ALICIA WAS SITTING at the lunch table waiting for her girls. She’d learned her lesson about the cafeteria ceviche and had brought in a Maribelle special from home instead. She was chowing down on the cubano sandwich when Carmen and Alicia arrived.
“Hola, chicas,” she said.
“Shalom, niña,” Carmen answered.
Jamie smiled and flashed them a peace sign.
“How’s the sewing?” Alicia asked.
“Good,” Carmen said. “Do you want to see some swatches?”
“Claro,” Alicia said.
Carmen reached into her bag and pulled out a bunch of fabric. “This green silk is for the bodice of the dress. Very simple: halter neck, natural bodice. Then I’ve got this gold silk that will drape all the way down,” Carmen said.
“Where does the red come in?” Jamie asked.
“I’ve got this red silk that will be a color block at the very bottom, from my calves down to the floor,” Carmen said.
“Not your traditional quince dress at all,” Jamie said.
“Can you work some shalom into it, for your abuela?” Alicia asked.
“Already done.” Carmen took out a bronze silk patch. “It’s the lion of Judah. I’m embroidering a big one on my skirt and a little one over my chest, like the crocodile on a Lacoste shirt.”
“Love it!” Jamie said.
Just then, Carmen’s cell rang. Looking down she groaned. “It’s a text from Sharon. They’re outside.”
At that moment there was a loud commotion as Sharon Kim and Arnie came rushing into the cafeteria. “I take that back. They’re inside,” Carmen said.
“It’s Project Quince time, girls!” Sharon said cheerfully. “Meet us after school for an Inner Beauty/Outer Beauty competition at the mall.”
“But I’ve got a ton of work to do on my dress,” Carmen protested.
“You want that prize money, don’t you?” Sharon asked. “Then andale, niña!”
“Raymunda and I will be there,” Simone said, appearing, as she so often did, out of nowhere.
“Great,” Sharon said. She motioned for Arnie to point the camera at Carmen’s sandwich. “Not afraid of a few carbs just weeks before your big day, huh?” Sharon asked, with an exaggerated wink. Then, turning to the camera, she said, “Teenage dieting epidemic. Story at eleven.”
“But I’m not on a diet!” Carmen protested.
“Be at the mall at four, girls,” Sharon said as she raced out of the cafeteria. “This is a competition. And every moment counts.”
“That was loca,” Carmen said when the crew was gone.
“You know what’s loca?” Simone said, inserting herself into the conversation. “It’s Gaz’s score for our soon-to-be-award-winning Memoirs of a Quince. He’s writing a song for Raymunda right now, as we speak. You know it wouldn’t surprise me if he is so moved by her exotic beauty and the way she moves in her kimono that he totally falls in love with her.”
Alicia’s fists tightened. Carmen began to pat her shoulder, but Alicia shrugged her off.
“I hope they’re very happy together,” Alicia said, between clenched teeth.
“Oh, they will be,” Simone said. “In fact, I believe Raymunda may even invite Gaz to go with her to New York. Or are you so committed to losing that you aren’t even thinking about the prize? I mean, really. Tropical Synagogue? Puh-leez.”
Simone turned and stomped away in her high heels. It was all Alicia could do not to throw food at her.
“Ignore her,” Jamie said.
“I dunno,” Carmen said. “Would Gaz really compose music for her? He knows what a snake she is.”
“Well, she brings up a good question. How are we doing on the music front?” Alicia asked, trying to slow her racing heart.
“We’re covered,” Jamie said. “It’s not live music. But my cousin, who deejays at Jay-Z’s club in New York, Pulse, is going to send us a fully loaded iPod with everything we need for the vals, Carmen and Domingo’s dance, salsa for the moms and pops, tango for Abuela Ruben, reggaeton for us. All we have to do is hit play.”
But Alicia shook her head. “That’s not going to work. Amigas Incorporated never iPods the music at their parties. We bring a live band that’s versatile and energetic. It’s one of our signature offerings.”
Jamie was taken aback. She knew it wasn’t ideal, but she was doing her best to pitch in; couldn’t Alicia see that?
