Lights, Camera, Quince! Read online

  “The ‘or else’ doesn’t matter,” Jamie said.

  “What matters is that he did wrong, he knows it, and he’s no longer welcome,” Carmen said.

  Alicia knew that there was nothing she could do. She hadn’t dumped Gaz; it had been the other way around. How had it happened that the flirtationship, which was supposed to protect their friendship, ended up being the very downfall of it? Maybe it was her fault. Maybe Gaz had been the smart one, who knew that they could never have been more than friends who flirted.

  “I cannot wait to go to New York,” Simone announced, suddenly materializing next to their table. “That’s right. When I win—and I mean when, not if—I think I’ll use my prize money to go to New York and beat you at your Freestyle game.”

  Jamie glared up at the girl. “What are you? Some type of stalker?”

  “No,” said Simone. “It just gives me great pleasure to put little people in their place.” She was wearing a gray off-the-shoulder top with a little sailboat print on the front. Her dark hair was ironed straight, and her lipstick was a deep burgundy color. It was a kind of preppy Goth look, and Alicia had to admit that Simone had managed to pull it off.

  “Me, too,” squealed Ellen, who was dressed to match Simone in a navy and white nautically inspired top.

  Just what Alicia needed for lunch: dodgy ceviche and a hearty helping of haterade.

  “The finale of Project Quince is coming up,” Simone said. “Hope you chicas are ready.”

  “Yeah,” Ellen said, giggling. “Ready to lose.”

  Her threat delivered, Simone marched off. Ellen, of course, fell into step behind her.

  “I’m just so happy to be back in school,” Alicia said, rolling her eyes. “Sophomore year. Best year yet. Not.”

  “We can’t let Simone get to us,” Jamie said. “Plus, our quince is way cooler than Raya-whatever. Speaking of, how are the Hebrew classes going, Carmen?”

  “Good,” Carmen said. “Normally, for a bat mitzvah, you study for years. I just want to learn a few things to impress Abuela Ruben.”

  “That’s cool,” Alicia said, perking up a bit. “What have you got?”

  They were all surprised when Carmen grew very serious and then, in a sweet voice, began chanting in Hebrew:

  Oseh shalom bimromav

  Hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu

  V’al kol Yisrael

  v’imru amen.

  “Wow,” Alicia whispered. “What was that?”

  Carmen smiled. “It’s a prayer for peace.”

  Only half joking, Alicia said, “Can you sing it again for me? I need some peace about the Gaz situation.”

  “And me,” Jamie added. “Because there’s a good chance that before Project Quince is over, I’m going to have to kick Simone’s butt.”

  “What about Ellen?” Alicia asked, feeling in a lighthearted mood for the first time that week.

  “Her, too,” Jamie said.

  Carmen began again, “Oseh shalom bimromav . . .” Then she stopped herself. “Wait a sec. Where did they say their quince went to school?”

  “Hialeah,” Alicia replied.

  Carmen took out her phone and began typing.

  “Who are you texting?” Alicia asked. “The quince police?”

  Carmen smiled. “Nope. Even better. Domingo. He goes to Hialeah High. It’s a big school, but a Brazilian Japanese girl named Raymunda is bound to stand out. We can get the scoop.”

  STANDING AT Alicia’s locker as dozens of other students swarmed by, it was easy to tell which three girls ran a full-time business in their spare time. Alicia, Carmen, and Jamie looked fierce.

  There was no question, they looked great. But the expressions on their faces told the world exactly how they felt inside. That was impossible to hide. Jamie was afraid that if Amigas didn’t win the Project Quince competition—and the prize money to get to New York—Carmen and Alicia wouldn’t be able to come on the trip, and she’d have to attend the Freestyle Convention alone. It had been two years since she’d been back in New York, and she was a little nervous. She was a Miami girl now, and she desperately wanted her chicas to come with her.

