Point Me to Tomorrow Page 4

  Alicia missed catching the ball; she picked it up from the floor. How did he know? She hadn’t even admitted it to herself yet, but she was worried about something. “The problem is that I’m a legacy. Both of my parents went to Harvard. They have to take me.”

  Mr. Stevens put the ball down and looked at her with that grown-up “Are you doing drugs/smoking cigarettes/breaking the law?” stare. He said, “It’s Harvard, Alicia. They don’t have to do anything but sit on a pile of money and drop their R’s.”

  Alicia shook her head, “You don’t understand. I’m a type A, second-generation, high-achieving Latina. My grandparents went against the grain by coming to this country. My parents overcame the odds and went to Harvard. Even though I grew up in cushy Coral Gables, do you think my parents or the Harvard admissions office aren’t going to say, ‘Of course, she belongs at Harvard, too’?”

  Mr. Stevens sighed. “Alicia, you’re a seventeen-year-old whiz entrepreneur. You’ve found this incredible niche where you make money by helping young women connect to a deeply meaningful cultural tradition. You are already one of a kind. Don’t choose a college based upon the need to be the same as, different from, or better than your parents. Choose the place where you want to go.”

  The bell rang, and Alicia rose from her chair. “Looks like I missed my Literature Written by Dead People class.”

  Mr. Stevens said, “Don’t worry, I’ll let Mrs. Suber know. Let’s keep talking, Alicia. I’m here to help you figure this stuff out.”

  She smiled. It was actually as satisfying to receive advice as it was to dish it out. She stood at the door and then turned. “So, where’d you go to college, Mr. Stevens?”

  He pointed to his board. “UC Santa Barbara. Majored in surfing, minored in economics. Now I teach in Miami and get to catch the waves every day of the week. I’m living my dream, Alicia. Hope you get to live yours.”

  THAT NIGHT, Alicia arrived at the restaurant to find Gaz, Maxo, Carmen, and Jamie already seated. She squeezed in next to Gaz, who said, “Describe yourself in one word.”

  Alicia groaned. “Are we still playing that game?”

  Gaz laughed. “Are you kidding? This game rocks. It’s both misery-inducing and inherently interesting.”

  “Okay, then,” Alicia said. “You first. What did you say?”

  “I said I was mysterious,” Gaz replied.

  Jamie and Alicia burst out laughing.

  Carmen put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “He’s kidding, right?”

  Maxo nudged Gaz and added, “Well, I said I was a genius.”

  “Okay, so I’m a tad gullible. Now I know you’re both kidding,” Carmen said.

  As they passed around a bamboo tray of steamed dumplings, Alicia asked, “I don’t get it, Maxo. If you’re deferring school for a year to volunteer in Haiti, why are you even putting yourself through this gruesome process?”

  Maxo popped a dumpling in his mouth and put a finger up to indicate that he was still chewing. Then he said, “Because, in order to defer college a year, you actually have to be accepted and enrolled in a school. So, I’m pretty much in the same boat as the rest of you—dream school, safety school, and eight tedious applications in between.”

  “The thing I don’t get,” Carmen said, “is why do we have to apply to so many schools? In my mom’s day, you’d apply to four or five. Now, any sane person applies to at least ten. I’m seriously thinking about doing early decision to Parsons. No muss, no fuss. FIT and Parsons have been the two schools I’ve always wanted to go to, and I had a great meeting with the rep from Parsons today. She convinced me that I’d be a perfect fit.”

  Alicia always admired Carmen’s steadiness. Her friend had wanted to be a fashion designer since she was six. And she had wanted to go to a college specializing in art and design since seventh grade, when she had asked her parents for the season one DVD boxed set of Project Runway for Christmas and proceeded to watch all twelve episodes back to back while the rest of her family slept.

  “To Carmen and Parsons,” Alicia toasted, raising a glass of agua fresca to toast her friend. “And to the rest of us—may we figure it out.”

  Gaz turned to Jamie. “What about you, J.? You’ve been talking NYU, Columbia, and get me out of hot Miami and back to Nueva York ever since I met you. What are you thinking?”