“You know what?” Jamie said, the frustration and exhaustion of the past weeks boiling over. “Live music used to be one of our signature offerings. Then you started this stupid ‘flirtationship’ with Gaz, which was never a real thing anyway, and now it’s over, and we’ve lost our supertalented live band and our set decorator and our transportation. . . .”
Carmen glared at her friend. “Quit it, Jamie.”
Alicia stood up. “It’s okay. She’s right. I screwed everything up. Now I’ve got to be the one to fix it.”
Alicia raced out of the cafeteria and then stood in the hallway, fighting back tears. She held her phone in her hand. She’d thought about texting Gaz a million times since she’d seen him last, but her pride wouldn’t let her. Now she needed to put her pride aside and get him back doing music for Amigas Inc. It was what Jamie wanted. It was what Carmen wanted. And maybe, deep down, even if seeing him as just a friend proved to be a fresh slice of hell, it was what she wanted, too. After all, she’d been friends with him for a lot longer than she’d been crushing on him. She could make the friend thing work again.
She texted him: We need to talk.
He wrote back right away: Where and when?
She replied: CG Plaza Starbucks. 6:15.
He wrote back: Fine.
Not exactly a warm and fuzzy interchange, but at least he would come. That was all that mattered. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him, and her heart pounded when she thought of how cold he’d been. It was almost too much to take: the way all the sadness and fear and sweet anticipation swirled together. She took a deep breath, straightened the collar of her jacket, swept the hair out of her face, and tried to walk to her world history class as if she wasn’t this close to completely and totally falling apart.
After school, the three girls went straight to the mall as Sharon had insisted. At the Gorgeous Gal makeup counter, they found Sharon, the camera crew, and Simone, but no Raymunda.
“Where’s your quinceañera girl?” Jamie asked.
Simone shrugged. “I’m sitting in for her, because she’s got a makeup exam she can’t miss. Advanced physics.”
“Sounds more like advanced bull—” Jamie began, snarkily.
Sharon wagged her finger. “Language! Ladies, please. This is a family show. So, this is your super rápido challenge: you’ve got thirty minutes to give three women Gorgeous Gal makeovers that are appropriate for attending a quinceañera, using the products here. In the end, you’ll be judged not only on the looks you’ve created but on how pampered and well taken care of you make the women you choose feel.”
Carmen shrugged. This would be easy. She’d been playing with makeup her whole life. And for special events, she always did makeup for her mom and her big sister. Alicia’s mom, Marisol, had a natural elegance that her daughter had inherited. Both of them were so adept at applying makeup that no one ever knew whether they were wearing it or not. And Jamie? She was the hands-down expert in this category. She knew all the celebrities’ cosmetics tips and secrets and for years had been brave enough to try out even the most outrageous looks.
Sharon went on. “Your judge is celebrity-makeup artist Carmindy.”
The girls waved to Carmindy, whom they’d seen on countless reality shows.
“And your time starts . . .”—Sharon looked at her watch as if it were accurate down to the millisecond—“now!”
Carmen invited the first girl she saw, a teenager with a bad case of acne, to have a makeover. She gave her a clean, flawless face in five minutes flat.
“I love it!” said the
girl. “I want to buy all of the products.”
Carmen was finishing the girl’s makeup when Simone came tearing back with an older woman with poor teeth and a smattering of facial hair.
“I’ve chosen this woman,” Simone said, “because she represents our neglected elderly.”
“You’re neglecting the time,” Sharon pointed out. “You’ve only got twenty-one minutes left.”
By the time Simone had finished making up the elderly woman’s face, Alicia had completed the makeup for their second “customer”—a twentysomething woman who worked on a cruise ship.
“The constant travel takes its toll on my skin,” she told the cameras. “But Alicia made me, and my skin, feel pampered.”
Sharon put the mike in front of the elderly woman’s face just as Simone was finishing what was actually a very pretty makeover. “So, what do you think, ma’am?” Sharon asked, holding up the mirror.
“Not enough blush!” the woman said, reaching for a sample tube of lipstick and smearing it on her cheeks.
