A Formal Affair (10 page)

Patricia's posters, which featured Jamie's famous graffiti-style print against a Miami skyline, read:

IF SKILLZ ARE WHAT YOU WANT
,

PATRICIA'S GOT GAME.

IF YOU WANT TO SHAKE THINGS UP,

THEN PATRICIA IS THE NAME.

It didn't take long for the halls of C. G. High to start buzzing with whispers about the increased tension between the cousins. It was the school's own personal
telenovela
. Sides were clearly being drawn; Patricia's participation further confused matters, while disbelief was felt by many in the wake of Carolina's suddenly aggressive campaign style. All in all, the campaign was definitely shaking things up, and whether the
amigas
liked it or not, they were smack-dab in the middle of it.

It was time to put an end to the insanity. Or at least try.

After school, Patricia and Carolina met Alicia, Carmen, and Jamie in the library for a
quince
meeting. “Okay, guys, we really need to focus,” Alicia began. “Put aside your fight for right now and think about your party. There is still a lot to do and just a few weeks left to do it. So, I had an idea. While each girl will have her court of
damas
, why don't we up the mystery quotient of the masked-ball theme and just not have any
chambelanes
?”

Patricia shook her head. “No dudes? No way!”

“I hate to say it, but Patricia's right,” Carolina concurred. “We're not at an all-girls school; we've got to have guys.”

“Hold up, hold up,” Alicia interjected. “I didn't make myself clear. Of course there'll be guys at the
quince
. I'm not
loca
.”

She then explained that, starting in the nineteenth century at masked balls in Venice, women carried intricately decorated dance cards, which men would sign. At the Reinosos'
quince
, they would take this tradition and spin it. The entire ball would be a ladies' choice, with
guys
carrying the dance cards and girls picking the boys they wanted to partner with for each dance. If either cousin had a favorite, she could fill up his entire dance card. If not, she could play the field, embracing the fact that as a young woman, she could make her own decisions.

When she was done explaining, all the girls looked impressed.

“I like it,” Patricia said finally, with a firm nod.

“I
love it
,” Carolina said, enthusiastically.

“Me, too,” added Carmen.

“It's
fresh
,” Jamie noted, bestowing her highest compliment on the idea.

Jamie pulled up an image of an old-fashioned dance card on her iPhone and showed it to the group. “I love it. But here's a thought: what if I design the cards to have fifteen dances, and whoever you each choose to dance the fifteenth dance with is your
chambelán
of honor?”

“It's genius,” Patricia and Carolina crooned simultaneously. For the first time in a long time, they entirely agreed on something: without a doubt, their
quince
was going to be the most elegant, most intriguing ball the town had ever seen. Now, if only the two cousins could get to the big night without scratching each other's eyes out.

THE NEXT MORNING
, all of the juniors were called into the auditorium for assembly. Alicia and Carmen walked in together. Alicia was wearing a denim bustier, black silk harem pants, and platform shoes that were hand-me-downs from her superstylish mom. Carmen was dressed in one of her own creations—a white halter-topped jumpsuit with a fitted dark denim blazer over it.

“How much do I love assembly?” Alicia asked. “If this goes long enough, I'll not only miss Russian lit, but part of AP biology, too.”

Carmen looked surprised. “Come on, Lici, you're Miss four-point-oh GPA. I would think you would hate skipping classes.”

As the students rushed in and filled the auditorium, Alicia pouted. “I know. I know. When it comes to the GPA, I'm rocking it. But if one more teacher says, ‘Fun and games are over. Every grade counts for your college application now,' I'm going to scream! I don't want the fun and games to be over. We spent so much of sophomore year juggling school and building up Amigas Inc. I feel like the fun is just starting.”

“Hey, Alicia,” Gaz called out. Tanned and handsome in an ocean blue button-down, he gestured toward the seats next to him.

Carmen followed her friend over to him. But by the time they got there, there was only one seat available.

Carmen pushed Alicia toward it. “Sit with your boyfriend,
chica
.”

Alicia looked uncertain. “I don't want you to go solo.”

Carmen laughed. “It's only an assembly.” She'd survive. And she would. Ever since her talk with her ex, she had been fine about the Domingo situation. He was away at college. She had just turned sixteen. It'd be fun to be single for a little while.

Walking toward the back of the auditorium, she scanned the rows, looking for a place to sit. There was Jamie, seated with the new art teacher, Ms. Bagley. The two of them looked to be involved in an intense discussion. Carmen guessed it was probably about something unbelievably old-school and esoteric, like Michelangelo or Gustav Klimt. While Jamie liked to play the hood card, the longer her friends knew her, the more it became apparent that she was equal parts South Bronx tough girl and art nerd. They'd made that discovery when the whole crew had gone to New York after Carmen's
quince
for a visit and Jamie had insisted on making their first priority a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Five hours after entering, they were all ready to gouge their eyes out, but Jamie was just getting started.

