For Carmen, visiting the big fabric shops and those who worked in them was like going to see members of her extended family. The women who ran the shops thought of themselves as the up-and-coming designers’ fairy godmothers, and they insisted that the girls call them tías.
The girls began with Carmen’s favorite, a sprawling space called Ceci’s Fabrics. The owner, Cecilia Noriega, was from Panama and referred to Carmen as her “honorary goddaughter.”
“Hola, Tía Ceci,” Carmen called out as they entered the store.
“¡Mira, como te ves! ¡Más flaca cada vez!” Ceci said, insisting, as she always did, that Carmen was too thin. “Don’t starve yourself, chica. You’re an original. You set fashion, don’t follow it.”
“Believe me, Tía Ceci,” Carmen insisted. “I eat. I eat a lot.”
Dressed in a light gray pantsuit, Ceci charged through the store as if she were leading a presidential motorcade down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, DC. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m designing a dress for Carolina and her prima hermana,” Carmen explained as she tried to keep up. “They’re having a double quince.”
Ceci turned and smiled. “A double quince. Qué bendición. What a blessing. Because you are working with this gem of a designer, I’ll give you an early birthday present. Twenty percent off any fabric you choose.”
Carolina’s eyes widened. “Wow, thanks.”
“De nada, niña, de nada,” Ceci said. “I will leave you in the capable hands of Alma, who’s been working with me for twenty years. Trátale bien, Alma. You know Carmen’s my favorite.”
Carmen hugged the store owner, then turned to the fabrics in the formal-wear section of the store.
“I know we said we’d go for a big Marie Antoinette hoop number for your dress, but I don’t want it to look too costumey,” Carmen explained. “I want to go for something soft, structural, and modern, like twenty-first-century pop queen meets eighteenth-century French queen.”
Carolina laughed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I trust you. I know it’ll be gorgeous.”
Carmen walked through the store rejecting satins, taffetas, and lamés with a flick of her wrist. Finally, she settled on a bolt of silk fabric that started out white, then turned into a pale pink halfway through, getting darker and darker until the bottom layer of the bolt was a dark cherry pink.
Carmen and Carolina watched the saleswoman lay out yards of the hand-dyed fabric. Carmen touched it and urged Carolina to follow her lead.
“It’s impeccable,” Carmen commented approvingly. “What do you think?”
“Fabulous,” Carolina agreed, smiling.
“Great! I’ll come back with Patricia on Monday to see what she’d like, but I don’t think your dresses have to match,” said Carmen. “It would better if they just echoed each other in an interesting way.”
“Again, I don’t completely get what you’re saying,” Carolina said, “but I trust you! The dresses will be amazing, I know it.”
A few minutes later, fabric in hand, the two girls walked down the sunny Miami street; the palm trees along the sidewalks provided some welcome shade.
“Okay, that was easy!” Carmen said. “Now for the tougher stuff. I need to go across town to pick up a snow machine for the winter formal. Want to come along?”
Carolina stole a glance at her phone. “As exciting an offer as that is, since I have some extra time, I think I’ll pop by the Blue and Green office.”
Carmen’s heart immediately began to race. She had tried to forget Maxo. Tried to pretend he didn’t cause her knees to go weak or her pulse to race. She had to forget, because he wasn’t hers to lust after. So she did what she usually did when she had no idea about how to handle something. She went for the light and breezy. “Going to see your boyfriend, Maxo?”
Carolina turned and cocked her head; there was a confused expression on her face. “Maxo?” she repeated. “Maxo’s not my boyfriend. I’m crushing on Jean-Luc, the French exchange student. It’s totally hopeless, but—”
The sound of the other girl’s voice faded as Carmen’s heart went from a jog to full-on sprint. This was news. Big news. If Maxo wasn’t Carolina’s boyfriend, then…then what? She didn’t know, but she really wanted to find out.
“So, you’ll be filling up Jean-Luc’s dance card at your quince, huh?” Carmen asked, returning to the conversation. “If you want, we’ll make sure no one else gets a single dance with him. It’s the quince girl’s prerogative to dance with whomever she likes.”
