Chapter Fifteen
Po pressed her elbows into my stomach. “Wake up, sleepy head.” Her eyes shone brighter than the sunshine spilling into “my” room. In what universe did she wake up before I did?
I groaned, pushing her elbows off me. “Need more rest before dance rehearsal with Paulina today.” I tried to pull the covers over my head.
Po grabbed the duvet, holding it hostage. “Ah-ah-ah. Don’t you even think about it. I can’t believe I fell asleep before you got home. Was there any K-I-S-S-I-N-G?” She sang-shouted.
“Nope. More like T-A-L-K-I-N-G.” Javi’s openness about how difficult this process was hadn’t plastered over every fracture running through my heart. But our conversation had filed down some of its jagged edges. Made it easier for me to snuggle against the pillow without fear of slashing it open.
“Details of the date—now!” Po said.
“I wouldn’t call it a ‘date.’”
“You guys went to a movie. On the beach. You got home after ten.” She rattled off each fact like checking items off a list. “If it walks like a date and talks like a date—”
“He needed to get the lifeguard flags back. The place was packed. The movie was Jaws,” I said, listing things back. “Maybe it was a friendly hangout.”
Po harrumphed. She flopped onto the bed, wriggling under the covers next to me. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She drew the covers over both our heads. “The only thing that matters is what you want it to be.”
“I freaking knew you were going to say that.”
She tugged a handful of my tresses. Last night’s salty air had transformed the flat-ironed locks back into curls. “Don’t sidestep the convo. Do you like this guy or not?”
My body flushed. And not from the heat of us huddling inside this cocoon. “I do,” I said. “But…”
“No buts! I mean yes, butts! I don’t even like guy butts, but his is an anatomical wonder.”
I laughed because it was true. Still, cute as Javi was, he’d said it best: I was the castle towers—not the princess pining inside them.
Along with the loads of planning Paulina’s party required? Not the ideal time to add another event to my schedule. No matter how badly I wanted to.
“I can hear the gears in your head turning. Don’t overthink this, Little Cuchara. Just go with—”
“The flow?”
“Exactly,” she said.
I massaged my palms, considering Po’s advice. Dang. I’d been doing a lot more of that lately. If the sky fell this instant, at least the duvet would shield us. “Hypothetically speaking, suppose I did dip a toe into ‘the flow’… Wouldn’t it be smart to have a junior lifeguard at the ready?” I asked.
Po broke out into squeals that rivaled the cheer squad. “Absolutely. Imagine having all the mouth-to-mouth you could ever want on standby.”
For all her chaos, her sense of humor never strayed far off course. “Took you long enough to make that joke.”
“CPR for Cas! CPR for Cas!”
A pounding of steps came up the hallway. The door flew open. “Girls, is everything all right? I heard screaming.”
We pulled the covers down. Dad stood in the doorway dressed for work. “Everything’s good, Dad,” I said.
“Better than good. Cas had a blast on her first date last night.”
“That’s great.” He scratched his stubble. “I think.” That earned twin giggles from me and Po. “Listen, I’m running late but I left you breakfast in the kitchen.” He slipped his phone from his navy suit pants. His face stayed fixed on the screen on his way out of the room.
A ping from one nightstand, a chime from the other. I reached for my phone. Read the new event he’d scheduled on the family calendar.
The Talk.
I sunk back into bed, huffing while Po cracked up.
Although part of me appreciated Dad’s interest in dad-ing again, this was one event I was not looking forward to.
With summer classes, club meetings, and sports teams practicing on campus, cars crammed every corner of Matteo Beach High’s parking lot. Inside my own car, we ate the pastelitos de guayaba. Washed down the Cuban pastries with the coffee Dad had made.
“Breakfast of champions,” I said, relishing the taste of two things that shouldn’t pair so well but did.
Po smiled. Flakes of the crisp puff pastry glittered on her lips. The pink lipstick matched the guava paste stuck between her front teeth. Enjoying the cuteness curbed the instinct to immediately reach into my utility bag and hand her a floss stick.
“Where else do you think I get the energy to lead the volleyball team to so many trophies?” She laughed.
“Trophies that will help you get into Alma or UCI,” I said.
Her laughter flatlined.
“Hey,” I said, reaching across the car’s center console to squeeze her knee. “Don’t worry. You’re going to get in. Your hot dogs were such a hit the event committee will probably be thrilled to have you join this fall. Plus, if this side hustle keeps growing, I’ll need a full-time assistant.” Until I started Mandy’s internship, of course.
