The Quince Project

Chapter One

If the devil’s in the details, then el diablo loved to cha-cha on Spanish accent marks. A dash over the a in tonight’s side dish, for example, and party guests would get a baked dad—instead of a baked potato—to accompany their filet mignon.

I checked the menu card one more time.

All clear. A quick scan down the rest of tonight’s other courses—thankfully none of those spellings needed acute accents, dieresis… or the dreaded tilde.

Nothing spelled disaster more than a missing squiggly mustache mark over the n in a?os.

Having watched Po’s birthday banner drop, only for it to wish my sister happy fifteen buttholes instead of happy fifteen years, I spoke from experience.

I lowered the perfectly spelled menu onto the middle of the gold-rimmed plate with shaky fingers. Flashbacks of that night knocked against my chest. But the memories of the months leading up to it walloped hardest. Threatening to bust my heart open like a pi?ata.

I shook my head and pulled my planner from my bag. Thumbed through the pages filled with student body association calendar events until I hit the Angie Montes Bday Party Final Checklist tab.

Going down the rest of the list, I surveyed the ballroom. Head table set to perfection? Check. White roses and pink hydrangeas brimming from the center of the other tables? Check.

As our school’s event-planning chair, I’d gone down similar lists countless times. Every checkmark of the pencil usually steadied my pulse. No such luck tonight.

Probably because this wasn’t a Matteo Beach High winter formal, prom, or fundraiser but my first solo(ish) attempt at party planning. As if starting a side hustle wasn’t stressful enough, of course the first party out the gates had to be a quince.

Sure, this fiesta celebrated a rite of passage for the birthday girl. But it could be one for me, too.

Because if tonight went off without a hitch, I could keep checking off boxes for both my short- and long-term goals this summer, starting with Angie recommending my services to our classmates and ending with the party-planning experience I needed to apply to Mandy Whitmore and Associates’ fairy godmother internship.

I shut the planner and hugged it close, whispering Mandy’s mission statement: “With the wave of a magic stylus—plus a few hands-on tricks of the trade—my team of fairy godmother’s apprentices and I will make your event storybook stunning.”

Closing my eyes, I recited the last sentence: “Happily ever afters are our business.”

Like a spell working its magic, pieces of my HEA painted themselves behind my eyelids.

A calendar stuffed with tons of picture-perfect parties. Acceptance into a great college with a stellar hospitality management major and PR minor. Preferably one with a kick-ass volleyball team, so Po could also go there.

Before I slotted in my wishes for Dad, Juno’s voice shattered my Torres-family vision board.

“We’re good to go, Cas!”

I glanced across the gilded room to Juno, my AP chemistry lab partner moonlighting as the DJ. I flicked the gold-ringed eraser end of my pencil at them.

And just like that, the first step to my family’s HEA had liftoff.

Now the rest of the party needed to unfold perfectly for it to keep soaring.

I tucked the pencil behind my ear. Pressed the side of the ancient walkie-talkie, relics from Po’s and my Pokémon-catching days. Even with the bumblebee-yellow plastic, it looked super professional—so long as I kept the side with the Pikachu speakers down. “It’s almost time to open the floodgates, Callie. Are the assets in position?”

A burst of crackles, then a drumroll emitted from the speaker. Probably her tapping her nails against the walkie-talkie. At student body association meetings, she always thrummed them against her binder before delivering bad news. “Sorry, Cas, Tweedledee and Tweedledum have gone AWOL. Again.”

Every chance they got, Ishaan and Sarah sneaked off for an impromptu make-out session. I should’ve forced them to share their location when I had the chance.

“I’ll track them down,” I grumbled. “What about Angie? Is she finally ready?”

“Um. About that.”

My knuckles clenched the planner’s edges. “What now?”

“She’s locked herself in the bridal suite and won’t let me in.”

Ugh. “Fine. I’ll handle it.” I always did. “I’m going to open the doors. Can you come back here and let me know if anything else happens?”

“Roger.”