Carolina shook her head. “Jean-Luc won’t be coming to my quince.”
“Is he going back to France early?” Carmen asked, confused.
“Nope,” Carolina said. “He’s here for the entire year. And I know for a fact that his parents are coming to Miami for Christmas.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Carmen wondered.
“Have you seen him?” Carolina asked.
Carmen nodded. She had. “He’s cute. Supercute. In that sort of James Dean way.”
“Exactly,” Carolina said. “Let me explain something about my favorite Frenchman. He lives in a pair of skinny black jeans. I’m not entirely sure that he doesn’t wear the same pair every day. He wears a black leather jacket unless it’s above eighty degrees, and he’s always in a pair of scruffy motorcycle boots. And, oh, yeah, did I mention that he actually rides a motorcycle, as well as a scooter, to school? A baby blue Vespa that his parents sent over from Paris. He doesn’t like the beach. He doesn’t like school dances. He doesn’t like fluffy. In fact, I’m pretty sure he scoffs at girlie-girls. His only passion is the environment, which is what we have in common. The only thing we have in common. I’m the type of girl he wouldn’t even look at twice if not for that. So, I can’t very well have him see me in a big, frothy dress with girlie invites and whatnot. He would never believe I’m an eco-warrior. It would be over before it could even start.”
Carmen wagged her finger and pretended to be offended. “First of all, I’m making your dress. So, trust. It will be fierce, not frothy. Second of all, lighten up a little bit, chica! The quince is your birthday party. And I’m fairly confident that people celebrate their birthdays in France. And third, you have to give yourself more credit. You are pretty fantastic, and he probably knows that. I mean, you can be girlie and a save-the-world type at the same time. There is no rule against that.
“Just like there is no rule that just because you dress all in black, you can’t act green. ¿Comprendes?” said Carmen. Quickly kissing Carolina on the cheek, she added, “I’ve got to run to a meeting with the SoBees, but my advice, chica? Go for it.”
Walking away, she had to wonder if maybe, when it came to Maxo, she should take her own advice.
A few hours later, Jamie was working on special handmade papier-mâché masquerade masks for Patricia and Carolina when she heard frantic knocking on her studio door. She opened it to see Carmen, who was completely freaking out.
“Can you make snow?” Carmen asked, the words coming out in a rush. “Because it’s not a winter formal without real snow. And the SoBees neglected to tell me that if I didn’t rent a snow-making machine by November first, I was bound to be out of luck. And the only one I can get is a model that has to be special-ordered from New York and, oh, yeah, it’s five hundred dollars more than our budget allows.” She finally stopped and took a breath.
Plopping down on the old couch in Jamie’s studio, she added, “Can I move in here? It’s nice here. I can hide out from the entire world and never have to worry about things like quinces and snow machines and winter formal queens.”
“But you’d have to worry about me,” Jamie reminded her. “And I’d have to kick you out because this is my studio, not a flop pad for my friends, no matter how much I love you. So how about another solution. Why don’t you hold a bake sale to raise the money for the snow machine. Or, better yet, a car wash. All the parents who have filthy cars will come, and they tip really well; on a sunn
y Saturday afternoon, you could make five hundred dollars easy.”
Carmen sat up, encouraged. “Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe Carolina has some green ideas for a car wash.”
Not wanting to waste any time, Carmen texted Carolina, who wrote back right away: Go see Maxo. He’s a genius.
Carmen let out a little whoop and stood up. This was a very good development. Very good indeed. She gave Jamie a little hug. “You are the best friend in the whole entire world.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Because I suggested you have a car wash?”
“Something like that,” Carmen answered, closing the studio door behind her. Walking through the Sosa family’s backyard, which was full of wildflowers and eucalyptus trees, it was all that Carmen could do not to sing a little. She hadn’t wanted there to be a disaster with renting the snow machine. Honest to goodness, she wanted things to go smoothly. But a year of planning quinces had taught her that whenever you planned a huge party, there was bound to be at least one disaster. And she couldn’t help but think how lucky it was that her disaster had a solution that led her right to Maxo.