Carmen was still looking for a seat when she heard her name called. “Carmen, sit with us!” Even before she turned around, she knew it was Dorinda and the SoBees. She tried to pretend she hadn't heard them and kept looking. She could hear the principal, Mrs. Richards, addressing the room. “Everyone, please take a seat,” she said, her voice booming over the microphone. “It's not a school dance. It's assembly. If you're separated from your friends, rest assured, they'll be waiting for you at lunchtime in your prearranged meeting places.”

Then another voice called her name. “Carmen, over here!” She looked and saw that Carolina, in the middle of the center section, was gesturing to her.

Despite the fact that this meant squeezing past a dozen annoyed classmates, Carmen shimmied down the row and took the seat next to Carolina.

“Thanks,” Carmen whispered. “You saved me from the SoBees.”

Carolina smiled. “Glad I could help.” Then she gestured to the cute boy sitting next to her and whispered, “Do you know Maxo? He's the brains behind Blue and Green.”

Maxo looked embarrassed. “Well, that's not true. But if I'm the brains, Carolina is the heart. She really cares about the environment.”

Maxo was Haitian American; he had cocoa brown skin and a short curly Afro. While Mrs. Richards went on and on about the dos and don'ts of using personal electronic devices in school, Carmen answered texts from Alicia and stole glances at Maxo. He was super-cute and seemed supersmart. She wondered why she hadn't noticed him before. But then she remembered that she'd been focused on Domingo. And it didn't matter anyway, as clearly, having an interest in him was out of the question, since he and Carolina seemed to be an item. Their foreheads almost touched as they whispered excitedly about carbon footprints, roof gardens, and how cool it would be if all of the school's floors were done in sustainable bamboo.

As the assembly dragged on, Carmen came to a rather startling revelation.

True, she had been honest with her friends when she told them she didn't feel the slightest pang when she saw Jamie with Dash or Alicia with Gaz. But she sincerely hoped that her new
amiga
and client didn't ask her to hang out with her often, because every time Carmen looked at Maxo, pangs were all she felt. It seemed that somewhere between sitting down and now, Carmen had developed a serious crush.

After the assembly was over, Carmen gave Carolina a quick hug. “So, we're meeting tonight about your
quince
, right?”

“Yep,” Carolina replied. “At Las Ramblas. See you at seven.”

“Nice to meet you, Maxo,” Carmen said, trying to sound casual.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, holding her hand as if he were a character in an old-fashioned movie—as if he might kiss it. “May we walk you to your class? What way you headed?”

Carmen could feel her knees buckling.
May we walk you to your class?
Wow! He was such a gentleman! How nice of him to be so concerned about the earth, because he was clearly from another planet. No boys she knew, not even Domingo, were this polite.

“I'm going over to the Humanities floor: Latin American lit,” Carmen answered.

“How unfortunate,” Maxo replied. “Carolina and I have oceanography. And…”

Carolina looked at her watch. “And it's all the way over in the annex. We're going to be late if we don't hurry.”

Carmen waved good-bye and then walked slowly down the hall. She felt as if she were in one of those music videos where the girl singer is standing on a corner in New York City and all the people around her are moving so fast that they seem to be just flashes of light. Fast-moving balls of light: that was what all the students looked like to her as she walked down the hall. It was as though Carmen had been hit and pushed out of orbit. All because she had just met this guy—this
obviously
taken guy—and he had held her hand.

She had to fight the urge not to break out into a cheesy love song, not to start humming a Leona Lewis tune or something by Miranda Cosgrove.

Suddenly, she felt an arm on her shoulder, and she jumped, startled. Turning, she saw that it was Jamie. They had Latin American lit together.

“Didn't you hear me call you,
chica
?” Jamie asked.

Carmen shook her head.

Jamie looked at her quizzically. “You have the strangest expression on your face. What's the
qué pasa
?”

Carmen smiled. “I was just thinking that I might start singing a song.”

Her friend sighed. “Like I said, strange. Why don't you sing us an excuse for the principal's office? Because the bell rang five minutes ago. And you know Señora Gonzalez won't let us into class without a late pass.”

But even the stern lecture she got from Señora Gonzalez upon entering the class late couldn't burst the happiness bubble in Carmen's heart. All afternoon, she kept thinking about Maxo. That morning, when she'd gotten out of bed, she hadn't even known he existed. But now, he was in her thoughts…for better or worse.

THAT SATURDAY
, Carolina and Carmen met in order to shop for the material needed for the
quince
dresses. For Carolina, it was an adventure—traveling to Miami's design district, where bargain prices reigned, on everything from buttons to bed frames. The district was well known to the city's interior designers and retailers, but most high school students never had any reason to enter the big warehouselike buildings that stood in this part of the city.

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 sunny 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.