  Carmen was exhausted, and no amount of concealer could cover up the dark circles underneath her eyes. She’d settled on a color scheme for her Tropical Synagogue fashion show—the Be Happy, Don’t Worry Jamaican colors of red, green, and gold. But she had twelve dresses to create, not to mention the special dresses for her abuela, her mom, her sister, and Jamie and Alicia. She was also taking Hebrew lessons every day after school for an hour. Afterward, she ran home, sewed, stopped to eat dinner, and went back to her sewing. Una, who complained that the whirring of the machine kept her up, had temporarily taken to sleeping on an air mattress in the living room.

  Carmen sewed every night until midnight, then got up at six and sewed for two more hours before school. And, oh, yeah, there was the little matter of the quince dress. She was supposed to be the star of the show, and yet she hadn’t even started her dress yet. When she could, she claimed the TV and watched old episodes of Project Runway while she cut patterns. It was only the crazy schedule of that show that inspired her to keep going. Every morning, when she woke up, the thing she remembered from her dreams was Tim Gunn screaming at her, “Make it work! Make it work!”

  Alicia, meanwhile, was keeping thoughts of Gaz at bay by pouring all of her energy and attention into the other details of Carmen’s quinceañera.

  You’d think that there would be nothing more fun than to go shopping. But quince shopping is stressful, especially when you’re in a rush and on a budget. Every day after school, there was a new assignment: tiara shopping, shoe shopping, makeup shopping, or jewelry shopping. And everything was either too expensive or not quite right.

  And on top of that, everywhere the girls went, the TV film crew followed.

  At school that day, free of the film crew for the first time in what felt like forever, the three girls walked outside to sit in the small garden near the front entrance. They were discussing another trip to yet another shoe store to try on shoes: flats for the pre-quince ceremony and heels for after. “You know what?” Carmen said. “Let me handle the shoes. What’s next on our list?”

  Alicia pulled out her clipboard. “Tiaras.”

  “Okay, Jamie, you’re the queen of eBay; can’t you find me a tiara online?”

  “Sure, but don’t you want to try it on first?” Jamie asked.

  Carmen shook her head. “Nope, I trust you. Just remember, it should be less Princess in Taffeta and more Barefoot Contessa.”

  “Got it,” Jamie said.

  Alicia made a note of it. Then the three girls studied the giant checklist that Alicia carried with her on a red Lucite clipboard everywhere she went:

  Make sure Jamie gets Carmen a vintage tiara from eBay. Budget is $30. Can go up to $50 if it’s fierce. ✓

  Purchase delish red, yellow, and green cake with Jewish symbols on it. ✓

  Order custom bouquet for Carmen’s quince: red dahlias, yellow gerberas, green lime leaves. No roses, ’cause Carmen hates roses. ✓

  Buy used circus tent from Craigslist. Must be cheap because Jamie’s graffiti work means we can’t rent one that we have to return. Must not smell like animals. Budget: $200. ✓

  Hire student photographer from school newspaper. Carmen wants her pictures to be black and white, photojournalism style. Make sure fotog takes color pics and video as well. Every quince changes their mind about their pictures at the last minute. Chances are Carmen is no exception. Cover our bases.

  Call the Hialeah Beauty School. Make appointments to look at portfolios of student hair and makeup artists. Decide if any of them are good enough to hire (doesn’t matter if they are working for free).

  Rent a red and green boat to dock outside Carmen’s house, so the boats match the colors of her quince. (Fam. already has a yellow boat.) ✓

  Take Carmen shoe-shopping.

  Choreograph dance for Carmen and Domingo.
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br />   Find music for Carmen’s vals with her papi.

  Find tango music for surprise dance with Abuela Ruben and Carmen’s papi.

  Pray, wish, hope that best friend has the quince of her dreams.

  Alicia stopped reading her checklist. There were at least a dozen to-dos that weren’t even on there, most of them having to do with logistics of the set, decorations, and music—all the stuff that Gaz usually handled.

  “We need to nail all this down,” Alicia said. “Can you guys come with me to Bongos after school?”

  “Bongos won’t work,” Carmen said, shaking her head.

  Jamie looked concerned. “Did something happen with you and Domingo? Because it’s too late to find you another chambelán.”

  “No, we’re fine,” Carmen said. “We’ve just got to pick another place.”

  Alicia was confused. “Why?”

  “Because my boyfriend shouldn’t be waiting on us,” Carmen said.