THE FOLLOWING Monday morning at school, Carmen was relieved to see that Carolina and Patricia seemed to be back on good terms. They were at their lockers, which were right next to each other, laughing and comparing notes about their quince dresses. Carmen was tempted to ask what had led to this change, but she decided to leave well enough alone. After all, wasn’t the saying, basically, why fix what wasn’t broken? Catching Carmen’s eye, Carolina held up a swatch of her dress fabric for Carmen to see. “I slept with it underneath my pillow last night,” she called out. “Me encanta this material.”
Patricia laughed and added, “Don’t forget we’re picking out my dress today after school. I need to find something just as fab. I’ll meet you in the quad.”
Carmen smiled and waved. “¡Claro! See you then.”
There was no way on earth that she could forget about her meeting with Patricia, because she was scheduled within an inch of her life—or at least that’s what it felt like these days. She’d set her phone with so many alarms and reminders that, the day before, the minute she got home, her sister Una growled, “Leave the demon phone in the kitchen. Last night, it woke me up at two a.m. When I looked at the message, it said, Reminder: Brush your teeth. Just because you’re going loca, doesn’t mean you have to drag the rest of the world down with you.” While normally Carmen would have liked to argue that her sister was being way too melodramatic, in this case, she was right.
Now at least she was on the school schedule, which actually was a welcome relief. At least someone else had planned that! She was about to race down the hall to her next class, when out of the corner of her eye she noticed that the SoBees had gathered around Patricia’s and Carolina’s lockers.
“Your invite arrived last night. Totally cool,” observed Maya.
“Def,” April said. “I’m so excited about your quince. A masked ball is just so, so chic. My father ordered my dress from New York. It’s a designer original.”
“That’s totally haute,” Dorinda added, approvingly. “Of course, my dress is vintage couture. They’re red-carpet veterans. I will be bringing it to the masked ball.”
“Yeah, well, my dress is a Carmen Ramirez-Ruben original,” Carolina said, holding up a swatch of material. “She’s young, she’s fresh, and you can’t buy her dresses in stores. So, I’ve got you all beat. While you were out shopping, we’ve been busy creating.”
Patricia gave her cousin a high five as Carmen walked down the hall, with a smile on her face that was bigger than Biscayne Bay. Not only had Carolina given her some crazy, unsolicited praise, but the Reinosos’ joint fifteenth birthday and quince bash was turning into what Amigas Inc. desired for every quince they threw: that it be more than a party, that it be something closer to a real cultural event.
The SoBees walked away, debating among themselves as to whether Carolina’s one-of-a-kind dress (albeit one made by a classmate) trumped one from a big-name designer. Just then, Jeff Giles, the sandy blond football star whom Patricia was crushing on, stopped in front of Carolina’s locker.
“I got the invitation to your quince,” he said, his voice deep as he locked eyes with Carolina. “Sounds pretty cool. Make sure you save a dance for me.”
“I’m the quinceañera,” Carolina said, her tone light and friendly. “All I’ve got to make sure to do is be beautiful and have fun.”
Jeff looked as though he appreciated Carolina’s bravado. “So, it’s like that?” he asked playfully.
Carolina gave him a light punch on the shoulder, the way she did with all her buddies. She knew Jeff. He hung in the same circles, but she had always thought that he would be good with Patricia. “What it is, is a double quince, so I think you should make sure to dance with my cousin.”
He gave Patricia the briefest of glances and shrugged. “I’ll think about it. See you later.”
As Jeff walked away, Patricia slammed her locker door, loud enough that Carolina could tell something was wrong.
“Are you okay, prima?” Carolina asked.
“Yeah, just fine,” Patricia grumbled. Then she turned and rushed off to class, trying to hide the hurt in her eyes and the tears that threatened to spill over. That had been one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. She could only imagine what the party would be like.
As she watched her cousin run away, Carolina felt a chill. She had done something wrong. But what?
