A Formal Affair

by Veronica Chambers

  “You’re going to let me change here?” Carmen asked.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Hillary mused.

  They walked to the front desk, where a pretty woman in a sleeveless gold kimono top and a name tag that read millys welcomed them.

  “Miss Ramirez-Ruben is here for an important event tonight, Millys,” Hillary said.

  Carmen was thrilled to hear herself referred to in such a grown-up way.

  “Absolutely,” Millys replied. “I’ll show you to our locker room and get you set up with a robe and slippers.”

  Hillary then said, “Once Miss Ramirez-Ruben is showered and dressed, please take her to see George and Dan.”

  Carmen was confused. “Who are George and Dan?”

  “They’re The Setai’s top hair and makeup artists,” Hillary explained.

  “Oh, no—” Carmen began.

  “Oh, yes,” Hillary insisted. “And one final thing, Millys,” she added. “Please make sure that Miss Ramirez-Ruben does not see a bill.”

  Although Carmen did her best to act professionally with adults, she couldn’t help herself. She gave Hillary a huge hug. “Thank you, thank you, un millón de gracias.” She couldn’t wait to tell Alicia and Jamie. They were going to flip.

  Hillary hugged her back, clearly pleased at being able to give her new young friend such a big treat. “Think nothing of it. VIP treatment for a VIP client.” Then she leaned over and whispered, “Besides, we C. G. High girls have to stick together.”

  As Hillary went back to her office, Carmen followed Millys into the locker room. Once there, Millys set her up with a locker and a robe. The minute the spa attendant was out of sight, Carmen whipped out her phone and began texting her girls: Chilling at the spa at the setai. FYI, the locker room makes the cg high one look like a gas station toilet. LOL.

  Right away, Alicia wrote back: You hanging with the SoBees now?

  Jamie replied: Thanks for inviting me.

  Carmen explained the situation in quick texts. Then she headed over to one of the slate-tiled shower stalls and peeked in. The shower had four spa jets—two on each wall—and a giant rain-forest showerhead. She stepped in and proceeded to take the longest, most luxurious shower of her life.

  Afterward, her hair still soaking wet, Carmen threw on her robe and, with her phone, took a picture of herself in the shower. She texted the picture to her sister Una, who spent hours pouring through photos of celebrity homes in magazines like InStyle.

  But it was Maxo, not Una, who wrote back: Um. Are you trying to tell me something?

  Carmen giggled and texted: Oops! Sorry. Wrong number.

  Normally, she would have been embarrassed, but the same thing had happened to Jamie when she first met Dash. Maybe it was a sign that there was more to come for the two of them. Plus, she didn’t have time for mental flip-out. She had to keep getting ready.

  Millys had suggested that Carmen keep her robe on for hair and makeup, so she padded across the spa lobby to the salon. The room was filled with women her mother’s age having their hair colored, shampooed, and styled. A receptionist led her to a chair in the corner, where she was greeted by two gorgeous men.

  “Hi, I’m George. I do hair,” said the redhead in the softly crinkled white linen shirt.

  “And I’m Dan, I do faces,” said the brunet in the yellow and green Brazilian soccer-team jersey.

  “I’m Carmen,” she said, reaching out to shake each of their hands. “And I do high school.”

  “So, sweetheart,” George began, “you’re young, you’re gorgeous. We couldn’t ask for better raw material. What we need to know is what the story is that you are telling tonight.”

  He sat down next to her and waited, as if preparing to hear a lecture on a very fascinating topic.

  Carmen laughed. “Well, tonight’s our school’s winter formal. We’re having it in the New York Loft upstairs, and I’m on the planning committee. I’m really into fashion, and I designed and made my own dress.”

  “A designer? How fabulous,” George cooed. “We must see the dress.”

  Carmen stood up to go get it, but the men pushed her gently back into the chair.

  “We have staff for that,” George said, winking at Carmen.

  Moments later, a spa attendant returned with Carmen’s dress. It was a classic black minidress, sleeveless, made of Duchess satin. Except that Carmen had sewn a border of hot pink material around the hem.

  “It was inspired by…Carmen began.

