Point Me to Tomorrow

by Veronica Chambers

  Everyone seemed surprised that someone as young as Alicia could have her own business.

  “Excuse me,” a woman named Terri, who owned a Pilates studio, said, “but would it be rude for me to ask your age?”

  Alicia smiled. “Not at all. I’m seventeen.”

  “And how long have you had this business?” Dave wondered.

  “For two years,” Alicia replied.

  “Impressive!” Dave said brightly.

  “Have you ever thought of taking your quince business national?” asked Lily, who owned the cupcake shop. “My sister lives in San Antonio, and I know they could use something like this out there.”

  All of a sudden, Alicia felt the pride that had been eluding her since the beginning of senior year. Maybe she didn’t have the musical talent that Gaz had; she certainly didn’t have Jamie’s artistic gifts; and she couldn’t sketch or sew like Carmen (then again, who could?). But what she’d done with the help of her oh-so-talented friends was to start a business that could actually go national, a business that could potentially last a very long time.

  The group chatted for a few minutes, and then Mr. Stevens interrupted. “Okay, people, now it’s time to do the work,” he announced. “Your first exercise is a pop-up.” As if it were the easiest thing in the world, he jumped onto the sand, landed in a full push-up, and from there, jumped back to a standing position. “That is essentially how you stand up on a surfboard.

  “Now, everybody try it,” he suggested cheerfully.

  They did, and, from the sloppy scrambles to the ground, coupled with a few real moans and groans, Alicia could tell that everyone found the exercise quite as difficult as she did.

  The beach was getting more crowded, and soon the would-be surfers were sharing their turf with couples out together for an early-morning stroll and others walking their dogs. Alicia tried to fight her self-consciousness.

  Mr. Stevens asked the group, “So, where did you feel that exercise?”

  People called out answers ranging from “my legs” to “my hips” to, oddly enough, “my ankles.”

  Mr. Stevens pointed to his stomach. “Where you should be feeling it is right here. Surfing is all about using your core. And this is where what you learn on the board will help you become chairman or chairwoman of the board. Because in business, as in life, you’ve got to trust your gut.” Then he said, “Okay, folks, give me fifteen pop-ups.”

  Alicia did ten pop-ups and thought her arms would drop off, or her legs, or both.

  Next thing she knew, she was in the ocean, sitting on top of her board and gazing out at the horizon. The sound of the bright blue waves echoed the churning that she felt inside. There was so much to think about: the future of Amigas Inc.; her relationship with Gaz; college…As she paddled out further, she considered Mr. Stevens’s recommendation: Trust your gut. Alicia felt that his message had been for her and only her. Was her gut telling her something that she had been trying hard to ignore? She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Suddenly, she knew. Harvard was her first-choice school. That was where she wanted to be. Not because it was where her parents had gone or because it was where everyone expected her to go, but because it was the best place for a young entrepreneur like herself. She was so happy she wanted to hug Mr. Stevens.

  The group had barely gotten the hang of paddling out when the two-hour class was over.

  Afterward, Mr. Stevens, all grins, asked her, “So, what do you think? You didn’t want to come, did you? I really wasn’t sure you would show up.”

  Alicia looked shyly down at her bare feet. “I think I loved it. And you were right about learning to read the waves. Out on the water, I suddenly felt so strong and calm. I’ve been struggling for so long to decide which college felt like the best fit for me, and now I know for certain that Harvard is my first choice.”

  Mr. Stevens crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well, that’s interesting news. You know, I get my best ideas when I’m out in the ocean.”

  Alicia nodded. She wasn’t ready to ride a giant just yet; she was more a baby-stepping surfing wannabe. But she’d gone beyond her comfort zone, and that small move had made everything else seem possible. “I know it here,” she said, pointing to her stomach. “In my gut. I also don’t want to apply just to Ivy League schools. I want to target schools that will help me nurture my creativity and business skills. Schools that have innovative programs where I can meet cool people like I met today.”

  Mr. Stevens patted her on the shoulder. “Alicia, girl, I think you just caught your first big wave.”