“You mean it, Little Cuchara? Because—and BTW, I’ll deny this if you ever bring it up again—I put off thinking about college for so long that some fight-or-flight response must’ve kicked in.” Po blew across the coffee although it was barely warm. “I’m grateful you constantly nagged, because now I have a shot.” She sat up straighter. “Thanks for also letting me cook for SBA because I really miss cooking at In-N-Out.” She took a huge breath, letting it out in a single rush. “I really miss Mom.”
I retracted my hand from her knee. Talk about going from zero to a hundred. “Yeah, me too.” I turned my gaze to the driver-side mirror.
If this topic was the one I wanted to discuss so badly, why was my jaw clenching to prevent more words from coming out?
Heavy silence filled the car instead of a conversation I thought I’d wanted to have. Why did bringing up Mom sometimes hurt as much as glossing over her absence? Hurt as much as the absence itself?
I slumped into the car seat. Po fidgeted in hers, looking as uncomfortable as me. Relief settled over me when she shifted toward the school’s parking lot.
The invitation to keep talking about Mom expired.
Clearly, I needed to practice more Parental Past Tense with Javi. Learn how to keep dipping a toe into these conversations without drowning. Then I could help Po and Dad build their own fluency.
“C’mon,” I said, changing the topic for both our sakes. “Let’s go dance with Paulina.”
Po’s posture loosened. “Yes, please.” One benefit of being Hurricane Po, I supposed, was how quickly she breezed from one emotion to the next.
She flipped down the passenger-side sun visor. Checking herself out in the mirror, she gasped at the pastelito crumbs on the corners of her mouth. She wiped them off before applying a new coat of lipstick. “Hey, do you have those—”
“Here you go.” I extended a floss stick. Before I released it, I said, “Swear you’ll behave.”
“Pinky promise.” She wrenched it away, bolting from the car across the lot. I got out, loafers pounding as I tried to catch up.
The dance team faced the back wall, perfectly spread out. Each dancer held an arm behind themselves, standing still as statues. An alarm blared through the speakers overhead. When the horns and drums dropped, the team spun around, breaking out into a routine.
Hips rolled. Arms spun and legs swung. Individual dancers took turns springing forward in different techniques—jazz, ballet, hip-hop, gymnastics—for a few beats before their movements synced back together.
Po swayed her hips and motioned for me to join. I shook my head, choosing instead to mouth some of the chorus. I knew it from one of the playlists Mom had listened to while cooking: Dance the night away, Live your life and stay young on the floor…
The team dropped into synchronized splits. Torsos and limbs did things AP Bio hadn’t covered. I angled my head to get a better look.
Would I ever get the chance to dance with Javi? While one guy was on my mind, my gaze drifted to another. Marcus.
The captain of the dance team sure looked happy being at the center of these twirling bodies. When he caught me staring, he winked an electric-blue eye at me.
Corny as it was, so many classmates at Matteo Beach High would kill to be in my loafers right now. Instead of winking back, I gave him an exaggerated eye-roll, followed up by extending both hands and signing “flirt” in ASL.
He gave one of his low, husky laughs before spinning into one flawless pirouette after another. The team fell across the floor on the song’s last beat. Panting, they shot their arms up in victory.
Po clapped so hard I was surprised her palms didn’t split open. More applause rang behind us. So did the squeak of Paulina’s wedged Jordans.
The second her glitter-lined eyes locked on Po, Paulina dropped her serious mask. That was quick.
“That choreo was freaking amazing,” Paulina said. “So’s your idea for the ‘Imperial March’ paso doble.” She shimmied, making the red lightsaber earrings sway.
“The Very Merry Unquince’s off to the races,” Po said.
A light-headedness swept over me, as if I’d just blown up a dozen balloons in one go. “You really think so?”
“Obviously.” Paulina asked. “I’m working with a Mandy Whitmore intern, after all.”
I stiffened. “Right.”
The second Paulina moved her attention to Marcus, I licked off my sweat mustache. “Well, well, well,” Paulina said as he wiped his forehead with a hand towel before telling the team to take a thirty-minute break. Most of the team headed out of the gym.
Gianna and Lee, Gianna’s BFF on the dance team, stayed put, aiming their phones at the distracted Paulina—before moving them over to me.
Gianna waggled her phone. A few seconds later, my back pocket buzzed twice.
A notification that she—and also Hot Goss—now followed me on Insta. Another buzz ushered in a new DM. Are you planning Paulina Reyes’s Very Merry Unquince? I’m OBSESSED with her channel!
I didn’t even bother to hide my smile. YES! I messaged back.
Lee danced all the way out the doors. So did Gianna, even with her face glued to her phone.
Another notification lit up my screen.