  “The Devil Wears Prada,” George said, finishing her sentence. “It’s stunning.”

  “It’s fun,” Dan said, approvingly. “I think we’ve got our story.”

  “Yes,” George said, running a comb through Carmen’s wet hair. “The look we’re going for tonight is Park Avenue Princess.”

  An hour later, Carmen strode into the winter formal feeling every inch a princess. George had washed and styled her hair so that it fell in soft waves around her shoulders. He’d placed a few crystal pins in the back that caught the light and twinkled as she danced. Dan had modeled her makeup on that of the classic movie star, Audrey Hepburn, and her signature style in the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He explained, “Audrey’s look was all about the three Bs: beautiful hair, big eyes, big smile.” He’d even blended a special lip stain just for her, a pink that matched the pink on her dress perfectly. “I call this color Carmen in the City,” Dan said, giving her a small tube of it and a very fancy lipstick brush that he let her keep.

  Despite the star treatment, Carmen felt nervous as she walked through the ballroom. She knew she was being paranoid, but it felt like others kept stealing glances at her. She could have sworn she saw more than one girl point at her. Something was wrong. Was she trailing toilet paper on her shoe? She looked down. Nope. Her black satin pumps were fine. Was her skirt too short? She didn’t think so. She looked around for her amigas and for Maxo, but she didn’t see them anywhere.

  It had been Carmen’s idea to divide the room into four sections, representing different parts of New York City, with the dance floor in the middle. In the “downtown” section, there were high-top tables and metal bistro chairs. The food stations served classic New York dishes: knishes and hot dogs to represent the Lower East Side, dim sum to represent Chinatown, and mini Cubano sandwiches to represent the Latin flavor of Greenwich Village eateries like Café Habana.

  In the Jackson Heights “neighborhood,” a big projector played a Bollywood film against one wall, and an Indian model handed out bindis, tiny jewels that were traditionally worn on the forehead, to all of the girls who wanted one. The food stations served popular Indian dishes like samosas, curries, and a nonalcoholic tamarind cocktail that Carmen had playfully dubbed The Slumdog Millionaire, after the popular film.

  After making sure everything was going smoothly, Carmen went to find her friends. She found Jamie, Gaz, Dash, and Alicia hanging out in the Harlem section of the party. The boys were tearing into plates of fried chicken, and the girls were nibbling on mini crocks of mac and cheese.

  “You look amazing,” Alicia said, rising to give her friend a hug. Alicia was dressed in a Pucci print maxi-dress and gold hoop earrings. Her dark hair fell in perfect ringlets around her shoulders.

  “The Spa Queen emerges,” Jamie teased. Never one to go along with the crowd, Jamie was wearing a white turtleneck, a silver Burberry miniskirt, and a pair of black knee-high Gucci boots. She looked very mod and very cool.

  Dash waved hello, and Gaz stood up to give Carmen a hug. “Domingo has no idea what he’s missing,” Gaz said.

  Alicia slapped him on the shoulder. “Gaz! We don’t mention that name.”

  “Mention what name?” Maxo asked, as he joined the group.

  “Nobody,” Alicia said, rolling her eyes at Gaz.

  “It’s okay,” Carmen said. Then turning to Maxo, she gave him a once-over and smiled broadly. “You wash up nice.”

  Maxo smiled back. “A clean shirt and ironed pants do wonders. But you are
a vision. All of you ladies are. The theme of this party should have been Angels and Mortals.”

  Dash whispered to Jamie, “Who is this guy? Does he talk like this all the time?”

  She smiled and whispered back, “Pretty much.”

  “And do the girls really fall for all this Angels and Mortals talk?” Dash asked.

  Jamie nodded and replied, “Pretty much.”

  The group was soon joined by Carolina and Patricia.

  “Hey, you guys have to check out the Williamsburg section,” Patricia said. “They have brownies and an off-the-hook cherry ice-cream flavor called Brooklyn Bling Bing.”

  “Did somebody say, ‘ice cream’?” Jeff Giles asked as he came by and joined the growing crowd. Judging by the way he looked at Patricia, it was clear that he was no longer on the fence about her. Clearly, she was way more than just a fellow jock to him now.