“Over and out.” I gave Juno the signal. A second later, an instrumental version of “My Heart Will Go On” filled the ballroom. I opened the set of double doors, smiling at the flurry of guests blurring past.

Stepping into the hotel’s lobby, I broke into a sprint. No signs of the two quince court members gone missing. No skinny-dipping in the pool out back either. Right when my fingers curled around Pikachu’s tail—er, the talk button—ready to order Callie to come help with the manhunt, there, through the hotel’s tall arches that led to its beautiful Spanish courtyard, they stood.

Their necks defied geometric principles. Even the AP ones I’d learned last year. Blame it on the chismosa part of me—definitely not on the never-been-kissed part—I stepped closer for a better look. With all that teeth gnashing, how were their Invisalign staying in place?

As over-the-top as this PDA was, though, I couldn’t deny this spot did scream “perfect background for making out.” Burgundy roses rustled in the warm breeze. An eager moon shone silver from a darkening sky, bathing these lovebirds in extra-shimmery light.

They weren’t even the couple of the night. And although I’d witnessed more of these stolen moments than I could count (both in person and in the rom-coms Mom used to watch to perfect her English), a bunch of butterflies fluttered through me. I threw back my shoulders, flinging off the romantic in me, and stepped into the courtyard. “Hey, you two!”

The couple broke apart. Moonbeams caught on Sarah’s plastic aligners. The moonlight didn’t similarly bounce off Ishaan’s. Not with all of Sarah’s lipstick smudged over them. “We were just—” they mumbled at the same time.

I put up a hand. “Ishaan, fix your tie and wipe your Invisalign. And Sarah—” I reached under my blazer into my utility bag, pulled out my hand, and flung a tube of lipstick that every dama in the court was wearing tonight. “Catch.”

Captain of the softball team, she caught MAC’s Ballet Slipper in a manicured hand like a pro. “Now, hurry,” I said. “The procession starts in ten.”

One problem down, one more to go. My body vibrated with purpose. With a plan. There was nothing I loved more than a plan.

I sprinted forward, scrunching smoothing serum on the split ends of some fellow classmates, pointing tipsy tíos the right way. I narrowly avoided crashing into Angie’s abuelita.

“Sorry, Se?ora Montes!”

“?Wachale, ni?a!” She squinted at me before gesturing to the floor—no, her gold-spiked kitten heels. Way more dangerous than embroidered-cloth and rubber-soled chanclas worn by less bougie grandmothers. By the look on her face, she’d have zero qualms about using them on my behind if I didn’t watch where I was going.

“Why hasn’t my granddaughter come down yet?” Okay, she’d also use the sandals on me if Angie missed the grand entrance. “Do you even know where she is?”

“Of course I do.” Only because Callie told me a second ago. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.” My loud gulp made her eyebrows draw tighter. “Please make your way to the ballroom and enjoy the hors d’oeuvres. Angie will be down any second.” I broke into a run before she could say anything else.

Too bad I couldn’t outpace Angie’s cousin Fernando. “Cas! Wait!”

But if time waited for no one, neither would I. No matter how cute Fer was, or how many times he’d asked me to be his date for a cousin’s wedding, you know what they say.

Always a planner, never a plus-one.

Not to mention I’d never been a date since, well, ever.

I ran through one of the hotel’s kitchens, losing him in a maze of chefs, hissing grills, and boiling pots. By the time I reached the bridal suite, my thighs burned. I leaned against the door and tried to turn the knob.

It refused to budge. I knocked. No answer.

Great. Angie had gone full-on quincezilla.

“Open the door. It’s me—Cas.”

Still nothing. I pressed my ear to the door. No TV or music from the other side. Just the click-click-click of stilettos pacing across marble floors.

“Angie, if you don’t open this door right now”—since we were both too old to believe in El Cucuy, I reached for the other monster Latines feared until they died—“I’ll go get your abuelita.”

A huge gasp from the other side of the door. But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures. The door creaked open; Angie grabbed my pink blouse and dragged me in. “Careful, Ang! This is my lucky shirt.”