Hot Goss tagged me.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, our event chair nabbed Disney’s fairest YouTuber of them all
Between Paulina’s promised shout-out and Gianna broadcasting my new gig to the entire student body, my side hustle now had major buzz.
Now I had buzz. My entire body hummed in a way it never had before. Stepping into the limelight is sorta fun.
More notifications poured in. I wanted to read them to see what people were saying about me, but couldn’t. Not with the way Po draped her arms over Paulina and me, squeezing us into a group huddle. “Isn’t he a meaty dish?” Paulina said, watching Marcus strut over.
Po shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I have no appetite for that type of meat.” Pink streaks went up her neck. “In case you’re wondering.”
If my face hadn’t been so close to Paulina’s, I would’ve missed the way she bit the inside of her cheek. “Good to know. As for me, me gusta de todo… in case you’re wondering.”
At Paulina’s “liking everything,” Po hiccuped.
Cute as this will-they-won’t-they was, Po was my assistant, and Paulina, my client.
Not merely my client, but the key to unlocking Mandy’s internship. I broke up our huddle, ready to start rehearsal, only for Paulina to jump in with, “?Y tú, Cas? What do you like?”
So far it wasn’t “what” I liked but who. To bring back some semblance of professionalism, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and said, “Starting practice on time.”
“Don’t be such a buzzkill, Cas.” Po turned to Paulina, opening her big mouth again. “She recently met this—”
Before she mixed more of our business with my (maybe) pleasure, Marcus came to the rescue. He kissed both sides of my cheeks before fist-bumping Po.
“Paulina, I’d like you to meet our school’s captain of the dance team, Marcus Bennett,” I said.
I’d told her about Marcus being Deaf on our call, so she had her Notes app ready to make communication easier. So excited to get my paso doble on! Cas is a GENIUS! Paulina typed, holding the screen for him to see. She brought the phone back to add, PS Is it okay to film some of our practice for my vlog?
He nodded, giving her a thumbs-up.
“Cas had so many amazing ideas for my party,” she said and typed at the same time. “It got me brainstorming new things I want to incorporate.”
My stomach sank. What new things? “Like adding an extra dance or something?”
In exchange for help in Spanish class, Marcus had promised one choreographed dance. Po assumed I took Spanish instead of another language to get an easy A. Truth was, I wanted to anchor myself to another part of our past that wasn’t a staple at home anymore.
I dug my fingernails into my palms to refocus. “Or do you have something entirely different in mind?”
Please don’t.
She batted her faux lashes at me, then Po. This time, she didn’t let her mask slip. “You know how I wanted to perform a solo dance?”
I parroted back what she’d said less than twenty-four hours ago. “‘A solo dance symbolizes empowerment.’”
Paulina nodded. “Well, I changed my mind.”
“Change your mind, change your life, I always say.”
“Aw, thanks, Po.” Paulina tucked a sleek lock of hair behind her ear.
I gritted my teeth. “Yeah, thanks, Po” I said, shooting Marcus a drowning look.
Now that Paulina wanted to change this aspect of the unquince, I’d probably owe him lots more tutoring. Not the worst thing, but my calendar was crammed enough.
I wiped my sweaty palms down the side of my blouse. We hadn’t even begun the first dance rehearsal and already Paulina wanted to switch things up. A far cry from demanding live swans to be featured as backup dancers, but the quincezilla meter ratcheted up a notch.
I cleared my throat and said, “So now do you want an entire court?” I supposed that would be better for Mandy purposes anyway.
“Not a whole court,” she said and typed at the same time. “I’ll still manage to make it look like one’s there in postproduction.”
A tiny breath of relief. Mandy’s application was still safe and sound.
“What I can’t add in post is…” Paulina looked over her shoulder to the double doors and sighed. Typed something on her phone. “Ugh. Baymoon’s late.”
Po and I swung our heads at each other.
Baymoon? Was this person conceived at Coachella?
“If it’s just me and a partner, we’d still nail the ‘deconstructed’ aesthetic. Plus, La Mera Mera can finally shut up about”—she fidgeted with her gold necklace—“me having a chambelán.”
Marcus pointed to the word on Paulina’s phone screen, forehead wrinkling. He tilted his head to sign, What’s that?
Escort, I finger-spelled.
Flirting with my sister while her date waited in the wings? So not cool. If Paulina had kept mum on a possible significant other until now, what else was she keeping quiet about?
As if I had any right to judge.
Perhaps some secrets were like presents: best kept under wraps. Still. Poor Po.
“Like we talked about the other day, she really cares what Tía Mari thinks.” She sighed. “But the more I thought about it, the more it felt wrong not to include Baymoon.” Genuine affection filled Paulina’s voice, easing some—not all—of my frustrations.