  Later that morning, Alicia arrived at home to find her parents swimming in the pool. It always surprised her to see them just chilling like a couple of teenagers. Her parents usually just sat by the pool. Her father liked to read international newspapers on his Kindle, and her mother was surgically attached to her BlackBerry. But for Marisol and Enrique Cruz to be in their swimsuits, in the water? Not so much.

  Alicia kicked off her flip-flops and sat at the edge of the pool, letting her legs dangle in the water.

  “¡Hola, gente!” she announced, beckoning to her parents the way her father had used to call out to her and her brother when he wanted to get their attention.

  They swam over, amused expressions on their faces.

  “I have an announcement,” Alicia proclaimed. “Harvard has a joint BA/MBA program that I’m really excited about. It’s going to be my first-choice school.”

  Her mother was smiling so broadly that Alicia couldn’t help teasing her. “Mom, relax! You look like one of those Botoxed South Beach ladies.”

  Marisol Cruz splashed her, despite the fact that Alicia was fully dressed, in a very cute boatneck T and denim shorts.

  “Can’t a mother be proud?” her mom asked.

  Alicia blushed. “Mom, for real, chill. Let me get into Harvard first.”

  Her father might not have been a practicing lawyer anymore, but he still knew how to cross-examine a witness. “Lici,” he ventured, “you’ve been so secretive about college applications. Is there something we should know?”

  Alicia sighed. She remembered how brave she had felt paddling out on her rented longboard into the big blue ocean, and she knew she was brave enough, finally, to tell her parents the truth.

  “Hey, I don’t want to turn this into some big, deep moment,” she began, “but the truth is I’ve been really conflicted about applying to Harvard. You guys are so successful; it’s a lot to live up to. I’ve been fighting Harvard, because I didn’t want to just follow in your footsteps. I wanted to achieve something on my own.”

  Her parents looked shocked, as if they had just spotted her on TV in some “Secret Life of Teenagers” documentary special.

  “Lici!” her father exclaimed. “You are seventeen years old and you’ve started a business that grosses more than I made my first year out of college.”

  Her mother put on a robe and sat down next to her at the edge of the pool. Reflexively, Alicia rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.

  “You are a complete original,” her mother said. “There’s no limit to what you can do. Your father and I have been fortunate. We’ve done well, and we’re grateful for that. But our dream was never just to give you and your brother a fancy house with a swimming pool. Our goal—our desire—was to have enough to give you choices, to show you all the possibilities the world has to offer. But with your quince business, you have shown us what our own culture and heritage have to offer.”

  In spite of herself, Alicia started crying. Her mother joined her. Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia could see that her father was tearing up, too. “Are you crying, Papa?” she asked.

  Enrique dived underneath the water and spiraled back up to the surface. “I’m not crying,” he sniffed.

  Then, in a more serious tone, he said to his daughter, “You are my best gift.”

  Alicia, ever the little sister, asked, “What about Alex?”

  Her father guffawed. �
�When he comes home from college and mows the lawn, he can be my best gift, too.”

  That night, before she went to sleep, Alicia texted all of her friends.

  The message read: Big announcement. Figured out my college dream. Applying to Harvard, their joint ba/mba program rocks. Next step: amigas inc. omnimedia.

  She hit send with an excited flourish. It felt so good just to be putting the idea out there.

  Carmen wrote: Love it, amiga!

  Gaz wrote: Boston or bust, mi amor!

  Maxo wrote: We’ll all be working for you one day. (the title I want is: chief technical officer.)

  And of course, Jamie had to put her sassy spin on the whole thing: You and Harvard are like peanut butter and jelly. No-brainer, Lici.

  It was fabulous, Alicia thought as she crawled into bed. Now, all she had to do was get accepted.

