Fifteen Candles (6 page)

“It's Mexican for ‘the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire,'” Gaz said, winking at Sarita.

“So, what's the plan for my
quince
?” Sarita asked, getting back on topic.

“Well, first and foremost,” Alicia said. “You need a theme. A theme is what makes a
quince
hot.”

“Or not,” Jamie added.

“And while Amigas is brand-new,” Alicia said, “rest assured, there is one kind of
quince
we don't do….”

“Princess
quinces
!” Alicia, Carmen, and Jamie said in unison.

“That's a shame,” Sarita said, feigning disappointment. “Because I…am
nobody's
princess.”

“What are you into?” Gaz asked, trying to stay on track.

Sarita shrugged. “Well, I love reggaeton.”

“That's music, not a theme,” Jamie said, reaching across the table for the pitcher of horchata that the waitress had left at their request.

“And I
love
Cuban food,” Sarita said.

“That's catering, not a theme,” Carmen said, passing around a plate of steaming hot sweet
platanos
that were fresh from the pan.

“I'm starting to think that maybe being a princess isn't so bad,” Sarita said.

“No, we can do better than princess,” Alicia said. “You're really into environmentalism, right? We could do a green
quince
.”

Everyone at the table made a slightly disgusted face.

“I'm not a girl, so maybe my opinion doesn't count,” Gaz said. “But something about a green
quince
makes me think about leprechauns and…”

“Green horchatas,” Jamie added.

“And a green
quince
cake,” Carmen said, sticking her tongue out. “Yuck.”

“Y'all are being way too literal,” Alicia said.

The waitress put down a huge platter of pressed sandwiches and for a moment, there was silence as everyone tucked in, their mouths full of ham, pickles, grainy mustard, and melted cheese.

Finally Sarita spoke. “You know, the thing is that environmentalism is really just my gateway hobby.”

“What's that even mean?” Jamie asked.

“It means that I want to protect the ozone layer, because I need it to be there for me to break through it.”

Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Please explain.”

“I plan on studying rocket science so I can travel on a spaceship for NASA someday,” Sarita said matter-of-factly. “It's the only thing I've ever wanted to do with my life. I love everything about outer space.”

Alicia smiled. “That's pretty cool. I'm impressed.” She was busy writing in her notebook but suddenly looked up and said, “That's
it
, Sarita. You should have a space-themed
quince
.”

“It would be different,” Gaz said.

“Different is good,” Carmen said, encouragingly.

“Except when it's not,” Jamie countered.

“Come on, guys,” Alicia said. “When are we not fabulous? We can do this.”

Alicia put her ideas notebook in the middle of the table and began drawing. “Picture this. A stage covered in silver balloons, to represent the surface of the moon. The backdrop is black, with the Milky Way galaxy shown in detail.”

Alicia showed Sarita the quick sketches.

“It's beautiful,” Sarita said.

“Stage right, we have a silver rocket,” Alicia went on.

“But not made out of tinfoil,” Sarita said. “Because that would be so tacky.”

“Don't worry,” Carmen said. “We don't do tacky.”

Alicia shook her head. “No, we don't. A silver rocket, made by my genius brother,” Alicia said. “Most definitely not made of tinfoil.

“We hook you up to a harness, and instead of descending from a platform, like some
quinces
do,” Alicia went on, “you're lying flat on the ground, beneath the balloons. Then we lift you with the harness, because there's zero gravity on the moon.”

“And maybe we do sort of a reveal,” Carmen suggested, growing excited. “You're dressed in a white lab coat in the beginning, with thick black horn-rimmed glasses—like a scientist.” She grabbed Alicia's notebook and made a quick sketch. “Then we lift you into the air, and, backstage, you ditch the robe and the glasses, to reveal something like this,” she went on. She had drawn a beautiful minidress with diamond-shaped sequins across the bodice.

“See, the sequins are kind of like stars in the night sky, but subtle,” she explained. “And it could be silver tulle, to give it a lighter-than-air look.”

“Me encanta,”
Sarita said. She had a “pinch me, I must be dreaming” grin on her face. “
This
is the hotness. Can I take the sketch to show my mom? She's going to freak.”

“Uh-oh,” Carmen chimed in.

“No, I mean, freak in a good way,” Sarita said.

Carmen took out her colored pencils and quickly copied what she had drawn earlier. “Here,” she said, handing Sarita the page. “This one's for you.”

“I love it,” Sarita said. Then she glanced at her watch. “But I'd better go. My mom is picking me up at two, and I want to run into the store next door before she comes. So, what's next?”