  Jamie smiled and took a bite of her pork chop with black bean sauce. “I know I’ve been talking about the East Coast and New York forever…and maybe I was a little pushy about the greatest city in the world. But college is all about new experiences, right? After I met with the guy from NYU, I stopped by to talk to the rep from Stanford.”

  Alicia almost spit out her pollo a la brasa. “Stanford? As in, California?”

  Jamie got that fierce don’t-mess-with-the-Bronx-bombshell look that she broke out from time to time. “Why, yes, Stanford. Did I stutter?”

  Gaz whistled. “California! What’s up with that?”

  Jamie blushed. “Well, Dash is thinking about transferring to Stanford….”

  Before Alicia could stop herself, she blurted out, “But Jamie, you can’t choose a college based on where your boyfriend goes.”

  Jamie glared at her, and Alicia felt as if they’d time-warped back to the beginning of their friendship, when Jamie was always being the hard-core New York girl and Alicia was always saying the wrong thing.

  “Alicia, if you would let a person finish…” Jamie growled. “I stopped by the Stanford desk just to mention Dash and how he wanted me to visit the school with him over Christmas break. One thing led to another, and it turns out that the rep is a museum curator at an Asian arts museum in San Francisco. I told him about my eBay store and how much I sell to kids in Tokyo and Seoul. He said Stanford has an amazing Far East studies program and all kinds of arts exchanges. I never thought of the customized pimped-out sneakers and handbags I design as art, but he pointed out all the cool fashion-art collaborations over the years, like Malick Sidibé for agnès b. and Murakami for Louis Vuitton. He thought I might find art school too limiting, and that double-majoring in fine art and Asian studies might be more inspiring.”

  “Wow,” Alicia said.

  “That’s all you have to say? ‘Wow’?” Jamie grumbled.

  Alicia could tell her friend was mad at her for sure and probably would be for a while. She shook her head. “I mean, wow, I’m really impressed.”

  “We’re all impressed,” Carmen added brightly, playing the peacemaker and cheerleader. “You’d be amazing at Stanford, Jamie.”

  “Well, I was sort of surprised in my meetings, too,” Gaz piped up. “Berklee College of Music is clearly my first choice. But MIT was kind of impressive, too. They’ve got mad financial aid, and the music department guy said that a lot of musicians never finish Berklee, because they get a record deal or a part in a Broadway show. He said if I really wanted to spend four years living and breathing music as an art and not the music business, I should think about MIT.”

  Feeling as if words were failing her, Alicia hugged Gaz tight. The purity of his feelings for his music had been one of the first things she’d loved about him.

  “So, Maxo,” Gaz said, “from what fine institution will you be deferring admission?”

  Maxo shrugged. “Ideally, Columbia. Their international studies program is just the best. And hopefully, being in New York, I could intern at the United Nations, begin to explore a career that mixes diplomacy with technology.”

  Alicia looked around at her friends. They were so smart, so unique. She was lucky they even let her hang with them.

  “What about you, Lici?” Carmen asked. “Any of those Ivies looking good?”

  This would’ve been the moment to tell them about Harvard, about the two plus two program and her fears of being another unimaginative legacy candidate. She’d let it all out with Mr. Stevens, and she barely knew him. But something about her own uncertainty and the way Jamie was shooting dirty looks at her while texting on her BlackBerry made
Alicia pause.

  She shrugged. “I’m really not sure yet.”

  Gaz, Carmen, and Jamie exchanged glances. Not sure? About her number one college pick? Over-the-top, ultraprepared, I’ll Rule High School Today and the World Tomorrow Alicia Cruz? Alicia, who put the A in type A? It really didn’t seem likely.

  Even Maxo, who’d known Alicia for only a few short months, was suspicious. “Well, how did your meetings go?” he asked.

  “Hmmm. After meeting with Columbia, Harvard, Yale, Penn, and Brown, if I had to describe myself in one word, I’d say I was impressed and overwhelmed.”

  Gaz squeezed Alicia’s shoulder. “That’s two words, mi amor.”

  Alicia shrugged and picked up the dessert menu. “I’m starving,” she said. “Who’s up for splitting an order of chocolate and banana wontons?”

  “Me,” said Carmen.

  “Me, too,” agreed Jamie, looking up from the text she was sending Dash.

  “I’m in,” nodded Maxo.

