Chapter Eleven
Outside on the cafeteria tables, we scarfed down Po’s culinary creation. “Who knew cotija and gochujang go together better than ketchup and mustard?” I said. The new toppings, especially the jalape?o and avocado, had been as much of a hit as the new banners.
Po beamed. “In-N-Out’s loss is SBA’s gain.”
I washed the food down with a swig of the pineapple Jarritos we were sharing. “Seriously. It’s soo good.”
“Ahh, thanks, Little Cuchara.” She ruffled my frizzy hair with gochujang-coated fingers. Squeeze previously canceled hair wash into tonight’s schedule to shampoo away fermented red-chili paste and dog fur. “Teamwork really makes the dream work.” She smiled through a mouthful. “Ready to keep working together?”
I tore out a blank page from the back of my day planner. “Kudos on performing well today. As my ‘assistant’ on Paulina’s quince, I expect you to comport yourself with even higher levels of decorum.”
“‘Higher levels of decorum,’ huh?” She snatched the paper away. “Remind me again—how exactly did your phone ‘get so wet’ it stopped working?”
I aimed a piece of hot dog bun at her head. It landed inside her cleavage instead. At the unexpected bullseye, we couldn’t stop roaring. The belly laughs came easier, having just practiced some with Javi.
Po plucked the piece of bun from between her boobs, tossed it into her mouth, and said, “Measure your life in stitches, and I’ll tell you how much you laughed.”
Stitches. What an odd way to describe laughing, but it fit. I felt closer to her now than I had in the past two years. “I’ll tell you about my phone after this call.”
My pulse picked up speed. The heartbeats echoed less loudly, almost as if the Mom-shaped hole had shrunk a bit. “Take notes in case I miss anything, okay? A lot’s riding on this party for me.” For our family.
I reached into my backpack, grabbing the box of markers and a tube of sunscreen. I extended both to Po.
She slathered some sunscreen over her reddening face, arms, and strip of belly exposed by her crop top. Made a big show of mulling over which marker to choose. With an exaggerated wink, she grabbed the pink one and pointed at the lipstick coating my mouth. “A crush for a crush.”
“So long as this scheme of ours doesn’t leave us crushed.”
Po chuckled. So did I, even though I wasn’t joking.
I tugged at my blouse’s collar. Po scooted closer and fanned the blank page at me, as if trying to blow my worry away. “Relax. Paulina’s going to love your ideas. The quince will be the bash of the summer. That Mandy woman won’t have any other choice but to offer you the internship. Ready?”
“Yes.” Maybe. “Are you?”
“Always,” she said, tapping the FaceTime app and pulling up Paulina’s number.
Between trills, the tip of the pink marker scratched against the page. Po didn’t bother to write anything useful, like the date. Only Po + Paulina 4eva inside a big loopy heart.
Paulina’s face appearing on the screen cut my groaning short. “How are my favorite hermanas doing?” she asked.
“A lot better now that we’re talking to you.” Po used a soft and squishy voice that I’d never heard before.
“Same.” Paulina continued to keep most of her face still, but her faux lashes betrayed her. They fluttered and fluttered, each bat reserved for Po.
Po reached into her pocket and put on more pink lipstick.
That’s it. No more flirting. I angled the phone closer to me and said, “Let’s recap where we left off yesterday.” Opening the Paulina Reyes Quince tab inside the day planer, I recited the preliminary checklist. “Party in three weeks.” The perfect timeline before the application window for Mandy’s fairy godmother internship closed. “Budget—”
“‘Enough to make Tía Mari in México jealous,’” Paulina said, imitating her mom’s accent again. Although she giggled, it faded quickly. She broke eye contact with Po.
Heat rose to my cheeks. Even Po squirmed on the seat. Neither of us asked Paulina what this tension was. Not surprising since the Torres clan had grown used to avoiding uncomfortable feelings.
Right before the silence became inescapably awkward, Paulina flipped some shiny locks over a shoulder, as if trying to push back whatever bothered her. No wonder she and Po liked each other.
Paulina fixed her face, putting the cool-calm-collected mask on again. Good. I think.
“You also mentioned wanting a ‘deconstructed’ quince,” I said. Time to earn my fairy godmother’s apprentice robes. “I came up with some suggestions for what that could look like.”
Paulina rubbed her hands together. “Give it to me.”
“What about a gender-swapped court?” I asked. “Or no court at all?”
