The Quince Project

Chapter Eighteen

“I love the idea of framing some of the artwork as posters for ‘coming attractions,’” Callie said. “Having a screening in the auditorium would also bring in more money.”

Murmurs of confirmation broke out from the desks across the room. Most committee members nodded.

“Great.” Taking a page from Po’s rating system, I sketched three stars next to Movie Night under the “SBA Art Auction Brainstorm” spreadsheet on my iPad.

“Should we open the floor for movie suggestions?” Callie asked, looking to me.

Before I could answer, Wesley jumped in. Rude.

“What about Fast and Furious?” he said.

“Which one?” I asked, only half joking.

“All of them,” Wesley said, sparking laughter from the committee.

I hit my pencil across the top of the podium. “Vetoed.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “May I suggest the original Star Wars trilogy instead?”

“You may, except…” After rehearsing the paso doble for hours the other day, I needed a break from anything that contained the “Imperial March.” I turned to the whiteboard. The marker squeaked against it as I sketched an outline of Darth Vader’s helmet. Drew an X over it.

While Wesley slumped in his chair, back at the podium, I straightened to my full height.

I couldn’t act this autocratic with Paulina. Sheesh, even at home, I could barely put a dent in Dad’s gameplay.

SBA was my little kingdom. Here, I retained control. No way I’d give it up that easily. “Any Star Wars–related propositions will be rejected.”

Wesley’s nostrils flared. “Then why don’t you pick?” He snapped his laptop shut. “That’s what always ends up happening anyway.”

Ouch. At the dog wash, Po mentioned something about me “putting the I back in committee.” Echoes of a similar sentiment—alongside smatterings of dangs and one yup—from people less biased than my sister knocked the wind out of me.

Callie turned to me. “What Wes probably meant to say is, why don’t you come up with themes? That way we can gauge what direction you’re thinking of going.”

I nodded. “How about rom-coms? Musicals?”

“Oh, The King and I!” Steph called out from the back of the room.

I created a new tab on the spreadsheet labeled Movies. Wrote a carbon copy on the whiteboard. Extending the olive branch to Wes, I said, “If you’re really dead set on Star Wars, fine. For the love of my sanity, though, none of the movies that play Vader’s theme song.”

See?Queen of this castle was a far cry from Cuban dictator.

“No need to explain, Madam Chair. I’m a huge fan of Paulina Reyes, so I get it,” Steph said. “You must’ve heard that song so many times.”

Excited chatter rippled across the room. Between Hot Goss and Paulina’s channel, everyone at school—aside from Wes, apparently—knew I was planning this quince. “Exactly. Hearing it one more time will probably make my head explode.”

Callie giggled, pointing at my phone on the desk right next to us. “Apparently not the only thing that’s blowing up.”

The screen brightened with new notifications. Squinting, I made out starry-eyed emojis from Po. A dancing woman in a red dress and thumbs-up from Paulina, confirming tomorrow’s dress fitting. Yet another DM from Melina: Can you plan my sweet sixteen, or not??

I tensed. Paulina’s party would take up most of my time this month. Better not to take on more.

I could almost hear Po saying, You’ve made your sheets; now you’ve got to lie on them.

“Cas?” Callie said. “About the themes. Anything else?”

I cleared my throat, flicking my gaze away from the phone. “Fairy tales. Old-school Disney animated movies.” I covertly flicked my pencil over the spreadsheet. “Anything with a happily ever after.”

I turned to the board, ready to jot down suggestions. “Start throwing out movies. Majority vote determines what gets screened.” I glanced back to Wes. “If there’s a tie, I break it.”

After the meeting, Callie headed to the window. Made a big production of looking out of it. “What are you doing?” I asked, stuffing my tablet into my backpack.

“I’m just checking if any motorcycles are coming to pick you up.”

“Scooter.” I grinned. “Javi drives a scooter.” The sensation of riding it shouldn’t have surged through me again. But, it did.

She bounced on her feet. “Are you going to take another spin on it?”

I shrugged, tapping my phone screen. Javi’s text from earlier glowed.

Still on for the movie this weekend?

“I don’t know,” I said, answering Callie. And Javi. I slipped the phone back into my pocket. I’d deal with him later.

If only I could do the same with Callie. Her expression yelled she wasn’t going to accept my answer without a better explanation. We were friendly. Not really friends anymore. Every single detail didn’t need to be dished. Only—

I looked over my shoulder to make sure the door was shut. Before this meeting, Gianna had been sniffing around my locker before she headed into dance practice, so. “If Paulina Reyes’s chambelán looks familiar”—I chewed my lips—“it’s because he’s scooter guy.”

