She's Got Game Read online

  “We really shouldn’t be surprised,” Alicia mused.

  “No, we shouldn’t,” Carmen said.

  “And yet, we are,” Jamie declared.

  Binky got out of the car, as bright as sunshine in a lemon yellow silk dress and a long navy blue boyfriend cardigan, followed by six other girls.

  “Hey, amigas, meet my peeps,” Binky said. “These are my Everglades Academy girls—Isabella, Carla, Olivia, Brittany, and Blake.”

  The girls were all dressed in nearly identical silk racer-back T-shirts, skinny jeans, and boyfriend cardigans.

  There were hellos, what’s-ups, and nods all around.

  “And this is Zoe, my best friend from tennis camp,” Binky said, giving the girl standing to her left a tight squeeze.

  Zoe was petite, Asian American, and dressed from head to toe in Chanel.

  “This is my first quinceañera, and I’m so excited,” she said in a supersugary voice. “I can’t wait to tell my friends in Boca all about it.”

  “Um, Binky, one small problem—I see only six girls, and you should have seven damas,” Alicia pointed out.

  Binky quickly explained that her cousin Lily hadn’t been able to make it, but that she was hoping that Carmen—who looked to be about Lily’s size—would be willing to try on a dress for her.

  The introductions completed, Jamie whispered to Binky, “A Cadillac limo? Was that necessary?”

  Binky smiled. “Not necessary, but really fun. Look inside!”

  They climbed into the Escalade. The interior was covered from floor to ceiling in leopard-print plush, and there were two flat-screen TVs, leather seats, and a bar.

  “This is nuts,” Jamie said, climbing back out.

  “Wait till you see the ones the boys are coming in,” Binky said.

  Moments later, a black Escalade pulled up in front of the mall, and seven very happy-looking guys got out: Dash; Troy; Tino; and four others, from the Everglades football team, who, judging from the way they ran over to smooch Binky’s friends Isabella, Olivia, Carla, and Brittany, were also those girls’ boyfriends.

  Jamie hadn’t seen Dash since the game, but they’d been texting and talking constantly. Now she felt the familiar butterflies in her stomach as he came to stand next to her. Trying to hide her nerves, she gave him a fake punch in the shoulder. “So, this is how you roll?” she asked.

  “You know it’s not me; it’s Binky,” he said, blushing a little.

  “Still, it must be fun to have a little sister who’s so OTT,” Jamie said playfully.

  “Oh, yeah,” Dash said. “All I have to do is golf, keep my grades up, and go along for the ride.”

  Jamie reached out for his hand and squeezed it. “I like a guy who’s got his priorities straight.”

  Binky, meanwhile, had quickly made her way over to Tino, who whispered something in her ear. She giggled. Turning to Carmen, she said, “You know, I owe you for introducing me to your brother.”

  Tino shook his head. “I’m the one who owes her. I would’ve never met you if she hadn’t invited you over to the house.”

  Despite the cheesiness, Carmen grinned. She and Domingo were probably still like that. “I love that you both feel you owe me. And I wouldn’t mind at all if Tino took on more chores for the next, say, six months. Especially since I’ve got bathroom duty this week and dishes for the foreseeable future. But the important thing, lovebirds, is to be good to each other.”

  Carmen looked at her brother and Binky, then over at Dash and Jamie. Was it really true that opposites attracted? Or maybe it was just that, when given the chance to meet and mingle, people who seemed really different had more in common than it appeared? Whatever the reason, she was glad everyone seemed happy.

  Now that both groups were there, it was time to call the meeting to order. Alicia stood on a bench in front of the mall. “Hey, you guys. Listen up. There’s a lot to do, and not a lot of time. Damas—ladies—I’d like you to go with Binky and Carmen to try on your dresses. Chambelanes, come with me and Jamie to try on your outfits. We’ll meet back at Zanetti’s for lunch at twelve thirty; then it’s over to my house—I guess we’ll be traveling in these ridunculous limos—for dance rehearsal. Got it?”

  Everyone nodded in agreement and, following orders, split up into teams of girls and boys.

  Carmen had reserved the bridal-party dressing room at Neiman Marcus, and, chatting and giggling, they quickly made their way there.

  “Are you the Mortimer wedding party?” the older woman at the front desk asked when they arrived. The girls began to giggle even louder.