Paulina drummed her fingers across her desk. “Ohh, that’s cool.”
Po reached under the table to fist-bump me.
“But no,” Paulina said.
Instead of circling one of these options, I crossed both out. Moved down the list. “Okay, what about no chambelán?”
“Or maybe…” Po chewed the end of the marker hard enough to leave teeth marks. “A chambelána instead?”
Paulina’s neck flushed. “I really like both those ideas,” she said, much to the delight of my sister. “But I don’t know if—” She glanced over her shoulder, to the door behind her, then back to us. “I mean, those don’t hit the ‘deconstructed’ mark as much as I’d like. What else do you have?”
A sinking feeling crept into my stomach. Was Paulina going to be a quincezilla from day one?
Even if she was, I simply needed to manage this fiesta the way I did SBA meetings and events—with a firm hand and lots of vision. I tightened the grip over my pencil. “What about different foods served at each table?”
Paulina scrunched her nose. Okay, then. I drew a line through that idea. “A wild location, perhaps?”
“We’re getting closer with that,” she said, fidgeting with a dangly red earring.
Red lightsaber?I jotted before Po blurted, “Since you’re a Disney vlogger, Disneyland maybe?”
Paulina let go of the earring to clap. Silver and black hilts. Red blades. Bingo. The earrings were lightsaber replicas. Something about the way the miniblades swung back and forth enchanted me.
I skipped the next suggestion on my list in favor of a detour. “Better yet, what about a galaxy far, far away? In other words, whatever a ‘deconstructed’ quince means to you, we take that and make it Star Wars themed.”
“Yes.” Paulina’s smile flashed brighter than the red glitter lining her eyes. “A million times, yes.”
Back in the planner game, baby! My shoulders lifted so high Po’s heavy slaps of praise couldn’t lower them.
“My mind’s running with ideas now.” Paulina tapped a manicured finger against her chin. “Oh my gosh.” Her finger stilled. “We can go even deeper with the wild location.” Like every good performer, she paused for a beat, amping up the dramatic effect. “YouTube. We stream the entire quince on my channel.”
Po mic dropped the pink marker onto the table. “That’s brilliant.” She hit the mute button. “Didn’t I say this would happen?” Was she moonlighting as a ventriloquist after school? Otherwise, how was she keeping her lips that still? “Mo’ exposure, mo’ clients.”
“I’ll even upload a couple shorts featuring some of the planning parts,” Paulina said. “What do you say?”
My mouth gaped open. Normally people only showcased the party. Not the grunt work it took to make a Pinterest board come to life. Fairy godmothers never got a chance to step into the limelight.
Yet here was Paulina, offering to share her spotlight. Perhaps I’d labeled her a quincezilla too prematurely.
I unmuted and said, “I’m one hundred percent taking you up on that invitation. Thank you.” I swallowed a mouthful of excitement and let the planner in me retake the wheel. “Streaming the quince on your channel’s a fabulous idea. For the bonus planning parts, I suggest filming only a handful of the prep. The parts that may be the most fun to watch?”
“Good call,” she said. “That way the shorts don’t turn into a docuseries critics call ‘a journey into the caught-between-two-cultures rituals of modern Latine life.’” She scoffed before taking a swig of Perrier.
Po giggled. “Too bad I’m not turning fifteen, cuz I’d sooo use that docuseries as my college application. Alma’s and UCI’s admissions boards would gobble that right up.” She elbowed me in the ribs. “Sucks we can’t have a quince do-over, eh?”
For once we were on the same page.
Paulina’s choking burst our bubble. The Perrier must’ve gone down the wrong pipe. Po hunched over the phone. “Paulina, are you okay?”
“More than okay, actually.” Paulina wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “But also a tad embarrassed you’ve seen what a klutz I can be.”
Polished Paulina seemed the antithesis of that, but whatever. No need to rain on Po’s heart-eye parade. “You contain multitudes,” Po said. “I like it.”
Paulina twirled some locks between her fingers before turning her attention to me. “Let’s rewind to before I shot Perrier out my nose. Cas, what parts of the quince prep do you recommend showcasing?”
I moved my pencil over the planner and said, “Dance choreography.” Po concurred with a shoulder shimmy.
“Yes, please.” I couldn’t tell if Paulina was talking about my dance idea or Po’s jiggling cleavage.
“Filming the photography session could be super meta, too,” I continued.
Paulina’s eyes widened. “Love it.”