  “I get it,” Jamie said.

  “I don’t,” Alicia said. “Someone else can wait on us.”

  “Spoken like a girl who’s never waited tables in her life,” Jamie clucked in a patronizing tone.

  Alicia rolled her eyes. “You’ve never waited tables in your life.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jamie said. “I’m just saying, Domingo is Carmen’s guy now, and therefore he’s our friend. We shouldn’t put him in a position where he feels like the hired help.”

  She bit her lip. “Okay, I get it now. Sorry, Carmen.”

  “Don’t worry about it, niña,” Carmen said.

  “So, where should we go?” Alicia asked.

  “Let’s meet at my house,” Jamie said. “I really want to show you guys how the graffiti work is coming.”

  “Perfect,” Alicia said. “We can walk there, too. So, no need to try to get a taxi or a ride.”

  The girls gave each other high fives—exhausted, halfhearted high fives—but high fives all the same. As they made their way to their respective classes—Carmen racing to her government class, Alicia heading to Spanish Poetry and Poetics, and Jamie running to honors chemistry—they all shared the same feeling: things were not quite okay yet, but they would be . . . eventually.

  Jamie’s house in Coral Gables was very different from Alicia’s house with its pool, and Carmen’s funky bungalow on the canals. The mint green home was a one-level structure, with a curved driveway and a small yard in the front. It had three small bedrooms, a large living room, and a traditional Florida room, which the family used as their TV room, at the back. Off the Florida room were a backyard and a garage, which Jamie used as her studio.

  From the outside, the garage looked like any other: a door painted white with a small window cut into the front. Inside, it looked like an artist’s loft in downtown New York City. Giant canvases hung from the back wall; Jamie had hung them gallery style, with invisible hooks and thin wires. Along the right side of the wall, shelves ran the length of the garage, and Jamie’s custom sneakers were carefully lined up there. On the left, a parallel set of shelves had been installed, and these housed Jamie’s many eBay purchases, each carefully tagged with the day it was bought, the amount Jamie had paid, and the estimated resale price.

  “You know what?” Alicia said, looking around. “This is what the Project Quince crew should have been filming. It’s awesome. You shouldn’t even write an essay for your art-school applications. Just take a series of photographs of this place. Any college admissions officer will know that you are a serious artist.”

  “She’s right,” Carmen agreed. “I wish I had someplace like this for my sewing.”

  Jamie was pleased, if not a little embarrassed. “You guys are being too nice. But thanks. And C., feel free to use my studio any time you want. We don’t have an Internet connection out here, so I have to do all my eBay hunting in the house. So I could totally be doing something else, if you needed privacy.”

  “Thanks,” Carmen said. “I might take you up on that.”

  “You guys thirsty?” Jamie asked.

  “Always,” Alicia said.

  Jamie opened the door to a little fridge plugged in under one of the cabinets. “I’ve got soda, I’ve got iced tea, and I’ve got water.”

  “Iced tea for me, please,” Alicia said.

  “The fridge is a nice touch,” Carmen observed.

  “It’s left over from when my dad used to do his woodwork out here,” Jamie said, grabbing a bottle of water for herself. “He used to keep it stocked with cold beers.”

  “Where does your dad do his woodwork now?” Carmen asked.

  Jamie grinned. “That’s the thing. He had this set up as a workshop for ten years and only built one thing—that bench.” She nodded at the piece of furniture holding up the fridge. “When my mom gave it to me as my studio last year, she said Dad could watch his games and drink beer in the Florida room like all the other fathers in the neighborhood! I’ve been fixing it up ever since.”

  Looking around the room, Alicia could feel her excitement for planning quinces and for planning Carmen’s, in particular, coming back. There was no trace of Gaz here. “Show us what you’ve got,” she said, determined.

  Jamie took out a portfolio of drawings and Tropical Synagogue, the short-story collection that Alicia had given her for inspiration.

  “The thing is that I think that excerpts from this book, while amazing, won’t read so well in graffiti print on the tent,” Jamie said. “Instead, I think we should choose iconic words to blow up and for me to tag the walls of the tent with.”