Later, she thought, when she could get a private moment with all of the Amigas—because she knew she was going to need the wisdom of all three wise chicas—she would ask what was up. Was there something about turning fifteen that made a girl lose her mind? Because ever since they started the countdown to the quince, Patricia had been anything but cool. And Carolina was getting sick of it. Things were crazy stressful for her, too. She needed her prima hermana. She missed her best friend.
The next day, Patricia was back on the warpath. The incident with Jeff had really rattled her, and after stewing over it all night long, she decided that she had to intensify her efforts to win the winter formal crown and show him that she, too, was worthy of his attention. To that end she set up a huge table in the school entryway with a sign that said: PATRICIA’S YOUR QUEEN BECAUSE SHE BRINGS THE HEAT!
When Carolina, Carmen, and Alicia approached the table, they saw that in addition to handing out campaign buttons, she was also passing out tickets to the next Miami Heat game.
Carolina’s eyes grew wide. She loved her prima, but she had had it with Patricia.
Apparently, Carmen agreed. “You can’t give out Miami Heat tickets!” she said. “That’s not campaigning, that’s bribery!”
Alicia nodded. “Come on, Patricia. This is way above the spending limit for a queen campaign.”
But Patricia was defiant. “Numero uno, you guys aren’t the boss of me. Numero dos, since my papi’s law firm represents the Heat, I got the tickets for free. And numero tres, I can share said free tickets with my friends and classmates if I want to.”
The two amigas exchanged worried glances. They were used to dealing with quince-zillas. They knew the meltdowns that occurred when either a girl hated her dress, or when there were a hundred relatives flying in from the Dominican Republic, or when the birthday girl’s family loathed her beloved chambelán. They were experienced in these delicate matters and had handled them all with grace and care. But the on-and-off war between the Reinoso cousins, highlighted by the fight for the winter formal queen title that just coincidentally overlapped with the lead-up to their quince, was brand-new territory; they really wished someone would toss them a road map. But until a quince fairy dropped an instruction manual in their lap, they were on their own.
Carmen tried to reason with Patricia. “Regardless of whether they were free, there’s a line from here to the beach filled with C.G. kids waiting to get their Heat tickets, and I have to say that as a member of the winter formal committ
ee, I’d consider this a form of bribery.”
Patricia smiled sweetly, but her tone was icy when she replied. “Well, report me, and let the principal decide.”
Up to that point, Carolina hadn’t said anything. She had just stood there, eyes wide, her emotions running from hot to cold and back to burning. But now she spoke, her voice full of sadness and resignation. “This has gone too far. I can’t have a quince with her. The party is off.”
By lunchtime, the entire school was aware of the renewed conflict between the cousins; it seemed as though everyone had taken sides. And in the strangest twist of all, the SoBees decided that Patricia was the girl to back. Apparently, they had been very impressed by the ticket stunt.
“I told my dad that if we can’t go to Cabo for Christmas, then we might as well stay home,” the Amigas overheard Patricia saying from the SoBees’ table a few feet away.
“Oh, Cabo sounds nice,” said Dorinda.
“And warm,” April whined as she ate tiny spoonfuls of frozen yogurt. “For whatever reason, my father insists we go to Vail for Christmas every year. I’m a black-diamond-level skier, I admit, but I look much cuter in a bikini than I do in a parka.”
The SoBees all giggled in their usual look at us, we’re laughing way, but it was particularly dispiriting to see Patricia chuckling right alongside them.
Things had gone from bad to worse…much, much worse.
That evening, Alicia, Carmen, and Jamie met to discuss how to save the joint Reinoso quince. They gathered at their favorite thinking spot—Alicia’s family pool. Each girl sat perched on a beach towel at the pool’s edge, bare feet dangling in the water.
“It’s not just the quince,” Carmen said. “These are two cousins who really love each other, and yet they are at each other’s throats.”
“So, how do we get them to work it out?” Alicia asked.
“I have no idea,” Jamie shrugged. “I mean, really? All this drama about being winter formal queen…Am I the only one who’s seen that wicked scary seventies movie Carrie, about the girl with telekinetic powers who wipes out her entire senior class on prom night?”
A Formal Affair Page 9