  A FEW WEEKS LATER, Alicia’s college drama had calmed down considerably. Alicia and her friends had gotten through the SATs, and while they’d all found them harder than the practice tests, they were all fairly confident that they’d done well. With the help of Mr. Stevens, Alicia had not only stood up for a whole ten seconds on her longboard, she’d also added UC Berkeley, NYU, and the University of Michigan to the list of colleges she was applying to. With their applications well under way, the girls were finally about to turn their attention back to the mystery quince. This was good, because during the last week of October, they received an e-mail from Julia Centavo:

  Dear Amigas Inc.,

  We are looking forward to receiving the detailed proposal for my client’s quince on November 1st, as promised. We trust that you’ve had a good semester. The young woman I work for has been very busy, but now her schedule has cleared and we hope to get biweekly check-ins from your team for her review.

  Cordialmente,

  Julia Centavo

  It was October 30, and the three partners in Amigas Inc. were embarrassed to admit that in the rush of schoolwork, college applications, and, in Alicia’s case, surfing lessons, they had, uncharacteristically, neglected to do almost any work on Carmela Ortega’s quince. It was time to move into high gear. With this in mind, Alicia texted Carolina and Patricia Reinoso: Chicas, hope you’ve found some good potentials for us because we need help and fast!

  Carolina Reinoso wrote back right away: Can you meet us at the quad after school? 3 pm?

  Alicia answered: Claro, see you then.

  At three P.M. sharp, Alicia, Jamie, and Carmen arrived at their favorite bench in the quad, to find that Carolina and Patricia were already there. The normally casual and relaxed Reinoso girls were both formally dressed in pin-striped pants and button-down shirts. They both looked nervous.

  Jamie, never one to beat around the bush, prodded them. “Is there a problem? Because my Spidey sense is telling me something is up.”

  Patricia took a deep breath and said, “We read each and every application—all two hundred sixty-seven of them. And we want to be perfectly honest: there were a few decent candidates….”

  Carolina jumped in. “But we don’t think you should hire any of them. You should hire us.”

  Alicia, Carmen, and Jamie were more than surprised. While they had all enjoyed the friendship that had developed with the Reinoso cousins over the past few months, they still put them in the category of fabulous former clients, like Dash’s sister, Binky Mortimer.

  Jamie was immediately and categorically against the idea. “But you guys are our friends. What we’re looking for is minions—worker bees! Sophomores who will be at our beck and call! Girls whom we could easily cut loose if they don’t work out. Hiring you two is definitely not what I had in mind.” Pouting, she took a seat on the opposite bench. Then, as was her wont, she took out her iPhone and began texting Dash.

  Alicia turned to Carmen and asked, “What do you think?”

  Carmen thought for a moment and then turned to the younger girls. “Well, I love you both, and not just because you campaigned to have me elected queen of the winter formal last year! But part of the reason we were aiming for sophomores was that we wanted to pick people who could run the business for two years. When you graduate next year, we’ll be right back where we started.”

  Carolina sighed. “We know. And that’s a totally valid point.”

  Patricia turned to Jamie. “And I feel you, chica. I kind of would love to have some sophomore underlings myself.”

  Carolina continued, “But as we read the applications, we couldn’t help but think that Amigas Inc. isn’t just some school club that is run out of the activities office with an interchangeable string of elected leaders. This is a serious business, and it’s a serious opportunity. Honestly, I don’t think you want minions. I think you want business partners, people who can represent both you and the cultural institution of quinceañeras. We would do that.”

  Carmen tugged at Alicia’s sleeve. “So what do you think, Alicia? You’re the head chica in charge.”

  Alicia paused. It was flattering, really, that girls as cool as Carolina and Patricia wanted to be part of the business. But she had questions, lots of them. “Patricia, you’re the star of the school basketball team, and Carolina, you’re a cheerleader and head of the environmental club. How will you juggle Amigas Inc. with the rest of your extracurricular activities and school?”

  Carolina said, “Part of what’s so attractive to us about this opportunity is that it’s a chance for us to distinguish ourselves next fall, when we’re in your position, applying for colleges. Patricia’s got more going on than I do. She’s a talented athlete. But at the end of the day, there are hundreds of high school basketball players, cheerleaders, and school club presidents applying to college every year. How many of those students can say that they are also successful entrepreneurs?”

