The Quince Project

Chapter Five

A marching band rumbled in the distance. Hooves clomped on the concrete as draft horses towed a trolley. The murmur of the crowd. The cacophony barely drowned out my pounding heart.

Po grabbed my hand. We zigzagged through the horde of park-goers. With her leading the way, dodging strollers, wheelchairs, and streamers pulled taut by helium balloons, it was easier to keep my gaze away from our old haunts lining Main Street, U.S.A.

Memories flashed through my mind anyway: chowing down fried pickles, having our portraits done at the silhouette studio, watching a slew of parades, getting our fortunes told.

Granted, I had to look up and glare at Esmeralda, the “psychic” in the fortune teller booth inside the Penny Arcade. What a hack you turned out to be, Esme.

Mom never got better.

“You okay?” Po asked.

“Yup.” Despite the ache in my chest, I couldn’t deny being proud of my ability to stand here without dissolving into a puddle of tears.

“Cool, then I’ll be right back.” Po bolted into the nearest bathroom without asking if I needed to go, too. While Po peed, I prepped.

Leaning against a railing, I checked Mel’s IG again.

Eek! Her story from three minutes ago showed her slipping into one of Pirates’ boats. Hurry up, I texted Po.

Po

Hold your ponies.

I couldn’t hold my “ponies.” Not with the Pinterest boards on my phone burning holes in my palms. If memory served me right, Pirates took ten to fifteen minutes.

HURRY!I texted again. If Po hustled, I’d have ample opportunity to run over there and “bump” into Mel right as she exited the ride. Then show off the Alice in Wonderland–themed aesthetics I curated for her—and voilà, book her party.

I took a victory breath. Scents of popcorn, corn dogs, and sunscreen curled around me. The enchantment cast by the smells was so intoxicating I couldn’t help but pull my face from my phone screen.

I swallowed hard.

I’m really back here.

Victorian facades. Pastel painted porches. Perfectly carved awnings topping every store. I’d forgotten how beautiful these buildings were. Especially the one up ahead, towering over everything inside the park’s central hub.

The Sleeping Beauty Castle.

Had Mom named me Castillo after this one? Or some other she’d seen in a travel magazine? There must’ve been a reason why she chose castle for my namesake.

I never got the chance to ask her about it.

To distract myself from how much the tightness in my chest grew, I busied myself by counting some of the castle’s blue and lavender bricks. Studied the way their perfect alignment formed tall towers, letting the pink turrets climb high, every peak racing to reach a cloudless sky.

Gold pixie dust sprinkled the center of the castle’s cobalt-shingled roof. Surely, a present from Tinker Bell, rewarding the castillo for remaining upright and sturdy, no matter the weather.

I snapped a picture of it. To add to my collection of mood board prep, obviously.

Not because the building could be a nice image to paint. My watercolor days were long gone.

The hard thumps of Po’s combat boots cut through my thoughts. She bounced down the steps with more bronzer contouring her already ample cleavage and a new coat of lipstick.

Pinklipstick. Despite myself, I smiled at the freshened look for her not-so-secret flirting agenda. Too bad her plan played second to mine. “Let’s head to New Orleans Square first.”

Po arched a brow. “I’m shocked that you, Miss Always Thinking About Ma?ana, don’t want to hit up Tomorrowland first.” With hands still wet with sink water, she latched on to my arm and tugged me onward. “C’mon. Space Mountain.”

I dug my loafers into the ground. “I’m equally shocked that you, Miss Refuses to Grow Up, don’t want to go on Peter Pan’s Flight first.” While she cracked up, I pushed my game plan. “Pirates.”

Po let go of my arm. “It’s impossible for you to go with the flow, isn’t it?”

“Considering we live at the beach, shouldn’t you know that eighty percent of lifeguard rescues are directly attributed to getting caught in a current? Going with the flow isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Po huffed. Her fingers disappeared inside her fringed cross-body purse. Her eyes shot down to what I assumed was her phone. Was she checking her crush’s YouTube channel for a live stream or something?

Huh. I should do the same thing.

Argh. Mel was already off Pirates… and heading to Space Mountain. “You know what? On second thought, let’s have it your way. Nothing like a roller coaster to start our day.”

Po gasped so loud that people—and the ducks canvassing the ground for broken-off pieces of churros—turned in our direction.

“What? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I tapped my loafer against the ground. “For me to ‘go with the flow’?”

Her eyes narrowed at me. Then slowly, any suspicions gave way to an enormous smile. “I knew I’d rub off on you eventually, Little Cuchara.” She trotted off. “To the flow!”

“To the flow.” Luckily for me, I was directing the current exactly where I needed it to go.

The soles of our shoes squeaked to a stop as we narrowly avoided crashing into a cast member. “Try back later,” he said, stringing a chain across Space Mountain’s entrance.

“I forgot how often the rides break down here,” Po said.

“Same.” I sighed. “Well, all that running made me hungry. Let’s grab a snack while we figure out what ride to try next.” In other words, figure out where Mel was headed since I’d missed her again.

“Yes.” Po bolted toward the food carts. “Pretzels, por favor.”

“One of your YouTube hottie’s favorite snacks, I presume?” I teased, hustling to keep up.

Po glanced back. “Dog’s outta the bag, eh? You might think looking for Paulina’s like trying to find a needle in a camel’s back, but hey.” She broke her stride, stepping into the back of the very long pretzel-cart line. “My chances of bumping into her are as good as your chances of bumping into Melina.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?”

She shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

“Hey!” I held out my palm to high-five her. “You actually got that saying right.”

Her hand slapped mine, the warm contact momentarily making me forget I was supposed to be on a mission. “I think I got this right, too.” Po chewed her top lip, erasing most of the pink makeup. “You can totally tell me if I went too far.”