“We've only got four weeks until your
quince
, which is, by the way, bananas,” Alicia said, smiling. “You'll meet with me first, and we'll make a checklist of all the details. Carmen will start fitting your dress, and we'll start dance rehearsals.”

“Don't forget, we've got to talk about hair and makeup,” Jamie said. “How do you feel about extensions?”

Sarita shrugged. “I'm kind of on the short side. Do you think they'd look good?”

“You'd look good in anything,” Carmen said. “And let's not forget invitations. As soon as we secure the venue, Jamie will make you the most amazing handmade invitations. We've got to get those out as soon as possible. We don't have that much time.”

“Fantástico,”
Sarita said. “Who would've thought that I could move to Miami and less than a month later meet a posse of cool girls who would help me plan my
quince
.”

“Hey, I'm not a girl,” Gaz protested.

“No arguments there,” Sarita said, winking as she got up to leave.

When Sarita was gone, Gaz excused himself and went to the restroom.

“Does everyone in the world have a crush on Gaz?” Carmen asked those who remained at the table.

“Well there is someone here who definitely does,” Jamie said, looking over Alicia's head and pretending to speak exclusively to Carmen. She smiled slyly. “Alicia is, like, this undercover, shy girl. Loud, friendly, the life of the party, but she won't tell one of her best friends that she has feelings for him.”

“Hello! Sitting right here,” Alicia said.

“Tell him,” Carmen urged. “We don't have boyfriends, but
you
don't have to be single.”

“What if he doesn't like me back?” Alicia asked in a serious tone. “Then I'll have ruined a perfectly good friendship.”

“Trust me, he likes you back,” Carmen said.

Gaz reappeared and caught the tail end of the conversation. “Who likes who back?”

“Jamie,” Alicia said, her cheeks turning bright red. “She's crushing on this guy at work.”

That, she thought, had been too close.

ON MONDAY
, Alicia brought the album of pictures from her
quince
trip in to work to show Sarita. Apart from their coffee runs for Lori and occasional trips to the copy machine, they were getting no internship work done. They spent the entire day talking
quinceañera
.

Alicia was surprised at how much she enjoyed telling Sarita about the way she'd spent her fifteenth. “My parents said I could bring a friend, so I invited Carmen to join us.”

Alicia explained that her birthday had been on December 16 and that they had left for Spain the day after Christmas. She and Carmen had laughed and gossiped throughout the plane ride over. They'd watched
Flashdance
on Alicia's portable DVD player, and then they'd watched
Ocean's Eleven
, because it was Carmen's favorite flick.

Alicia told Sarita how in Barcelona, they had hung out every evening on the Rambla, the big main street that had a huge sidewalk down the middle with all kinds of performers, cafés, and flower shops.

“It's like something out of a movie,” Sarita said, looking through the photos. “You look like Penélope Cruz in
Vicky
Cristina Barcelona
.”

“Well, I hope I'm not that crazy!” Alicia said.

“You know what I mean, and
fíjase!
the boys in these pictures are so-o-o-o-o cute!” Sarita giggled.

Alicia explained that she and Carmen had a blast pretending to be from Spain—no small feat, since their Spanish was busted. But if they just listened to a guy speak and threw in a
“vale, vale”
every once in a while—the Spanish equivalent of “yep”—then they could fool the boys for a little while.

In Spain, dinner was never served before nine in the evening, even on a weeknight, which meant that Alicia's curfew had been automatically extended. Her parents let her and Carmen sit on their own in restaurants and cafés, and everyone thought they were way older than they actually were. They spent New Year's Eve at a tapas bar located in an old bullfighting ring. Right before the clock struck midnight, their waiter handed them all a bunch of grapes and said that if they ate twelve before the final chime, then all their wishes for the new year would come true. Alicia wolfed down the grapes, dreaming about Gaz and Harvard and some really fierce Gucci boots.

That had been the trip of a lifetime. It had been fun to learn a little more Spanish. But the experience hadn't felt steeped in family and history and culture, the way some of the
quinces
she had attended did. She tried to remember whether she and her mother had ever really discussed having a
quince
. She recalled her mother saying something like, “You don't want a big, nightmare
quince
with a pink poufy dress and all your guy cousins dressed up as
chambelanes
.” To which Alicia had, of course, replied, “No way.”

But had they ever talked about what
quinces
meant historically? Had they ever discussed whether there was a way for Alicia to have a
quince
that was modern and interesting and that reflected her personal style? Alicia didn't think so, and there was a part of her that wished she'd at least
explored
the possibilities before taking the trip instead.