Jamie took the last customer, a new mom with a sleeping baby in a large stroller. Seconds later, Simone zoomed in. She too had picked a woman with a stroller.
Jamie was done first. Simone finished a bit later, right as time ran out.
“What’s the verdict?” Sharon asked Carmindy.
“Well, clearly, Amigas Inc. has both speed and class. The women they made over felt good inside and out,” Carmindy said. “I’d say there’s no competition. Amigas Incorporated wins the day.”
Sharon handed Carmen an envelope. “This is a gift certificate for two hundred dollars’ worth of Gorgeous Gal products—and there’s more. Carmindy will be doing your makeup on the big day.”
The three friends all grinned. It had been worth it—completely and utterly worth it.
Simone threw down her makeup brush. “It’s not fair! Raymunda’s not even here. I’m just one part of our team.”
Sharon put a hand on her hip. “That’s your problem, not mine. Tell your client that it’s absolutely imperative that if she wants you to win Project Quince she make it to our challenges!”
As Simone stormed off, Alicia gave her best friends a hug. For a little bit, she’d managed to forget she was meeting Gaz shortly. But then she remembered. This was going to be interesting.
• • •
Alicia got to the Starbucks at six on the dot. She felt as if she needed the home-court advantage of being settled in before Gaz arrived. She ordered a mocha Frappuccino and found a seat near the front.
Gaz came in only a few minutes later.
“Sounds good,” he said, when she told him what she was drinking. “I’ll go get the same thing and be right back.”
As he went up to place his drink order, she tried not to focus on how cute he was and reminded herself that this was a business conversation. Amigas Inc. needed Gaz’s band back. They didn’t want him composing music for Raymunda. That was it. No need to get into anything personal.
Gaz returned, and, instead of sliding in next to Alicia, he sat across from her. Then, as if even that were too close, he inched his chair back and away from the table.
Alicia grimaced, forcing herself to concentrate. “How are you?” she asked, politely.
“Fine,” he replied, in a monotone. “You?”
“Good,” she said stiffly. “Look, Gaz, the girls and I, well, you, the thing is, we’d like you to still be a member of Amigas. We need you to do the music for Carmen’s quince.”
“I see,” Gaz said.
Great, Alicia thought. Mr. Nonexpressive is back and in fine form.
“I mean, how could you agree to compose music for Simone’s project?” she went on, her voice rising and her composure cracking. “Regardless of what happened or didn’t happen between us. You know what she’s like. I have to say I’m shocked you’d even associate with someone like her.”
Gaz looked annoyed. “One, I am not ‘associated’ with her. At least, not yet. She handed me a Memoirs of a Geisha CD and asked me to listen to it. I said that I would. Two, I’m a musician. Just because I’m on the outs with Amigas Incorporated doesn’t mean I’m going to stop writing songs and performing. You have no right to ask that of me.”
They were nearly shouting now, and customers were turning to stare.
Alicia looked around uncomfortably. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her voice to a loud whisper. “We want you back. That’s all.”
Gaz also dropped his voice. “Okay, under one condition.”
Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Name it.”
“I want you back,” Gaz said.
Alicia was sure that she hadn’t heard him right.
“Excuse me?” she said. The words felt like boulders stuck in her throat.
He reached for her hand. “I’ve missed you.”
She could feel the electricity when his fingers touched hers, but she pulled away all the same. She stood up. “Well, you should’ve thought of that earlier. You really hurt me, Gaz. We need and want you as part of Amigas Incorporated. But I don’t need or want to be involved with someone who could treat me so coldly.”
Gaz looked confused, as though he had honestly expected her to come right around. “I said I’m sorry.”
Alicia shook her head. “No. You said you missed me. Not the same thing, Gaz.”
Then she stood up, turned, and walked toward the door. Turning back to him for a moment, she added, “Us aside, the others will expect you back. So, make sure you are at Carmen’s for dinner on Sunday. And that you have her set list ready.” Then, feeling slightly proud of how together she had stayed, she walked out.
