Chapter Four
One of the shiniest centerpieces of her resume, gone. I grabbed the laptop and opened another tab.
“Are you really not going to ask what happened?” Po said, slingshotting a sports bra at my head.
“Busy here trying to salvage your future college applications.” And by extension, rescuing a component of my Torres family HEA vision board. I chewed my lips, scrolling through our high school’s summer internship and jobs portal.
“‘Persistently going against the pre-set menus,’” she grumbled. “‘Too many onions on fries’? Is that even possible?”
Onions weren’t just a staple in Cuban cuisine. Back when Cuban food rotated regularly inside our kitchen, Mom made sure they were our household’s major food group. I peeked over the screen’s rim. “Look. I agree. There can never be enough onions. But, Po. You can’t make up your own menu whenever you feel like it.”
She blew the ends of her bob off her face. “Whatever. What does my manager know about food anyway?”
Typical Po, blowing past everything. She patted my hand when she caught me balling her sports bra between my fists.
“Chill out. I’ll find something else this summer.”
“Really? Because the deadlines for any UCI- or Alma-worthy extracurriculars are long gone.” My voice came out harsh, exactly as intended.
For once she stayed silent. The enormity of this loss probably, finally, sinking in.
“I’ll take care of this, okay?” I said. Fixing her future college admission situation would (fingers crossed) be way easier than solving Dad’s current gaming one. “In the meantime, you’re helping at the school fundraiser this weekend.”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
Nodding, I crossed the room to get my planner. I flipped to the tab labeled Hot Dog / Dog Wash. With my pencil, I went down the list of members. “Cari dropped out,” I lied.
Po crossed her arms. “What? Idle hands are Po’s playground, or something?”
I neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions. “Who knows? You may like working SBA events. If you do, I’ll use my clout on the committee to pull some strings. Get you in for the rest of the summer.” OC’s main currencies were nepotism and cash. I had no qualms about using the former to help my sister.
“Fine.” She straightened her posture. “I’ll do it. If you go to Disneyland with me tomorrow.”
“I don’t negotiate with—” A string of phone notifications cut in before I finished.
“Who’s blowing you up at this hour?” Po teased, looking toward my bed.
I grabbed my phone. “Angie tagged me in quince photos.” Hashtagged lots of them #best #partyplanner #ever. Classmates I’ve known since kindergarten finally followed me back on Insta. Even SBA’s event account had more followers than this morning.
The next tag broadened my smile into a grin. “And Hot Goss’s IG reposted a TikTok.” Nine times out of ten, Gianna’s not-so-anonymous accounts featured student scandals. Once in a blue moon, though…
Is our event chair ready to sit on the party-planner throne? From school proms to after-hours fiestas, sure looks that way! #letsgetthepartystarted
New DMs flooded my inbox. One classmate requested a planner for a younger sibling’s period party. Another wanted help for their graduation reception. Someone from AP chemistry asked about an I-got-my-first-car bash.
More notifications flashed across my screen. None exploded as intensely as the fireworks going off inside me. These events could pad my portfolio… But would they be the type of party experience Mandy required?
I went to her account again, scanning her grid once more. The fireworks died out. Another big birthday party. That’s what I needed to pique her attention and land the fairy godmother internship.
On the phone’s next ping, every atom of oxygen flew from my lungs.
“Do I need to run into the kitchen and grab a brown paper bag?” Po asked. “Because it sounds like you’re hyperventilating.”
“Melina just messaged me.” I showed Po the screen so she could confirm this wasn’t a dream.
“‘Maybe you can plan my sweet sixteen?’” Po squealed before continuing to read off the screen. “‘I want it to be bigger than Angie’s quince. Chat about it soon? Eye emoji, celebrating-face emoji!’” She threw an armful of clothes toward the ceiling, letting them tumble around us like streamers.
For once, I curbed the instinct to clean up her mess.
“Operation side hustle officially has liftoff,” she said.
“To infinity and beyond.” I cracked up at the Disney reference slip.
Po slapped her hand on my shoulder. “That settles it. We’re celebrating. Me. You. And Disneyland.”
Wide awake at 3:00 a.m., thanks to Po’s snoring. Well, maybe not completely because of that.
After Mom, sleeping soundly didn’t come as easily. I pulled the duvet over my head. Under the covers, I could work without waking Po. And take shelter from any more Mom-related thoughts.
I pointed the phone’s flashlight at my planner. Flipped to a blank page.
Once upon a time, I used to love these wide-open canvases. Now the vacant space gnawed at me. It reminded me too much of that void inside my chest.
“Time to fill you up,” I whispered. At the top of the page, I wrote Melina party prep.
If Angie was the big fish of the freshmen, Mel was the queen bee of the sophomores. Booking two big parties to follow up Hot Goss’s boost? Word of my side hustle would spread faster than a California wildfire. All before Mandy’s application window closed.
“Let’s get a better sense of your aesthetics,” I whispered, scrolling down Mel’s IG grid. Sapphire oceans, cobalt clothes, teal hair. Lots of velvet headbands crowning her locks. More than half of the pictures featured her on spiraled staircases, posing with a white bunny named Alice.
Through the Looking-Glass / Wonderland vibes, I jotted.
I tapped on her stories next. Rubbed my eyes waiting for them to clear, but nope.
Tomorrow, she was going to “Disneyland Day It Up.”
I thanked my lucky stars. Instead of messaging her Pinterest pics, I could show her my ideas and pitch my services in person if—
If I stepped foot into Mom’s happiest place on earth.
Something washed over me. Not so much the firework sensations from earlier. More like the cloying plumes of smoke that lingered after a pyrotechnics show.
I pulled the covers back down. Sucked in mouthfuls of the breeze coming through the window. For a few seconds, the room didn’t seem to have enough air, until…
Honeysuckle? The scent probably wafted in from our next-door neighbor’s hedges. I hugged the pillow. Pretended I was melting into Mom’s arms, sniffing the top notes from her favorite perfume.
“Is this your way of telling me it’s okay to go back?” I whispered deep into the pillowcase. “That it’s okay to go back without you?”
I would’ve preferred dipping a toe into the shallow end first: watching more of that vlogger’s videos, or going on a trip to Downtown Disney.
Still.
With Po at my side and with “book Mel’s party” on my agenda, maybe I’d have the floaties I needed before diving into the deep end. I let go of the pillow and rolled onto my side.
A folded arm bookended one side of Po’s face. A leopard-print sports bra, the other. Her mouth sucked in and blew away crumpled tresses with every snore.
My sister was definitely not the safest flotation device around. Except the only way to apply to the internship this summer—to have Mandy teach me how to turn fantasies into a reality now—was to get another party in the books. Stat.
Like Cinderella’s tattered dress turning into a ball gown, my previous RSVP of “maybe” transformed into a “yes.”