  Carmen shook her head. “No actually, it’s the Mortimer quinceañera. It’s as big as a wedding.…”

  “But I get to stay single!” Binky yelled.

  “Woo-hoo!” Binky’s girls screamed in agreement.

  The saleswoman was completely unfazed. “My apologies, it shouldn’t be a problem. Believe me, we get a lot of quinceañeras here.”

  She led them behind an emerald green velvet curtain and into a huge dressing room with hardwood ebony floors dotted with ivory plush chaise longues and banquettes. Each seating area was covered in either a white or camel cashmere throw. Giant mirrors in ornate silver frames were propped up against every wall.

  “I’ve died and gone to shopping heaven,” Binky said, plopping down on a chaise longue. “You can come and get me in two weeks.”

  “You and me both,” Carmen said, jumping into a high-backed tufted chair that came startlingly close to being a throne. “I love creating my original designs. But you know, shopping is nice, too.”

  There was a collective squeal from the party as four salesgirls in identical black dresses wheeled in the two racks of dresses that Carmen had preordered. And the waiters who arrived with silver trays of Voss water and ice also received the stamp of approval of Binky and her posse.

  So far, so good, Carmen thought.

  Then the dresses were tried on—and the drama began.

  Binky’s quince gown was a brilliant tangerine color, and it had been Carmen’s idea that the damas would all wear navy, to add a nautical touch to the Princess of the Tides theme.

  Reality, however, quickly came crashing in when Isabella announced that she only wore purple, since that was her signature color. Brittany followed suit, saying she simply could not be seen at what was surely going to be the party of the year in anything other than Tiffany blue, since that was her signature color. Carla felt that navy overwhelmed her fair complexion, and Olivia, who had dark skin, felt as if she needed a color that would really pop. Blake was fine with navy but didn’t want to wear a floor-length dress, since her legs, as she explained, were her best feature. And Zoe took off for Chanel, because off-the-rack shopping depressed her.

  Two hours later, nothing had been decided. The girls had moved on from Voss to Diet Cokes and were beginning to bounce off the walls from all the caffeine. The sales staff brought out freshly baked Neiman Marcus chocolate-chip cookies made from a secret recipe, and Binky and her friends, completely sidetracked from the task at hand, began trying on Christian Louboutin espadrilles (needless to say, the espadrilles, while very cute, were of absolutely no relevance to Binky’s quince).

  When her cell phone rang an hour later, Carmen, who was not an easy girl to fluster, ducked inside a changing room and burst into tears.

  “Hello,” she sputtered.

  “Yo, what’s wrong?” Jamie asked, on the other end of the line.

  “Binky’s damas won’t wear anything I present to them,” Carmen said through her tears. “They are completely and totally out of control, and Binky is no help. She just keeps saying, ‘Cool with me. Cool with me.’ Well, you know what? I’m in charge of the fashion for this quinceañera, and when Binky gets the pictures of her big day, I’m the one she’ll yell at because her girls look like party-girl jesters and not proper damas in a quince court.”

  Jamie sighed. “Do you need me to step in and get a little Bronx over there?”

  �
�I think I do,” Carmen sniffed. “But aren’t you busy with the chambelanes?”

  “Amiga, please,” Jamie said. “Those guys did exactly what we told them to do. We were done in half an hour. Alicia and I went and got our nails done.”

  Carmen couldn’t believe it. “All this time, you’ve been getting a manicure?”

  “Yeah, I got this supercute dark burgundy color. It’s called Wicked,” Jamie said. Carmen let out a growl.

  Jamie knew not to push the issue. “I’ve got three minutes under this dryer; then I’m on my way over to you.”

  As promised, Jamie showed up shortly afterward at the lounge of the disobedient damas, who had gone from trying on Louboutins to checking out Uggs.

  “Okay, listen up, because I’m only going to say this once,” Jamie announced to the small crowd of girls. “This is Binky’s quince, not your quince. I don’t want to hear any more mess about your signature colors. I could care less about your likes and dislikes, best features and worst features. You’ve got one job as members of Binky’s court, and that is to be a pal to Binky, who has decided to take part in this pretty awesome Latina rite of passage. You should be honored that she’s asked you to be part of it. You should be thrilled that you are getting a free dress. You should be over the moon that in a month from now, you’ll be on a yacht, shaking your groove thing at the most amazing quince the greater Miami area has ever seen. Do you understand me?”