  Alicia nodded. She loved to hear other people talk about how great the Amigas Inc. business was. She felt that, if she said it, she’d have been bragging about herself and her friends. But when someone like Carolina, or Serena Shih from Harvard, said it, that was totally different—it was indicative of how meaningful the work really was.

  Patricia chimed in, “We’ve been looking for a project we can work on together. To tell you the truth, when we were growing up, we spent nearly every waking hour running in and out of each other’s houses. Then we came to high school, and it’s like we live in different worlds. But the fact is, we love our Latina heritage, we want to learn more about different cultural traditions, and working on Amigas Inc. seems like a great way to bring all of that together.”

  Alicia started to speak. “Well—”

  But Patricia interrupted her. “Wait, there’s more! We’d like to offer to take the lead on the mystery quince, under your supervision. And if you find us lacking, then no harm, no foul. You’ll have the whole spring semester to find some different successors.”

  Carolina reached into her very stylish tote bag and took out three folders. She gave one to each of the amigas.

  “What’s this?” Alicia asked.

  Carolina explained. “It’s a proposal for Carmela Ortega’s quinceañera, with suggested themes, venues, colors, favors, catering, stationery options…”

  Alicia flipped through the proposal. It seemed very thorough, but she was beginning to think it was awkward to discuss the pros and cons of handing the business over to Carolina and Patricia right in front of them.

  She looked up at the cousins and said, “This is amazing; thank you. But I think the executive committee needs to meet—”

  Jamie stopped texting and asked, “Wait a second, who’s the executive committee?”

  Carmen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “She means us! You, me, and Lici.”

  Jamie returned to her phone mumbling, “Oh, yeah, right.”

  Alicia smiled at Carolina and Patricia. “Excuse my friend. Her boyfriend’s away at college, and it’s like she just discovered social networking. Give us a chance to meet and discuss these ideas. Carmela Ortega is a very important client, and
we have to weigh all of this carefully.”

  Carolina stood up and extended her hand for Alicia to shake. “Thank you for your consideration.”

  Alicia resisted the urge to laugh. Even more than Patricia, it was clear that Carolina was taking the whole enterprise superseriously. Although Carolina was an A student and spearheaded the environmental club, the students of C.G. clearly saw her as the popular blond cheerleader, an identity that was not completely to her liking. Alicia understood that Carolina viewed working for Amigas Inc. as an opportunity to prove that she was more than just a pretty, perky girl. Alicia could respect that. After all, hadn’t part of what drove her to create the business been the desire to show that she was more than the sheltered daughter of two supersuccessful Miami professionals?

  The amigas had barely walked away when Carolina came running after them. “One more thing,” she said, slightly out of breath. She reached into her bag and grabbed three more folders. “I know you guys need options. Here’s a list of our top twelve choices among the applicants, with our assessments of their strengths, weaknesses, and what they could offer Amigas Inc.”

  Now Alicia was really impressed. A studied analysis of the competition was not something most girls would offer up. It was one thing to put together a proposal for a quince. Every girl she’d known, especially those who’d had big quinceañera celebrations, relished the idea of giving advice about someone else’s big day. In a way, it was a chance to relive the celebration, making new and different choices. Sometimes, Alicia thought the reason she got so crazily possessive about the business was that she was the only one in the group who’d never had a quinceañera.

  Way back when she was fourteen, she’d made the decision to take a trip to Spain with Carmen and her family to celebrate her fifteenth birthday, rather than have a big, expensive party. At the time, she had attended literally dozens of corny quinces with girls who wore too much makeup and took the whole occasion as an excuse to get dolled up in big poufy dresses with more layers than a wedding cake. She hadn’t known back then how cool a quince could be. Ever since, as she had helped her friends and clients plan theirs, she was always a little sorry that, back when it had been time for her special day, she hadn’t thought to break with tradition, to do the kind of modern and meaningful ceremony for which Amigas Inc. was now so well known.