THE NEXT Sunday, all of Amigas Inc.—including Gaz—met at Carmen’s house for dinner. Abuela Ruben had arrived and was making a pre-quinceañera feast.
“Where is everybody going to sit, niña?” Alicia whispered. “Your family alone is eight, nine with Abuela Ruben, eleven with your dad and his wife. You’ve got room for all of us?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Carmen said. “My mom always says, once you’re feeding eight, you’re dealing in high-volume cooking, so the more the merrier. We’re just going to lay out blankets and eat, picnic style, on the front lawn. By the way, Gaz is out front. I think you should go check on him.”
Alicia rolled her eyes. But, it was her friend’s house, so she headed outside.
“I really need to talk to you, Lici,” Gaz said when he saw her.
Alicia looked unconvinced. “Can we do this another time?”
But Gaz took hold of her hands and gestured for her to sit down.
“Hear me out,” he said.
“Fine. I’m listening,” Alicia growled.
“High school romances are like milk,” Gaz began.
“I know Carmen’s studying Hebrew,” Alicia said, “but that’s no excuse for you to start talking in tongues.”
“I mean, high school romances are like milk because they have very short expiration dates.”
“Says who?”
“Says anybody with half a brain,” Gaz replied, in a serious tone. “Couples break up. They go to different colleges, they break up. They go to the same college, become different people, and break up.”
“So, what’s your point, Gaz?” Alicia asked. He was clearly making an effort to express himself, but still, she was confused about what he was trying to say.
“We’ve got to stay in the friendship zone until we’re old enough not to break up,” Gaz asserted.
Alicia was incredulous. “And when would that be?”
“I figure when we’re about twenty-five,” he said. His voice sounded like the voice of a hopeful little boy.
“Gaz!” Alicia squealed. “That’s, like, ten years from now.”
“I can wait,” Gaz said.
“But it doesn’t even make sense,” Alicia said. “Twenty-five-year-olds break up too.” She could feel herself fighting back tears.
“I just want to protect us,” Gaz said. “I want to make this la
st.”
Alicia sighed. For as long as she could remember, she and Carmen had been in the habit of renting DVDs and dreaming about the day when a boy would look at them like this, say things like this. Now that it was happening, she wished some big-time director would yell, “Cut!,” so she could catch her breath and figure out the perfect thing to say and do.
“Gaz, there’s nothing to protect if you hold me at arm’s length,” Alicia said. “I think if we both want it, we can make it last. But how can we if we don’t hang out and you won’t even kiss me?”
Gaz smiled playfully. “You still want me to kiss you?”
She nodded.
“If I kiss you, there’s no going back to a flirtationship you know,” Gaz said, leaning closer. “We could get hurt. Or break up . . .”
Alicia didn’t trust herself to speak.
And then he wasn’t talking anymore. He was kissing her. And it wasn’t the short peck he’d given her before their “flirtationship” began. It was a serious, heavy-duty kiss that made it clear that they had just become much, much more than friends who flirted.
When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see that her dream had sort of come true—just not in the way she imagined—Sharon and her camera crew had filmed the whole thing.
“Wait a second!” Alicia cried, reaching out to cover the camera lens with her hand.
“You’re not supposed to be taping this!” Gaz cried, offended.
“You signed the press release,” Sharon Kim said with a cheery, TV-anchorwoman smile. Then she turned to the camera and said, “The Catholic church has already denounced quinceañeras for being hotbeds of teenage passion.”
“This has nothing to do with Carmen’s quince!” Alicia cried, gesturing wildly behind Sharon.
“Forget it,” Gaz said, reaching out for her hand. “They’re going to show what they want to. We know what’s real and what’s created just for TV.”
• • •
When Gaz and Alicia walked into the kitchen at Carmen’s, the smells alone were nearly enough to fill them up.
“Oh, my,” said Gaz. “What is going on in here?”
Abuela Ruben, all five feet of her, presided over the six-burner stove like a queen with a wooden spoon. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. The silk blouse she wore underneath her apron did not have a single wrinkle or stain. Her pencil skirt was conservative, but fashionable.
Lights, Camera, Quince! Page 10