  Patricia appraised her crush with a newly critical eye. If only he had been into her a little bit sooner. She wasn’t so sure anymore that he was the one. After all, when the dance was over, she’d go back to being regular Patricia. And she liked her regular self and wanted the guy she was with to feel the same way. If she had learned anything from her fight with Carolina, it was that she had a lot to offer. And just because he made her swoon a little, it didn’t mean he was the one. He’d have to prove himself to her now.

  Jean-Luc had shown up and now stood next to Carolina. He gestured toward the dance floor. “I think something’s happening,” he said.

  And sure enough, something was.

  Standing in the middle of the dance floor, Dorinda—dressed in what everyone had to admit was a stunning red gown—was holding a microphone. “In just a few minutes, voting for the winter formal queen will end,” she announced. “And while I speak to you in my capacity as head of the Socials and Benefits Committee, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you that I’m also running for queen. Now, go vote!”

  Standing at the side, Maya and April cheered her on.

  Carmen raised a glass of fruit punch to Carolina and Patricia. “To you! May the best queens win!” All of the girls and their guys joined in the toast. Carolina and Patricia gave each other a confident high five.

  Pulling Carmen aside, Maxo asked, “Do you like ice cream?”

  “I love it,” Carmen answered.

  “Then let’s go to Williamsburg,” he said, offering her his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And for once, Carmen didn’t try to overanalyze. She just went with it.

  They walked hand in hand over to the southern section of the ballroom. It featured a minipark area with park benches, real trees, and a Jamie Sosa mural of the Williamsburg Bridge. Carmen took a seat on the park bench while Maxo went to get ice cream.

  He returned with two little cups of Brooklyn Bling Bing, and they sat side by side. Carmen looked around the room. Dash and Jamie, the best dancers she’d ever seen, were tearing up the dance floor. Gaz and Alicia were watching the Bollywood film in the Jackson Heights section. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the special effects and all the food. She’d planned many quinces, and she’d loved each and every one of them. But the winter formal was different. Thanks to the pure sloth of the SoBees, this was something that Carmen had imagined, and created, almost entirely on her own. As always, Jamie and Alicia had given her good advice, but she’d had to rely on her gut instincts—and that had felt good. When it came time next year to consider colleges, maybe it made sense not to limit her aspirations to just fashion design. Maybe there were other ways to be creative.

  “Are you admiring your handiwork?” Maxo asked, after a few moments of comfortable silence.

  Carmen nodded and smiled.

  “You should be proud. This is like something out of a movie,” Maxo said admiringly.

  Carmen wanted to say, “Well, in a movie, this is the part where you’d kiss me.” But instead, she said, “You were such a huge help, Maxo. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  He leaned forward, in that I’m about to kiss you way, and they were so much in their own world that Carmen did not realize for a few moments that all eyes in the room were now on her. It only dawned on her when she heard Ms. Ingber, who was standing on the dance floor, microphone in hand, call Carmen’s name.

  “Carmen Ramirez-Ruben! Earth to Carmen! Would you please come up here?” Ms. Ingber bellowed into the mike.

  Carmen’s first impulse was panic. There was nothing in the schedule about her speaking. What did Ms. Ingber want? What was going on?

  “Excuse me,” she said, handing Maxo her ice cream. “I’ll be right back.”

  She dashed over, wondering once again why everyone was staring at her. As if in slow motion, Ms. Ingber opened the velvet pouch that she held. Carefully, she took out a crystal-studded tiara and…placed it on Carmen’s head.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Ingber announced. “Please join me in applauding this year’s winter formal queen.”

  Carmen was in shock. “But I’m not even a candidate.”

  Ms. Ingber smiled. “I saw the ballots myself. You’re not only a candidate, you’re the winning candidate.

  Congratulations. Now you have to pick some lucky guy as your king—and for your first dance.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Carmen saw a furious Dorinda exiting the ballroom, followed by an equally annoyed Maya and April. She scanned the room and found Alicia, Jamie, Carolina, and Patricia jumping up and down and cheering in the SoHo section of the room.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Ingber,” Carmen said. “I’m going to need a few minutes before the dance.”