No amount of makeup wipes could erase Callie’s frown. “Cas, you’re too good to be the side chick. Taking ‘scooter rides’ behind your client’s back isn’t cool, either.”

I curled my toes inside my loafers. Yesterday I told Paulina about a fake NDA to keep the truth at bay. Today, it was Paulina’s and Po’s truth that needed protecting…

I cleared my throat, tackling only half of her assumptions. “Trust me—I’m not a home-wrecker.” Our home had already been wrecked by something much worse. “I wish I could explain in more detail, but…” I tucked a curl behind my ear. “What I can say is don’t believe everything you see on YouTube.”

Callie blinked. “Got it. You’re bound by party-planner privilege.” She sat on the desk next to mine. I lowered onto the edge of the next one over. “Since it’s complicated, but not in the way I thought, well, you should see him again. He’s super cute and…”

She cast a sidelong glance, scanning me from the top of my frizzy hair to the tip of my loafers. “Since the dog wash, you look different.”

“How?”

She tugged on a ringlet and said, “You’ve been wearing your hair curly more, for starters.”

“Only because I’ve been busier than usual lately,” I said.

“You act different, too,” she said. At that I raised a brow. “I don’t think you’ve ever given us a majority vote on an agenda item before. Or opened the forum for themes in general.”

“Really?” I said, feigning ignorance. “I hadn’t noticed.” Good thing I was on my way to becoming a fairy godmother and not an actress, because oh boy, my acting skills could use a lot of work.

“Uh-huh,” Callie said.

I avoided her stare by looking out the window.

Rolling hills rose beyond the parking lot. A realm of McMansions and immaculately kept yards adorned them. Persistent droughts had parched some spaces between lots. The sun, with its Midas touch, sparked them gold anyway, beautifully masking their thirst.

Was the committee thirsting for more participation?

As event chair, most of the responsibility fell on me. Including guiding the committee with a firm hand. But had my “firm hand” morphed into an iron fist?

If my fingers clenched tightly over the sides of the day planner were any indication, the answer was yes.

Noted.

So what now? Instead of looking at the committee as subjects of my realm, should I try seeing them more as knights of my classroom table?

My stomach knotted. So many things could go wrong if I delegated duties.

Then again, the paso doble had only been possible with Dad’s help. The banners, with Javi’s. Paulina’s quince only landed in my lap partly—okay, mostly—because of Po.

I sucked in a breath. Perhaps I should ease up control in favor of more cooperation.

Tendons shifted over my knuckles as I loosened my fingers over the planner. Out of practice with easing my grip, I slackened my hold too much.

The planner slipped from my grasp.

I scrambled to grab it. Callie beat me to it. She picked it up, turning it over.

Of course, it’d opened to the back pages filled with sketches.

I considered yanking the planner away, but… classmates liked the flag sketches… Paulina liked these… and way back in middle school, in the Before era, Callie and I had been in art class together.

I kept my hands at my sides, letting Callie flip the page. With every turn, my heart pounded like it was trying to break through my ribcage.

Picasso had his “blue period.” I had this: the black pages.

A bunch of charcoal tornados and monster drawings. A collage of black hearts with holes cut from their center. Collections of different-size lightning bolts. Flames. Rain. I’d pressed the pencil so hard on some that little tears etched a few pages, giving the illustrations an almost 3D-like feel.

After a while, I said, “I promise the rest of them aren’t like this.” I’d stopped adding to this section the second Insta’s algorithm led me to Mandy’s grid. “There’s a sketch of the Matteo Beach pier on the next page if you don’t believe me. You’d probably like the beach ones better.”

She took in a few of them. “Each style has artistic merit. I like both. As much as I liked your banners.” She handed back the planner. I wedged it into my backpack. “We just spent hours going over the art auction but”—she exhaled—“have you ever considered participating in it?”

“No way,” I said, balking. My relationship status with events was always planner, not participant. “Sure, I’ve ‘exhibited’ my drawings to people recently. But that was a result of necessity more than a desire to share them publicly.”

“I think the whole point of art is the necessity of sharing it publicly,” Callie said.

Was that the whole point of art? To share it? Or to keep it somewhere safe, like between the covers of my planner?

I squirmed on the desk. Before Callie noticed, I shuffled to the door. “Come on,” I said. “Meeting’s over.”

She flipped off the lights. “Well, you should think about it. You have a gift.”

“Was that a party-planner pun or something?”

“Maybe,” she said, grinning.

The clap of our shoes echoed in the empty hallways. Along with Callie’s growling stomach. “Hey, you want to grab an acai bowl?” she asked. “My treat.”

For the first time in a long time, I took her up on the invitation.