  All of the girls nodded. Zoe, who had slipped back into the lounge in the middle of Jamie’s speech, added an enthusiastic “Woo-hoo!”

  “Now, when I count to three, I want you all to say, ‘Thank you, Binky, Birthday Girl!’ One…two…three!”

  “Thank you, Binky, Birthday Girl!” they all cried in unison.

  Jamie smiled. “Nicely done. Now, I want you all to come over to me, and all I want to hear is one word, or number, rather: your size—two, four, six, eight, ten, or twelve. My associate will hand you a dress, and then we are outta here.”

  And just like that, order returned. In less than fifteen minutes, all of the damas’ dresses had been purchased. Even more surprisingly, everyone seemed genuinely happy.

  Unfortunately, later that afternoon, back at Alicia’s, the amigas discovered that the shopping for Binky’s damas and chambelanes had been a walk in the park compared to teaching them how to dance.

  Binky had her heart set on a traditional Latin ballroom number for the presentation of her court. But while all of her girls could walk in heels, none of them—including Binky—could dance in them.

  Alicia kept pausing the rumba number that she and Binky had selected, but no matter how many times they practiced the steps, the only ones who could do any of the moves were Jamie (standing in for Binky’s cousin), Dash, and Tino.

  Finally, after four hours of trying, an exhausted Binky asked, “Isn’t it possible for my dad to take the mike and just introduce the court? And no dancing?”

  “Hmmm.” Alicia looked out into the distance.

  “What does ‘hmmm’ mean?” Binky asked Jamie.

  “‘Hmmm’ means that we pride ourselves on quinces that go above and beyond in every category,” Jamie said, translating. “If your dad’s going to just emcee all of the big moments, then why hire us?”

  Alicia’s gaze grew suddenly focused. “I think I have an idea.”

  And indeed she did.

  True, Amigas Inc. prided itself as a group on going the extra mile, but even Alicia knew when to give up. If she couldn’t force complicated moves on the court, she’d go back to basics—work with what they could do. After quickly figuring out some simplified moves, Alicia got to work crafting a number.

  And by the time all of the damas and chambelanes left, two hours later, they were all gloriously in step.

  THE FOLLOWING Wednesday afternoon found Jamie walking up the front steps of the Mortimer mansion. She’d been at the house more than a half a dozen times since the amigas had started planning Binky’s quinceañera and since she had started seeing Dash, but it was still quite a shock to see the ginormous place that Binky and Dash called home. How many rooms had Binky said it had? Twenty-five? Thirty?

  She’d also met Dash and Binky’s father, Chip, in passing several times over the course of her visits. He seemed like a nice guy, even though she blamed him for the family’s apparent preference for odd nicknames. Now she rang the doorbell, feeling herself relax when the family butler opened the door.

  “Miss Sosa,” Sherwood said, in his singsongy Bermudan accent, “do come in.”

  She thanked him and explained that she’d come by to drop off favor samples for Binky. Though her quince was rapidly approaching, Binky still hadn’t decided on the gifts for her guests. Traditionally, the damas and chambelanes got personalized presents, and each of the party guests got a simpler, more general gift—like a keychain that said, BINKY’S FIFTEENTH—as a favor. Jamie knew that Binky thought she could wait to decide, because money was not an object. Time, on the other hand, was an object.

  Mission accomplished—or explanation delivered—Jamie handed Sherwood the bag of gift samples and just was about to leave when she heard a particularly sexy voice call her name. Despite the fact that they had been on several dates by now, kissed countless times, and talked on the phone for dozens of hours (or so it seemed), she still shivered when she heard Dash’s voice. And she still found herself amazed that someone like him would be into someone like her—and that she could be into him.

  “Hey,” she said, turning around. “I thought you had an interview with Golf World magazine.”

  “The reporter got food poisoning and had to reschedule, so I’m home early,” he explained.

  He looked as cute as ever in a yellow polo shirt and navy golf shorts.

  Jamie kissed him on the cheek. “Well, it’s nice to see you,” she said, beaming.

  “I was just sitting on the patio with my stepmother,” Dash said. “I don’t think you’ve met her yet.”