  At her teacher’s nod, she rushed over to her girls. “What is going on?” she demanded. “Did I bump my head? Am I having one of those deluded, hospital-bed dreams?”

  Carolina hooked arms with Carmen. “Last night, Patricia and I were talking. This quest for queen almost ruined our friendship.”

  “Spirit Week was so much fun; it was almost like running together was better than actually winning,” Patricia added.

  “So we began thinking about who should really be queen,” Carolina continued.

  “She had to be beautiful—inside and out,” Patricia said. Gesturing all around the room, she added, “And it only seemed fair that the queen should be someone who worked her butt off on behalf of the entire school.”

  “So we started a write-in campaign,” said Carolina, who held up her phone and showed Carmen a text that read: Winter formal queen secret alert! write in your vote for Carmen Ramirez-Ruben; she’s cool, she’s kind, she’s the heart of c. g. high. Text this to a friend (or 2, or 3…)

  As Carmen stood staring at the text in disbelief, Hillary Mantel approached the group. “Congratulations, chica!” she exclaimed, giving her a huge hug.

  Turning to face the amigas, Carolina, and Patricia, Hillary said, “That was one powerful text.” She held up her phone. “It even made it to former C. G. High students.”

  Carmen’s eyes widened. “That’s why you hooked me up with George and Dan.”

  Hillary shook her head. “No, I hooked you up because you’re awesome. But I secretly hoped that you’d be topping off their handiwork with a crown.”

  “You are the queen, fíjate,” Alicia said. “Woo-hoo!”

  “Speaking of which, aren’t you supposed to be doing some kind of dance?” Jamie asked.

  Maxo! In the madness of it all, Carmen had momentarily forgotten all about him.

  She found him sitting just where she’d left him—on the park bench in Williamsburg.

  “Your ice cream melted, so I threw it away,” Maxo said, solemnly.

  “I’m so sorry. I was, I still am, completely in shock. I wasn’t even running for queen,” Carmen explained.

  “I know,” Maxo said, holding up his phone to show the secret text. “I might have been the one who hacked into the C. G. High database and sent it to every student in the system. And I might have been the one who borrowed your phone this morning and deleted the t
ext so you wouldn’t see it.”

  “You did?” Carmen had been fighting back tears—though she wasn’t sure that this was a fight she would win.

  “I did,” Maxo said, smiling.

  “Well, then, I guess I owe you one. Will you dance with me?” Carmen asked.

  “I will,” he replied.

  He led her out to the dance floor, and as they approached, all the couples who had been moving and grooving cleared the space.

  Jamie ran over. “The DJ wants to know what song you want to dance to,” she said.

  Carmen didn’t hesitate. “Moon River.”

  Jamie smiled and went to convey the queen’s instructions.

  “I don’t know that song,” Maxo said, as he placed one hand on her shoulder and one on her hip.

  Carmen shivered a little at his touch, but confidently leaned in and pressed her cheek against his. “It’s from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, one of my favorite movies. I’ll show it to you if you like.”

  “How about tomorrow? Could I come over tomorrow?” Maxo asked.

  “Tomorrow is good,” she replied, as the first notes of the song filled the room.

  As they swayed to the music, she thought of George and Dan and their question: “What story do you want to tell tonight?” Breakfast at Tiffany’s had been her inspiration. But she had been wrong. This story, this fairy tale, was completely her own. And it was completely wonderful.

  WHOEVER said that lightning doesn’t strike twice had never encountered the awesome powers of Amigas Inc.

  A week after the winter formal, it was time for Carolina and Patricia’s joint quince. Carmen woke up, and, as she had done every day for the past week, she shook her hair out and put on her tiara. She only wore it while she brushed her teeth and ate breakfast. But the little silvery crown made her smile, and she felt bathed in the love of her best friends—Alicia and Jamie—as well as her new friends, Carolina and Patricia.

  It was six a.m. on a Saturday morning, which meant that Carmen’s household—loud and rambunctious a little later in the day—was silent and sleeping.