  “Bashert would be a good one. It means your ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’ in the Yiddish language,” Carmen said. “I also really love the Hebrew word aliyah, which is what you call the trip to Israel. It means you always have a home.”

  “Bashert. Aliyah. I love it.”

  Carmen looked at the sketches. “You know what? This is an amazing idea.”

  “Yeah, whatever you think goes,” Alicia added. “You’ve clearly got this.”

  Jamie grinned. “You mean, Ms. Cruz Control is going to let someone else take the lead?”

  Alicia smiled. “Okay, guilty as charged. What can I say? The Type A thing is in my genes. Giving up control for me is, well, a process.”

  Jamie jumped up. “Okay, this is what I think we should do. The text should be classic New York subway, multicolored bubble lettering. There are dozens of fonts we could use, but I like ‘Brooklyn Kid,’ because it’s easy to read. Check it out!”

  She pulled a paper out of her journal and held up a printed sample in the typeface:

  “I love it,” Carmen said, clapping her hands together.

  Jamie nodded. “So, I’ll tag the tent with the words in this font, in Carmen’s signature colors: red, green, and gold. I was thinking that instead of dotting the i’s, I’d write them as little palm trees, with the top of the tree replacing the usual dot.”

  Carmen gave Jamie a playful punch on the shoulder. “You do your thing, chica. They’re not going to know what hit them at the Freestyle show.”

  Jamie shivered. “I can’t even go there. Let’s focus on giving you the best Lati-jew-na quince South Florida has ever seen.”

  Alicia was quiet for a second. “Lati-jew-na. That was Gaz’s word.” The smile on her face was replaced by a look of sadness. “How are we going to handle music without him?”

  “You know what?” Jamie said. “Don’t even worry about it. Now that my graffiti stuff is sorted, I’m officially on music duty.”

  “Okay,” Alicia said, reluctantly. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, I wanted to show you guys one more thing,” Jamie said before they could leave.

  She pulled a large box out from underneath the worktable. “A while back, I got this deal on eBay. A hundred canvas bags for a hundred bucks. I always planned to tag ’em and flip ’em. But I was thinking that I could make them into gift bags for your quince, Carmen.”

  Alicia smacked herself on the forehead. “Gift bags! How co
uld I forget gift bags? I suck. I’m the worse friend ever.”

  Carmen held Alicia’s shoulders and said, “Deep breaths. It’s not a one-woman show. Group effort, okay?”

  Alicia sighed audibly. “Right, group effort.”

  Carmen turned to Jamie. “I love the idea of a gift bag that will really last. What are you thinking?”

  Jamie pulled out another sketch. “I was thinking that I could tag these bags in a much more graphic style; something like this.” She showed them an image of a subway car, covered in graphic bold images and colors.

  Jamie continued, “Again, it would be in your quince colors. But the front of the bag would say, ‘Hola,’ and the back of the bag would say, ‘Shalom.’”

  Alicia and Carmen stood in silence for a moment, and Jamie looked back and forth between them nervously.

  “If you don’t like it, we can do something different,” she said.

  “Hola and shalom,” Carmen whispered, quietly.

  “That’s ‘hello’ in Hebrew, right?” Jamie said. “It’s not offensive, or simplistic, right?”

  “Hola and shalom,” Alicia said, letting the words roll off her tongue.

  “You hate it,” Jamie said, dejectedly.

  “I love it,” Carmen said, staring at the picture of the subway-car graffiti.

  “It’s freakin’ genius,” Alicia added.

  “I hate to be a spoilsport,” Carmen said, “but do you really think you can tag a hundred bags in time?”

  “Are you kidding?” Jamie said. “I live to tag. It’s a done deal.”

  “Speaking of done deals,” Carmen said, “I’d better run. My mom is taking me to the fabric store so I can get a few more things for my dress. Hola and shalom, chicas.”

  Then she gave Jamie a huge hug. “Gracias, niña. You did good.”

  Alicia hugged Jamie as well. “You did better than good; you did awesome. I’m really inspired.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Well, you guys inspire me.”

  Alicia said, “It’s a mutual-admiration society.”

  “Exactly,” said Carmen. “Hola and shalom, I’m outta here.”