  “Nope,” Jamie said, shaking her head. The stepmother had been suspiciously absent from all Binky’s party-planning. As Binky had explained, the stepmonster cared only about one thing—herself. As long as Amigas Inc. made it look as though she cared about her stepdaughter, she’d leave them alone.

  “You should meet her,” he said, taking Jamie’s hand. “I promise you, her snarl is much worse than her bite. Most of the time.” He laughed, trying to reassure her.

  Holding his hand, she followed him onto the patio. Her heart was racing. A bronze woman in a bright, papaya-colored sundress sat motionless, wearing a giant pair of sunglasses.

  Dash smiled and said, “Bev, this is my girlfriend, Jamie. Jamie, my stepmom, Bev.”

  The beating of her heart grew faster—but in a good way. Dash had called her his girlfriend—totally unprompted—in front of a major parental unit. Wow, she thought, mentally pinching herself.

  With renewed confidence—after all, she was Dash’s official girlfriend—Jamie extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Mortimer.”

  Bev limply returned her handshake but said nothing.

  Both Binky and Dash had complained about their stepmother and how her only interests were money and other people with money. Still, even though she’d been forewarned, Jamie felt a little wounded by what was obviously a brush-off.

  She was just formulating a plan of escape when Dash ruined it. “I have a great idea, Jamie. Why don’t you join us for a family dinner Saturday night?”

  Mrs. Mortimer evidently liked the idea about as much as Jamie did. “Oh, but, Dash, dear, we’re having dinner at the club that night.”

  He shrugged. “And…?”

  Mrs. Mortimer pushed the glasses down on her nose and gave Jamie a once-over. “There’s a dress code.”

  “And…?” Dash repeated.

  “That means no tennis shoes. No hip-hop gear. Nothing so urban as what she’s wearing right now, dear.”

  Jamie willed herself not to let her Bronx slip out. “No problem,�
�� she said, through gritted teeth. Suddenly, she felt as if she were thirteen again and the token minority member at an unwelcoming boarding school.

  “You can always join us another night,” Bev went on, finally addressing her directly. “We tend to be much more relaxed at home.”

  Jamie shook her head. “I’m perfectly comfortable with coming to dinner at the club. I went to Fitzgibbons Academy, you know.”

  Both Dash and his stepmother looked surprised at this revelation. Mrs. Mortimer took her sunglasses completely off and stared at Jamie a little more attentively.

  “Fitzgibbons is a very good school,” she said. “And where do you go now?”

  Jamie squared her shoulders, determined not to let Bev Mortimer get the best of her.

  “I go to Coral Gables High School,” she replied.

  Mrs. Mortimer put her sunglasses back on. “Public school?” She practically sneered the words. “Pity.”

  Dash didn’t bother to hide his anger. “We’ll be leaving now, Bev. Have a good rest of the afternoon.”

  Jamie knew she should have said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Mortimer,” but she just couldn’t. Instead, she simply followed Dash back inside the house.

  At the front door, Dash said, “I’d love to give you a ride. Make up for my stepmother’s utter lack of manners. I’m sorry she was like that. I hope it didn’t upset you.”

  “Forget about it,” Jamie said, struggling to keep her composure in front of him. “Trust me, if you didn’t live on this crazy island, I’d take you up on the offer. But you’d have to take the ferry to your car, then drive to my house and back again. It’s a sweet offer, and I appreciate it, but I could really use some time alone to think.”

  After a few more attempts to persuade her, Dash agreed to let her go home alone. But not without first giving her a sweet, long kiss good-bye.

  Jamie fumed the whole way home. She kept replaying the conversation in her head, kept seeing the way Bev had dismissed her with one glance, the way the corners of her mouth had turned down in a frown when she said “public school.”

  The moment Jamie got home, she went straight to the garage. At that point, she wondered if she weren’t more angry than hurt. All she knew was that the complex web of emotions rolling around inside her was causing her a lot of pain, and it was time to pump up Badly Drawn Boy. One of her British suitemates at Fitzgibbons had played the band’s music all the time. Jamie hated the band at first, but eventually it had grown on her. Whenever she felt like painting her heart out, BDB was the perfect music—melodic, tortured, primal. She must really have cranked it, because a few minutes later, her mother came out.