She locked the door behind us. “Sorry. If I tore anything, I’ll buy you a new one.”

I brushed my hands down my blouse. Every pearl button had stayed put. No tears in the pink silk. The shirt I planned to wear to Mandy’s fairy godmother internship interview one day was still intact. I blew out a sigh of relief. “It’s fine.”

“I’m glad one of us is.” The top of her bronzed and contoured chest rose and fell. The Swarovski crystals beading her bodice sprayed tiny rainbows on the walls.

“Why are you freaking out now, Angie? You’ve worked your butt off learning all the routines.” Contrary to stereotype, not all Latinas had rhythm. In exchange for Spanish tutoring, Marcus Bennett, our school’s captain of the dance team, agreed to choreograph the dances. Except, to get them down, Angie had put in the ten thousand hours herself. “You could do the father-daughter dance, the group waltz, and el baile de sorpresa blindfolded.”

“I wish I was blindfolded.”

“And mess up your makeup?”

She jabbed me on the shoulder. “I’m serious, Cas. I know we practiced everything for weeks now…” She didn’t have to finish telling me. I’d spent the last month of the spring semester and the first week of summer vacation prepping this party. “Except we didn’t practice”—Angie dropped her chin to the neckline of her gown—“how it’s going to feel having everyone staring at me.”

I swallowed a chuckle. Most prom queens and homecoming kings couldn’t wait for the one night that guaranteed all eyes on them.

“How did you handle it for your quince? Was it as big as this?”

“Well, I actually—” My voice broke off, then vanished.

“Let me guess. It was an outdoor venue, wasn’t it?”

A lump lodged itself in my throat. Over a year ago, my fifteenth birthday’s venue had been outdoors, all right.

“I knew it.” She stomped her foot.

“Careful with that.” I crouched to the floor, checking the heel. “Your mom’s going to kill me if another pair of Louboutins gets ruined on my watch.” Even worse, one more complaint from Mami Dearest and she’d probably bad-mouth me to all her friends. I didn’t even want to entertain how the bad reviews could impact this side hustle. Or, by extension, the internship.

My shoulders tensed before relaxing. “Thankfully, the heel’s intact.”

Angie stuck her tongue out at me.

“Real adult behavior from someone who is about to become a woman.” The moment I said it, the walkie-talkie crackled from my back pocket. Either an electric volt from Pikachu or an incoming message from Callie. Both probably warnings that Mami Dearest or—gasp—Abuelita stormed this way.

I rose up and spun Angie around toward the mirror. Pinned up a tendril that had already come loose. “Showtime,” I said, dragging her by the elbow.

Except she dug in her high heels. “A daytime quince was my first choice, you know. Outdoors, like yours.” Her voice got soft, faraway. “But Abuelita didn’t want me to get even darker.”

I bit my lips. Protested silently by letting another ringlet stay outside the perfectly sculpted bun.

“And what about the flowers?” Angie asked, probably to keep stalling. “Which kinds did you have?”

“All types.” Technically not a lie. But ugh. That damn lump kept swelling.

“Probably in every arrangement imaginable?”

“Yup.” Also true. Only they’d been placed on the ground, not across the middles of exquisitely decorated tables.

A wistful sigh escaped her lips, as if she were watching a memory reel inside my head. Before she realized the true story, I bent down again. Rearranged gigantic swaths of pink tulle swallowing the lower half of her body.

“Marble floors?”

“Uh-huh.” More like blocks of marble, atop perfectly cut grass. Engraved with names, dashes between dates. Adjectives. And so many nouns. I rolled some of the fabric between my fingers. Swore Beloved Wife and Mother skimmed my skin.

My eyes went misty. As if it couldn’t get any worse, I stood up, only to discover her peepers followed suit before turning red. Kill me now.

I reached under my blazer for my utility bag. Dug into the top pocket where I kept the travel-size bottle of Visine and my silk hanky. “Angie, we need to move.” Out of this room, before her mom and granny tore down the doors. Before more memories rushed in uninvited.