Before I could ask her what the hell she was talking about, she grabbed my hand.

Did she want another high five? Or to tug me forward because the pretzel line moved again? Instead, she placed something inside my palm. Curled her fingers around mine before I could sneak a peek.

Cool to the touch. Smooth surface.

I didn’t have to unfurl my fist to know what it was.

The parade’s music down Main Street, the squeals ebbing and flowing from the Matterhorn above us—every sound pressed around me. Exactly the way my grip did across the circular button.

One by one, I pried my fingers open.

There, in the middle of my hand, was a button of Goofy holding a bunch of balloons. Underneath him, bold font said, I’M CELEbrATING.

My fingers skimmed the blank space below it, an empty slot to write something celebratory.

“‘Life’s a collection of tiny celebrations.’” It slipped out without meaning to.

“Mom’s fave motto.” Po’s lighter skin flushed. She fanned her face with both hands. “It’s hotter than a witch’s tit out here.”

Yes, it was. Except I doubt the bright sun caused this much sweat to dot her forehead.

I held the button to my chest as if that could calm my pulse. But its touch only unlocked more memories. Like the first stop whenever Mom brought us here—before any ride or (Po’s) bathroom break—would always be Main Street’s City Hall to get four of these I’m Celebrating pins.

Three for us to fill out during our visit. One for Dad to fill out later.

My mind flashed to the olden days of Po scrawling boobs or other body parts. To me jotting the A on whatever test I’d just aced. Most of the time, Mom wrote mi familia, in cursive so fancy it could double as calligraphy. After work, Dad would always scribble Jedi Knights or something Star Wars related.

Mom stored our pins in a huge Danish cookie tin that doubled as our kitchen’s fruit platter. Someone must’ve accidentally thrown it away after the wake, because the next morning, I couldn’t find it.

The people in front of us moved. I took a giant step forward, putting much-needed distance between me and that day.

I fiddled with the back of the button, trying to pin it onto my blouse. “Ow!” I stuck my finger in my mouth, pressing my tongue against the pierced skin.

The sting of the lance eased. The sting of everything else… not so much.

“Hey, before you prick yourself and pull a Sleeping Beauty on me,” Po said, rubbing my shoulder, “you have to write something on it.”

I chuckled despite myself, eyeing the crowd. No cute guy around to kiss me for the first time. To wake me up from this bad dream, let alone break the curse of memory.

“I don’t have a Sharpie.” Lies. I had one stashed inside my utility bag, right next to my pencil.

“No worries.” She grabbed the pin from me before reaching into her cross-body. “I have something better.” She uncapped the black liquid eyeliner with her teeth. The marker’s felt tip squeaked against the pin as she wrote across its surface. “Plus, I even know what you should write. Ta-da!” She pushed the button back into my hand.

I’M CELEbrATING:Getting the Mandy Whitmore Internship!!!

Probably in response to my eyebrows drawing together, she said, “Believing is seeing,” as she shuffled up the pretzel line.

There she went again, mixing up her pearls of hashtag-y wisdom, and yet… backward and all, her latest mix-up struck in all the right places.

If I believed I’d book more parties, maybe it’d sprinkle me with enough boldness to convince Matteo Beach High’s most popular to trust me with their special occasions. And eventually, my resume would teem with enough proof of my fairy godmother skills to win over Mandy Whitmore.

I threw my arms around Po. She hugged me back so hard it dammed off everything else. Hunting for internet crushes. Melina. Getting on the next ride. Salty treats. All of it sunk to the bottom of our agendas. Even when the line moved again and the people from behind tried to jostle us forward, we stayed locked in our embrace.

For one shiny second, this moment was Disneyland’s main attraction.

The vendor handed Po a giant Mickey-shaped pretzel. “Sorry, folks—that’s it for this batch,” he said, placing a SOLD OUT sign on the front of the display case. A chorus of unhappy groans rippled behind us.

Po shimmied over to a small bench and plopped down. She coated her lips with sticky, clear gloss. Not the best choice before wolfing down a pretzel coated with crushed Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “Before you bite into it,” I said, walking over to join her, “let’s send a pic to Dad.” I offered her a makeup wipe while gesturing to her mouth.

“Good thinking,” she said, handing the pretzel over before taking the wipe. “You’re better with the aesthetic stuff.” Instead of removing the gloss, she used the wipe to sharpen the contour lines amplifying her cleavage.

Typical. I took a few steps closer to Space Mountain. Held up the Mickey-shaped pretzel. Made sure both the mouse ears and the white spired dome of the ride fit perfectly inside the frame before snapping a pic.

We took you up on the summer-fun sales pitch. Wish you were here.I hit Send.

Gray bubbles appeared immediately.

They vanished just as quickly.

If anything could push past the lump in my throat, it’d surely be a mouthful of Cheeto-dusted and cream-cheese-filled dough. I lifted the pretzel to my lips.

Po’s voice rang from behind “Cas, wait!”

I pivoted back. Po’s duster flapped across her curves like wings. The soles of her boots squeaked when she stopped in front of me.

She grabbed my hand—no, the pretzel—and snatched it away.

“I was about to eat that.” I reached for it. But she kept it high over her head.

“Someone else might need it more.” Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath.

“What are you—”

She jutted her chin over my shoulder.

“Omigawd, omigawd, omigawd,” I chanted—the mantra reserved for the shocked and awed.

“I know,” Po whisper-squealed in my ear.

She’d been right. Believing was seeing. Because there, cutting through the crowd, with rays of sunshine falling on her like personal spotlights, strode that YouTuber.

And she was headed straight toward us.