Po’s pink marker zipped across the page, this time actually writing a numbered list of my suggestions. I tilted my head for a better look.
Next to dance she drew three stars. Next to photo shoot, two. Some sort of rating system?
“Decoration rentals and the dress fitting could be super fun,” I continued. “Oh! Cake tasting.”
“And entrée sampling at Disneyland,” Po added.
“Yes to everything. Especially to the Disney tastings. Four birds, one stone!” She winked at Po.
With the tip of the pink marker, Po tapped her temple. “Great minds think alike.”
Paulina smiled, excusing herself for a moment to plug in her laptop. While her back was turned, I yanked a makeup wipe from my utility bag and erased the pink dot staining Po’s skin.
This party was turning out to be more complicated than I’d anticipated. In my mental checklist, Paulina Reyes’s quince plans morphed into wrangle Paulina + Po’s flirt fest.
Although maybe I was being unfair to Po. Because while we waited for Paulina, Po jotted three stars next to decor rentals, cake, and food tasting.
Yup, definitely a rating system. Why hadn’t I thought of using one at SBA meetings? Three gold stars for Po.
“Okay, I’m back,” Paulina said. “What’s next?”
“This is a solid foundation for planning the shorts you want to upload,” I said. “Ready to brainstorm the actual party?”
“Brainstorming’s not necessary. A vision of my deconstructed quince flashed before my eyes during that Perrier-induced NDE I just had.”
Po and I held a collective breath.
“I’ll film—and upload—the planning bits only,” Paulina said. “Without. Having. An. Actual. Party.”
Po sprung from the table to give her a standing ovation. Paulina basked in the praise. While both gushed about how groundbreaking this concept was, I lapsed into silence.
Down the street, a lawn mower whirred. Nearer still, a car alarm blared. Neither came close to the warning signal ringing inside my head.
Po must’ve seen my knuckles going white against the pencil, because she sat down again. Underneath the hearts and star ratings, she scribbled, Crap! Is this going to be a problem for your application?
100%,I wrote back. Because how the hell could I use Paulina’s quincea?era as “party-planning experience” if it wasn’t going to be an actual party?
“Guys, is your screen frozen?” Paulina said. “Can you hear me?”
Remember how to speak. “Yeah, it’s just…”
My chances of becoming a fairy godmother’s apprentice were in jeopardy. And if Paulina only wanted to film planning segments, did that mean I wouldn’t get another shot at writing the quintessential thank-you-Mom speech?
The pencil slipped from my hands. Under the guise of picking it up, I ducked under the table.
Get it together.If I could salvage the banners, there must be a way to fix this. A way to make this party work for both Paulina’s purposes and mine.
“Everything okay down there?” Po asked.
“Uh-huh. Just trying to find my lucky pencil,” I said, latching on to it. Bringing its eraser-end to my lips, I whispered, “If you want Mandy’s fairy dust to turn you into a real pencil wand one day, you’d better help me come up with a rain plan, stat.”
I twirled the pencil over the crown of my head, imagining it were already enchanted.
Think, think.
After a flurry of heart sputters, at last, an idea materialized.
Yes, the plan congealed the hot dog pieces sloshing inside my stomach. Yes, it leaned more on the selfish side of things than on the selfless service of a fairy godmother. But this ploy was the only way to keep my family headed down the HEA-bricked road.
I whipped back up and snatched the phone from Po’s hands. “First, chef’s kiss for the planning-shorts idea. It completely achieves the deconstructed vibes you want. Your viewers will love the very merry unbirthday party content. However—”
“Hold up.” Very merry unbirthday, Paulina mouthed, as if testing the words. “That’s from Alice in Wonderland, isn’t it?”
I nodded. Who knew all those hours I’d spent on Through the Looking-Glass Pinterest boards for Melina would come in handy?
“We’re using it. This video series will be called”—the spark in her eyes burned so hot I was shocked her room didn’t catch fire—“My Very Merry Unquince.”
“Perfection,” Po said.
“Cas?” Paulina said. “You don’t look convinced.”
Drawing on every hour I’d spent in drama class, I said, “It’s great. But you’ve mentioned your mom’s a keeping-up-with-the-tías type of person, so… wouldn’t she be mad if you don’t have an actual get-together?”
Paulina slumped in her chair, mm-hmming on cue. “You’re right. La Mera Mera’s going to be Darth Vader levels of pissed off if I tell her I’m opting out of a super-traditional, over-the-top shindig like she probably envisioned for her perfect Mexican daughter.”
