Alicia slept. Watched TV. She did not return calls from Carmen or Jamie. When her parents offered to call the family doctor, she declined. On Sunday night, she took a shower.
On Monday, which was Labor Day, when Alicia still showed no intentions of ever leaving her bedroom again, her mother called Carmen and Jamie and told them she thought they should come over. School was starting the next day, and, clearly, Alicia’s affliction was social, not physical. Mrs. Cruz called Gaz as well, but he didn’t pick up, so she left a voice mail.
Carmen was the first to arrive, and as soon as she did, Alicia started crying. Once she had started, she couldn’t stop. She had changed out of her own pajamas into a pair of ratty jean shorts and one of her dad’s old Harvard T-shirts that she always wore when she needed comfort or luck. It seemed to her now that she was in dire need of both.
“I told him how I felt, and he blew me off,” Alicia said, her words jumbled through the snot and tears. “He just kept saying, ‘no,’ ‘nope,’ ‘no.’ No explanation. No ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ Nothing. Just mean. And cold.”
Carmen had to admit she was surprised. “That just doesn’t sound like Gaz.”
“I know,” Alicia said, embarking on a new wave of sobbing. She cried on Carmen’s shoulder, then apologized for slobbering all over her dress.
“I have three little sisters,” Carmen said, rubbing her friend’s back. “I’m not afraid of a little slobber.”
Jamie walked in a short while later, dressed in a red and black plaid bubble dress over a pair of black capri pants.
“Is it about Gaz?” Jamie whispered to Carmen, who was still holding a sobbing Alicia.
“He broke it off,” Carmen whispered back.
“What was he thinking?” Jamie asked.
Alicia sat up, her face red and blotchy. “You do know that I’m sad, not deaf.”
Jamie sat down on the other side of Alicia and pu
t her arms around her friend.
“Are you ready for some tough love?” Jamie asked.
Alicia shrugged.
“How long have you been in bed?” Jamie asked.
Carmen held up three fingers, as though Alicia couldn’t see.
“You do know that I’m sad, not blind, right?” Alicia said.
“Three days is enough,” Jamie said. “It sucks, but you’re a strong chica. Moreover, you’re a busy chica. School starts tomorrow. And Carmen’s quince is only weeks away. That tropical synagogue is not going to build itself.”
“What about Gaz playing at your quince?” Alicia asked. “I told him he’s out of the group.”
“We’ll get a DJ,” Carmen said. “I love his music, but you’re my priority. BFFs first, remember?”
The next day, Alicia was unaware of the back-to-school excitement. She pretended not to be looking for Gaz, but in reality she looked for him everywhere. Classes were a blur. A way to pass the time between “Gaz watch.” By Friday, Alicia still hadn’t seen him, and she was beginning to get freaked.
She met Carmen and Jamie in the cafeteria. Alicia was wearing a midnight blue silk jumper. She knew that only her friends had noticed she’d worn black or dark blue every day so far that week. But it made her feel good. She was in mourning. She sat down opposite her friends and slid her tray onto the table.
“What’s that?” Carmen asked, pointing with her yogurt spoon to the pink and white scoop of something on Alicia’s plate.
“Ceviche,” Alicia replied.
“Raw fish, cooked in citrus, from the school lunch line?” Carmen asked, her face registering the grodiness factor at play. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Alicia pushed her tray away. What did it matter? She wasn’t hungry anyway. “I think Gaz has changed schools. I haven’t seen him once since we got back.”
Carmen and Jamie exchanged quick glances, and Alicia caught it.
“What?” she asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We told him to keep his distance, or else,” Jamie said.
“Or else what?” Alicia asked. The news that Gaz had been there all week long and that he had actually listened to her friends’ threats was depressing.
Lights, Camera, Quince! Page 8