“I guess this way La Mera Mera can shove her cake in my aunt’s face, and I can eat it, too.” Paulina gave a small smile. It didn’t reach her glitter eyeliner.
“That’s great,” I said, trying my best to return one.
Paulina held up her phone. I know you two already arranged asolo paso doble, but can we revamp the choreography so my chambelán can join?
Marcus waited for my answer. So did Po.
If there were a Sisterly Solidarity Handbook, there would probably be a section about helping your sibling get the girl. Only, I wasn’t reading from that handbook, but from How to Become a Fairy Godmother’s Apprentice instead.
I pulled my planner from my backpack. Opened the tab to Paulina’s Very Merry Unquince. Crossed out the solo in front of paso doble. With our family HEA hanging on Paulina’s party, what choice did I have? “Anything to make this the very merriest unquince you’ve ever had.”
Paulina beamed. “I knew you’d say yes.”
Po scrubbed a hand over her face. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said, stalking off.
“Wait!” Paulina chased after her. “I left my iced coffee in my car and the props Cas wanted for the dance. Help me get them after?”
Po stopped. Her face was caught somewhere between hope and dejection. I motioned for her to get going. “Yes, Po, go help Paulina.”
For better or worse, she’d signed up as my assistant on this.
As they left, I turned to Marcus and rubbed a fist across my chest. Sorry, I said, then finger-spelled, Diva.
No worries. Switching the steps should be okay, he said. Help me block it?
The doors flung open. Lee and Gianna rolled in early from their dance break. They hung around the back of the gym, appearing to stretch. But if Gianna was simply warming up, why was her phone pointed at us?
Was she trying to boost me again, or did she want an inside scoop for Hot Goss?
Can’t you use someone from your team? Gianna and Lee are back, I told Marcus.
Wouldn’t be half as fun as dancing with you, he said. He swept my hand into his. Pulled me close.
Dang his minty shampoo smelled good.
Not as good as Javi’s lavender one, though.
Marcus spun me across the polished floors. Twirled me back in. And actually dipped me. As I stared into his electric-blue eyes, the only thing running through my mind was how many coats of brown it’d take to make them match Javi’s.
Would he text later? Ask me to the next Movies at the Beach?
The cardio cranked up my pulse. Except the possibility of hanging out with Javi again was what sent my heart skipping.
“May I have this dance?” a voice asked from behind me.
I pivoted around. My breath hitched. It was one thing to make someone else’s fantasies come true. Quite another to have mine walk into the building.
With a little bow, Javi extended a hand.
Marcus stepped back with a small smile.
I laced my fingers through Javi’s. Whether he started our waltz or I did, it didn’t matter. Marcus, Lee and Gianna, the gym—everything faded until it was just us gliding across the floor. “Javi, what are you doing here?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing, Castle Towers?” His face mirrored both my excitement and confusion. “Actually, there’s another question you should answer first. Do you want to go see the next Movies at the Beach on Saturday? We can keep talking about everything. Or nothing.”
I lifted my face to the ceiling. The old-school disco ball hung there motionless. The way Javi and I spun around the gym more than made up for it. He drew me close. As close as when we were on his scooter. Even without the motor, a thrill went through my core.
“I’d love to.”
His dimple appeared. “Great.”
On the next spin, I caught the scent of lavender again. Our waltz eased into a slow dance.
I’d helped plan so many of these dances, and here I was, finally having my first one.
In perfect imitation of what I’d observed countless times, I lay my cheek against his chest.
If he wore an Italian cotton tux shirt instead of this hoodie, would this still feel as cozy?
There I went picturing him in a tux again. I was so caught up in this moment, dancing to the rhythm of our shattered-but-not-completely-broken hearts, I let myself say something off script.
“Before we get into the specifics of why we’re both here, there’s something else I want to ask,” I said.
If Paulina wanted a deconstructed quince, wouldn’t she love the idea of her planner bringing a date to the activities?
Sure, I’d have to clear it with her first, but still. “Would you—”
Double doors slammed from the front of the gym. “Thanks for blocking the dance in my absence, Cas,” Paulina said. “Gracias for finally gracing us with your presence, Baymoon.” She lifted a too-familiar trenta Starbucks cup into the air. The ice cubes clanked against each other.
The iced mocha might as well have splashed me all over again because goose bumps broke out across my arms.
Javi was Baymoon?!
Our slow dance came to a halt. My vision stopped spinning; my thoughts didn’t. Each one probably washed over the canvas of my face. Especially the acronym etching between my brows.
WTF.