My lips twitched. Guilty as charged for trying to coax her into having one exactly like that to add onto my résumé.
I flicked my eyes away from the screen. I couldn’t keep staring at Paulina’s frowning face. Much less Po’s narrowing eyes.
If she suspected I was up to something, what right did she have to judge me?
I wouldn’t even be in this position without her having wheedled me into it.
“Thanks for looking out for me,” Paulina said.
More like looking out for myself. For my family.
But if this plan let me turn the steering wheel back to Mandy’s internship, why did it also feel like something was slipping through my fingers? Mainly my moral fiber. And something else I couldn’t place.
“Well, I’m not giving up the unquince idea. I’m still going to upload a series of vlogs on my channel—not a traditional-style quincea?era.” Paulina crossed her arms across her black tank top in a way that yelled, Got it?
Yep. You’re used to having the last word.
Before I could formulate a new internship plan, Paulina groaned. “Argh, but you’re also spot-on about my mom. I need to do something to appease her. She’ll never get off of my case otherwise.” She fidgeted with one of her lightsaber earrings. “What about something small and super fancy? Can you make that work?”
“Not for Mandy,” I said but only meant to think.
Paulina’s eyebrows knitted together. Po’s throat bobbed. Dang it.
After what felt like an eternity, Paulina nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Mandy’s firm is very prestigious. Why would one of her most promising young interns waste their time on a small dinner? No worries.” She grabbed then released a fist of hair. “I get it.”
Guilt gnawed at me. At least she didn’t suspect something was off. Not to mention she’d pretty much handed me a get-outta-jail-free card.
I could circle back to plan A and reply to Melina’s sweet-sixteen request. Her party wouldn’t come close to the exposure I could’ve gotten with Paulina’s. It didn’t come with the opportunity to draft a thank-you speech for her mom, either.
But it had the potential to fit Mandy’s requirements.
I waited for the happiness to rush in. The gratitude. Excitement. The only thing I felt was my fingers growing cold around my pencil and the truth settling into my heart’s hollows.
More than any other event, I wanted to plan another quince. “It’s too bad this didn’t work out, Paulina.” I fought the urge to slump over the table. “I—er—Mandy Whitmore and Associates really wished it could have.”
Paulina’s hair fell over her face. “Same. It would’ve been awesome to collaborate with you. Both of you.”
Po slapped her palm across the table, breaking up Paulina’s and my pity party. “I refuse to let the two of you throw in the napkin this easily. It’s completely possible for us to have our pie and eat it, too.”
Paulina and I shared a surprised look. “How?” I asked.
“Have your unquince for your channel to scratch your deconstruction itch,” Po said. “And have a smaller get-together to appease La Mera Mera. You’re a great vlogger and editor, so what if”—Po shot Paulina a knowing smile—“you shot it like that vlog where it looked like you rode every one of Disney’s fifty-eight attractions in one day but really didn’t?”
My pencil started to move across the page. Me, taking notes from Po? What multiverse had I stumbled through?
Paulina nodded. “If I shoot it in the style of those quince and wedding videos…”
“You can make it look like you had the quince of the season,” Po finished for her. “Last night you said your mom doesn’t even intend to invite most of your family. Pictures—aka proof of something fancy—to make them jealous is her actual MO.”
What? I tipped my face toward Po. Where was I when they’d had this conversation? Paulina must’ve caught my confusion because she said, “I slid into Po’s DMs last night. I told her how I suspect my mom cares more about the perception of my party rather than me experiencing a quincea?era, so…” Instead of looking bummed, like I’d expected, she beamed. “She’ll be thrilled to have ‘evidence’ of the quince to show off.”
Po threw an arm around me, pressing her cheek to mine. “And you’ll have ‘evidence’ for Mandy’s—”
“Dossier,” I said, jumping in before Po possibly blurted application.
“Po, this idea’s so genius I could kiss you right now,” Paulina squealed.
Po’s cheeks flared with streaks of pink to match her lipstick. For once, she was speechless.
“What do you say, Cas?” Paulina brought her face close to the screen. Each fleck of glitter twinkled like a star ready to grant my heart’s true desire. “Are you up for playing a little make-believe?”
If only she knew how practiced I was getting at the art of fantasy. I curled my toes into my loafers before I could break out into a waltz. “Yes,” I said. Real life could wait.