  Only Gaz dissented. “No way,” he said. “If everybody wants dessert, no way are we splitting one order. We’d better order two. Matter of fact, they’re small—let’s order three. Maxo and I are growing boys.”

  As the conversation shifted to dessert, SAT prep classes, and weekend plans, Alicia felt relieved that she had dodged her friends’ questions. She could feel her shoulders drop from the tense, up-near-the-ears clinch they’d been in just moments earlier.

  That night, when Gaz dropped her off at home, they stayed in the car for a few minutes kissing good-bye again and again.

  “’Night, Gaz,” Alicia whispered.

  “Buenas noches, beautiful,” Gaz replied, kissing her even longer.

  She smiled and took her hair out of the ponytail it had been in all day.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

  Despite the growing success of Gaz’s band and his songwriting deal, he still worked twenty hours a week at the Gap. Gaz’s father was deceased, and his mother, Inez, worked as a live-in maid for a wealthy Panamanian family. Having been promoted to assistant manager, he was able to get health-care coverage for his brother and mother.

  “Listen, Lici,” Gaz murmured, “I love your friends. But we haven’t been on a date, a real date, in forever. I want to…I mean, I need to spend some time alone with you alone, just us.”

  Alicia nodded. He was, of course, completely right.

  “So, what do you have in mind?” she asked playfully.

  “Something really nice,” he said. “Are you free Saturday night?”

  Alicia pretended to think about it. “Hmmm. I dunno. I’ll have to check my schedule…. Let me call my boyfriend and see if he’s working….” Then she started giggling so much she couldn’t tease him anymore. “Of course I’m free! I’ll always get time freed up for you,” she said, kissing him again.

  Gaz grinned. “Okay, be sure to dress up. We’re going somewhere fancy,” he said, looking excited.

  “Um…” Alicia said, gesturing toward her vintage dress and suede ankle boots, “basic Amigas Inc. dress code is fabulous. You only have to tell me when you want me to dress down.”

  Gaz laughed, “My bad, my bad. Let’s kiss and make up.”

  He kissed her again, for a very long time—so long that her father came to the door and waved. “I should’ve turned off my headlights,” Gaz grumbled.

  He walked Alicia to the front door, where she greeted her father. “Hey, Dad, thanks for staying up to make sure I got home safely.”

  Then, without waiting for her father to answer, Alicia floated up to her room.

  ON SATURDAY NIGHT, Alicia put on her favorite new dress, a one-shoulder number that she’d bought with her earnings from Amigas Inc.

  Alicia’s mother acted as the girls’ accountant. Every three months, she divided the company’s earnings into thirds. One third went toward the girls’ 529 College Savings Plan funds—money they could use in the not-too-distant future for everything from room and board to textbooks. Another third of the earnings went back into the company, to cover future expenses. And the final third was divided among Jamie, Alicia, and Carmen, to do with as they wished.

  Alicia was shocked at how quickly her checks from Amigas Inc. began to double and triple what her allowance had been. Now her parents saved that money for college, and she used her Amigas Inc. earnings to buy everything from dresses to iTunes downloads and books.

  She hesitated before choosing the shoes to complete her outfit. All week long she’d been pressing Gaz for clues about their date and all he would say was “fancy and grown-up.” Her mind kept flashing back to the ice-cold air-conditioned restaurants in Coconut Grove where her father sometimes met clients. She hoped that Gaz wouldn’t waste his hard-earned money on one of those dreadfully expensive, fancy-silver-and-heavy-crystal-goblet eateries.

  Gaz rang the doorbell promptly at seven. He was dressed in a khaki sports coat, a crisp white shirt, and a tie. He’d gotten a haircut, and while the lock that hung over his left eye was impossible to tame, he looked sharp and clean-shaven. It was quite a change from his usual ruggedly handsome, casual rocker look.

  Alicia whistled. “Wow, you clean up good.”

  Her mother came to the front door and gave him a warm hug. “Gaz, I’m very impressed. Did the mystery quince inspire your mystery date?”

  Gaz smiled. “No, Señora Cruz, this was all my own idea.”

  Her mother crossed her arms in front of her and pretended to look at the couple sternly. “You two aren’t going to elope, are you?”

  Alicia rolled her eyes. “Mom, so not funny.”