All the memories and what-ifs suddenly overwhelmed her. “Excuse me; bathroom run,” she said, handing the album to Sarita.

The minute Alicia locked the stall door behind her, the tears came and wouldn't stop. She knew that there was a part of her that envied Sarita for the chance to do a splashy
quince
with a cool-girl twist. Somehow, the further the Spain trip receded in time, the more Alicia doubted her choice not to have a
quince
. But there was no turning back. Alicia was never going to have another fifteenth birthday again. And the more she thought about it, the harder she cried.

The next day, when Sarita came in to the office, she was surprised to find Carmen sitting at her desk, behind several yards of billowing material. Alicia was standing next to her, a smile on her face.

“Hey, girl,” Alicia sang out. She was wearing a pink and white wrap dress and looked as if she'd been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for hours—something Sarita was beginning to realize was standard for her. “Time to fit your dress,” Alicia said.

Sarita, for her part, had spent the night doing a
24
marathon with her mom and was more than a little sleepy. Now her fuzzy brain was trying to take everything in. “Here?” she asked, looking around at the busy office.

“Well, not here, exactly,” Alicia said cheerfully. “Use the bathroom.”

Sarita seemed nervous. “I'm not sure Lori would approve.”

“Don't worry,” Alicia said. “I've got your back. You and Carmen can go to the third-floor bathroom to change.” She handed Sarita a key. “You'll need this.”

“Are you sure we won't get in trouble?” Sarita asked.

“What trouble?” Alicia said. “I'll make sure Lori gets her bi-hourly cup of Joe, and anyway, what's she going to do to me? My father's the deputy mayor. She can't fire me.” The moment the words came out of her mouth, Alicia regretted them. She'd come across just the way she had never wanted to sound: like a rich, spoiled brat.

“You know what I mean,” she said, backpedaling. “This is an awesome internship, and I would never want to jeopardize it. But they're only so many hours in the day, your
quince
is a month away, we're going to have to start doing some of the planning here at work.”

Shooing the girls out the door, Alicia got Lori her cup of coffee. Then she dashed to the third-floor bathroom, where Carmen and Sarita were waiting. The floor was dominated by estate-planning offices, and with so many people handling their requests via e-mail, it was almost always empty.

“Let's get this fabric on you,” Carmen said.

Sarita was both nervous and excited. “Look at me,” she said, stretching out her trembling hand. “I'm shaking! I have no idea why.”

Carmen wrapped the fabric around her. And it could've been simply the way the light came through the window, but all three girls inhaled sharply when Sarita twirled around. The fabric practically glowed, and it was easy to imagine Sarita's wearing it at the church ceremony. She'd look…angelic.

“You're going to be a vision,
niña
,” Alicia said, lifting a hand to her heart.

“I love it,” Sarita said. “I'm going to cry.”

“Don't cry! You'll mess up the fabric,” Carmen pleaded.

“Hmm,” Alicia said, circling around her, a questioning expression on her face. “Let's talk about length.”

Carmen took out her pins. “I was thinking that just below the knee would be sweet but not stodgy.”

Alicia crossed her arms. “No, I think it should be longer.”

Carmen pinned the temporary hemline so that it grazed Sarita's toes.

Alicia looked dissatisfied. “That's no good. Shorter.”

Carmen pinned it at the ankle.

“No, even shorter,” Alicia said.

Carmen practically growled. “This is where we started,
loca
.”

“Longer,” Alicia said.

Carmen pinned.

“Now shorter,” Alicia said.

Carmen adjusted the hemline again.

“Too short!” Alicia said.

“You know what? I'm done,” Carmen said, standing up and unpinning Sarita. “The length was perfect the first time.”

Alicia stood there silently. She knew this was one battle she had to let go. “Carmen's right, as usual,” she said, yielding.

Later that night, as she rode the bus home, Alicia became lost in thought. Her father's words,
There's always a third
way: your way, my way, or the third way, compromise
, echoed through her mind. The situation with Carmen was the perfect example.

Alicia took out her phone and texted Carmen:
One dress
down, one dress to go.

Carmen would probably finish the formal white dress for the ceremony itself in a day. But she still had to create the fun dress for dinner and dancing afterward.

Then Alicia sent a second message:
Carmen, sorry if I
was a little bossy today. You know how I am. I can be a little
OTP. I know the dresses you are designing will be SO, SO
BEAUTIFUL.

Carmen texted back:
No problem
, chica.
Just don't make it
a habit. It's the
Amigas
Club. Not the
Divas
Club.