“Oh, Cas. I’m scared.”

“It’s scary.” I stared at myself in the mirror when I said it. Grief apparently took cues from vampires because that Mom-shaped hole in the middle of my chest cast no reflection.

I flicked my gaze back to Angie. “Look up.” I squeezed a drop into each eye. Beads of water clung to her faux lashes. The glint matched the gleam coming off the diamonds looping around her neck. “I’m not going to lie. There are going to be hundreds of eyes on you.” One hundred and twenty-eight, to be exact. “If you can, try to focus on just one pair of them.”

I pictured Mom’s eyes. So dark yet filled with so much fire. Like stars burning over an endless desert. Like candlelight beaming under a rolling blackout. Their brightness started to dim two years ago, fading slowly until no light remained.

I squirted my own eyes with sprays of Visine. “Especially when you’re giving the thank-you speech.”

Angie shrieked. Exactly like I knew she would. “Cálmate. I have one right here.” Speech writing wasn’t my forte. Still, I couldn’t pass up a chance to write this one. Not when it felt like fanfic of what I wished I would’ve told Mom at my quince… if I’d had one.

I pulled the speech from my pocket. She plucked it from my fingers. False lashes fluttered as she scanned each line. “Thank you for coming and helping me celebrate my fifteenth birthday. Tonight, Papi put a new pair of heels on me. I’m sure my little brother tried his hardest to hide my last doll—”

“Pause for laughter,” I said, drawing the pencil from the back of my ear. While it had a long way to go before becoming like Mandy’s magic stylus, I flicked it at Angie anyway, motioning for her to continue.

She gave a small nod. “After finding it, I’ll pass it down to my little sister. These rituals will mark my transition from girl to woman. Even without these traditions, I’d still be standing here in all of my womanhood. Because one person has taught me how.” Her eyes shimmered with tears. “Mamá, your light illuminates everything it touches…”

I mouthed the rest of the speech with her. Every word made my eyes burn. Each one also packed that massive hole in my chest. Made the constant emptiness a little less heavy.

The internship couldn’t get here soon enough. Then I’d stuff this void with so many fairy-tale moments that every empty crevice would fill up.

“Cas, this is beautiful.” She chuckled. “But will anyone believe it’s about my mom?”

“Tonight is about magic and—” Before I said “happily ever afters,” Mami Dearest threw the doors open and barged in.

I shielded Angie from her wrath. “Se?ora Montes, we were just on our way down.”

“Really, Castillo? Because my mother-in-law said you were running like a chicken with its head cut off looking for my daughter.”

And here I thought our classmate Gianna took the title for Orange County’s biggest gossipmonger—but et tu, Abuelita?

“I knew Angelica made a mistake by hiring you. We should’ve hired a real planner. Not a classmate playing dress-up,” she hissed, conveniently forgetting her daughter was swaddled in layers of tulle, with a tiara topping her tresses. I didn’t point this out, though. No way I’d ruin this moment for Angie. Or my future plans. “?Apúrense! Everyone’s waiting,” Mami Dearest said.

“Mamá, stop.” Angie walked around me. One small step for her. Yet she cast me a glance, as if knowing this tiny footstep was actually a huge leap. “Cas has everything under control.” She faced her mother head-on. “Only someone young, like us, knows the importance of making a fashionably late entrance.”

Thank you, I mouthed. Maybe there was something deeper to these parties than the glitz and glamor. Because while she was dressed like a Disney princess, she acted all warrior.

The transition must’ve been palpable because Mami Dearest blinked and blinked, grabbing her daughter’s hands. Angie clasped them.

They held on tighter than the zippers and hems holding them in in all the right places. The soft light hit their profiles. When I tilted my head at just the right angle, they no longer resembled mother and daughter. They were people vowing to be best friends for the rest of their lives.

A tear rolled down my cheek. I let myself out as quickly as I could. Like any future fairy godmother worth her weight, a good quince planner excelled at prepping the belle of the ball to take center stage.

But they were even better at knowing when to disappear behind the curtains.