  As usual, her mother thought being embarrassing was part of her charm. “And no using fake IDs to get on a booze cruise?”

  Gaz looked horrified at the suggestion and protested emphatically, “I would never.”

  Alicia’s mother looked satisfied. “Well, how about an ETA for when you’ll bring Alicia home, or is that also a mystery?” She winked at Gaz.

  “Oh, no,” Gaz answered. “We’re going somewhere special. So, would twelve thirty work?”

  Midnight was Alicia’s curfew on the weekend. Her mother had a theory that there was nothing happening after midnight that a nice girl like Alicia or any of her friends needed to partake in.

  Gaz asked Alicia to excuse him while he spoke to her mom. Even though she thought he was taking the cloak-and-dagger routine a bit too far, she loved the fact that he still wanted to be imaginative about their dates. She stepped aside and watched, amused, as Gaz whispered something to her mom.

  Her mother’s smile got wider and wider. Finally, she said, “Nice. Twelve thirty it is. Have fun, kids.” She closed the front door, and Gaz and Alicia walked to the car. He held the car door open for her. The moment she clicked shut her seat belt, she turned and kissed him passionately.

  “Hey, I like that,” Gaz murmured when she was done. “But you haven’t even gotten your surprise yet.”

  “I know,” Alicia said. “But that’s just to say thank you for being so romantic as to plan the surprise. I know how busy you are with school, your music, and now, college apps. It’s sweet, and I appreciate it.”

  As they drove on to I-95, Gaz played Alicia a new song. “My agent wants to send this song to Sophie Lundquist.”

  Alicia tried not to let her jaw drop. “The Sophie Lundquist?”

  Gaz smiled. “Yeah, she’s looking to do an album of duets, and he thinks this would be perfect.”

  Alicia was always impressed by Gaz’s music, but ever since the previous spring, when Amigas Inc. had traveled to Austin, and Gaz, who was then one of the company’s partners, had attended the South by Southwest conference, she’d seen his commitment to his career move to the next level. The professional musicians that he’d met, the contacts that he’d made, the seminars he’d attended on songwriting and musicianship—had all molded what had been pure talent into something polished and sophisticated. Gaz’s late father had been a professional singer in Puerto Rico,
not rich or famous, but beloved by many. Alicia found herself wishing, as she often did, that Gaz’s father were still alive to see the amazing person his son had become.

  The car pulled up in front of the Adrienne Arsht Center on Biscayne Boulevard. The modern white building reminded Alicia of pictures she’d seen of the Sydney Opera House. It was a beautiful arts center, but Alicia felt slightly worried. The last time she’d been there had been with her parents, for a performance of Tchaikovsky’s “The Fateful Fourth,” which had proven so terminally boring that she’d fallen asleep before the intermission. Her parents hadn’t found her sleepiness or her snoring amusing.

  “Gaz,” she said, putting an arm on his shoulder, “I’ll do my best, but classical music is not my thing.”

  Gaz looked disappointed. “You know how important it is for me to expand my musical repertoire. I thought this evening’s tribute to Vienna would be a great adventure for us both. They’ll be performing polkas, Strauss waltzes, and operettas—minioperas. And during the intermission, they’re serving Wiener schnitzel.”

  Alicia looked down. She’d broken out her brand-new one-shoulder dress for Wiener schnitzel? Heaven help her. She just couldn’t get a break!

  She took a deep breath. She always said that living in Miami was all about the cultural mix, even if some of the culture was old and snoozeworthy. And who knows? she thought: she loved dance, so maybe the Strauss waltzes would inspire some sort of quince theme for their mystery client. It certainly sounded elegant enough.

  Inside the arts center, the room bustled with a mostly Latino crowd. When Gaz handed the usher the two tickets, she directed them to the front of the orchestra. Alicia tried to keep from groaning. Row G. Center. These were amazing seats; the tickets must have cost a fortune! She should have been grateful. Gaz truly was the greatest boyfriend in the world. But as she and her sweet, thoughtful, classical-music-loving boyfriend seated themselves in the middle of the row, all she could think was, Great, now I’m trapped. I can’t even sneak out for a bathroom break! And if I snore, I’m pretty sure the acoustics of this fancy place will ensure that the entire auditorium will hear me. Ugh!