The Quince Project

Chapter Twenty-Five

Green-blue waves rolled all the way out to the horizon. Gold beams of sunlight pierced through thick clouds. Loafers in hand, I trudged through the sand.

Salty air raked through my hair with every step. The curls I’d spent time deep conditioning frizzed around my shoulders. By the time I neared the volleyball nets next to the Matteo Beach pier, my hair spiraled less like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and corkscrewed more like Princess Merida’s.

Except I didn’t feel like a princess. Or even the castle towers where they lived anymore. With the awful feeling slithering through me, dragon beneath castle suited me best.

Wasn’t my entire job to anticipate and prevent terrible things from happening? Not that getting closer to Javi or Paulina was bad. Some of the best things since After Mom had happened while planning this unquince, except—

Now there was more on the line than Paulina’s party or Mandy’s internship. What if I screwed it all up?

I tore a hand through my hair. My fingers got stuck. Ugh.

Unbelievable that I was rushing to Po for advice. Then again, she’d pushed me into this mess. She’d better help pull me out of it.

I gulped some briny air, ready to shout across the sand to get Po’s attention.

Her kicking ass on the court spellbound mine instead. With the heel of her palm, she smashed the ball over the net. The slap rivaled the surf pounding the shore, eliciting a chorus of daaangs from her team on the sidelines.

Po brought her arm behind her back. Flashed a hand signal to her teammate. I stepped behind Cynthia and Brandi. “Eeek, they’re going for a big dog!” Cynthia said.

I didn’t speak enough Volleyball to know what that meant. It didn’t stop me from being captivated by my sister’s speed and raw power. Each curve of her body glowed with sweat. Particles of sand stuck to her skin, shimmering like confetti.

Po owned the court. No matter where the ball flew from, she sprang to find it.

Maybe this is what a leap of faith meant. Believing that with either the help of her team or solo, she’d knock the ball over the net.

A collection of oofs rippled from the squad when she didn’t hit the ball over. In classic Po fashion, she brushed the sand off and kept going.

My entire life’s philosophy was avoiding “dropping the ball.” Po shrugged it off when things fell. Gah, how this tendency of hers irked me, my irritation probably anchored by the resentment over her disastrous quince. By the subconscious grudge I’d held at her glossing over how bad it’d actually been.

Now, though?

Each time she rose on sand-coated knees and tried again, the indignation and frustration deflated a bit. Who knew they’d been taking up so much space inside?

The sun shifted, spotlighting Po. Her shaking off more sand endeared her to me. Inspired me in a way her Poverbs never could.

She hit the ball back and forth. Grunting with fury, like she wanted to punish the ball. Banish it over the net. Win this grueling game at all costs.

The hard slaps and battle cries cracked through my tower of assumptions. Maybe she didn’t blow past things as easily as I had thought.

I edged between Cynthia and Brandi when the set wound down. Cynthia pulled me by the utility bag’s strap. “We saw you on Hot Goss. Tell us details of this YouTuber’s quince.” She pronounced it kwins.

“It’s pronounced keenseh,” I said. “You know, since it’s short for quincea?era?”

Brandi swatted Cynthia with a towel. “Told ya you should’ve taken Spanish.”

Cynthia swatted back, then draped the towel over my neck, hauling me in. “I watched the video of the dance you and Marcus choreographed.” She clutched her chest. “The passion between Paulina and Javier is out of this world.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. “Yep. Super passionate, those two.” Just not with each other.

“I hadn’t ever watched her channel before, but Gianna keeps reposting clips to her socials and… swoon.” Brandi fanned herself with a towel. “So far the ones from the ice-sculpture place were my fave.”

“Same here.” I counted on my dark skin to hide the way my face flamed. Judging by the way Cynthia tilted her head at me, perhaps the melanin didn’t conceal that much.

Thankfully Po strode over, pointing at her and Brandi, then two other teammates. “You’re up.” She motioned to the court. “Let’s go.” Her voice spilled over with assertiveness.

“Yes, Captain,” they said in unison, scrambling to the court.

WTF. Why didn’t this Po show up at home more often? Between the both of us, we could’ve forced Dad to hang up his Xbox controller months ago. No Mandy fairy dust required.

Her voice softened when her gaze landed on me. “This is the most pleasant of surprises, Little Cuchara. Need me to go shopping with you before your second movie date with—”

I stopped her by coughing loudly. “Cynthia watches Paulina’s channel. Let’s go talk over there,” I whispered into her sweaty ear, gesturing to the cement benches above the strand.

“Why? What’s up?” she asked.

Taking a page from her playbook, I coated my mouth with red lipstick.

Po blinked and blinked. “Team, family emergency,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Be back in five.”

“Make it ten,” I corrected.

Pacing in front of the bench where Po sat, I said, “I’m second-guessing this pretending to be a Mandy intern with Paulina and Javi.”

Clouds rolled in from the horizon, scudding across the sky. “‘Going with the flow’ didn’t seem so bad before.”

Before so much business got tangled with pleasure. Before the dynamics in the unquince court had changed. My loafers crunched on the sandy gravel. “But now I’m drowning.”

“Good thing you’re falling for a lifeguard, then.” She wiggled her brows. “His CPR will revive you in no time.”

“I hate it when you make valid points.” I dropped beside her. The cement hit my spine. The sting throbbed with the guilt of lying to Paulina and Javi. With the worry of turning into a pumpkin before I became a fairy godmother’s apprentice.

“Don’t you feel bad about this? I mean, you and Paulina are more than friends.” Like me and Javi. “Shouldn’t we…” I frowned into my lap. “Tell them…” Brace yourself. “Maybe they’d underst—” But the rest of the word shriveled. “Never mind. The truth would only complicate the mess.”

Po blinked. Impressed, or taken aback by how reality won out over wishful thinking. She draped a sweaty arm over my shoulder. “Yep. Can’t risk rocking the sails now.”

Cold hard facts. Too many kisses had gone by. Too much familial history shared, linking the four of us together. Added to the dilemma was Paulina’s preference for Star Wars villains over Disney princesses.

Could I really afford to piss off a Sith Lord? Especially if her lightsaber could burn my bridge to Mandy. And blasting me on her channel could destroy my chances at booking future clients.

My chest caved. Then there was Javi. A guy who preferred theatrics playing out in the telenovelas and K-dramas he watched with his mom—not in real life. He’d had enough of that already.

As if sensing the regret pressing heavy onto my shoulders, Po gave them a little squeeze. “I know this situation sucks, but we can’t make huevos rancheros without breaking a few eggs.”

I scoffed, trying hard not to think about a very broken huevo.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.

My head dropped to my hands.

Oh Sith Lord, what had I done?

Po rubbed my back the way Mom used to whenever I’d get upset. Despite everything, her touch eased some of my tension. “You’re going to get the internship, okay? If you get it before the party, then everything you told Paulina—”

“Everything we told Paulina—” I squinted at her.

Matching the expression, she said, “And everything we told Javi wouldn’t really be a lie.”

Logic began to overpower my conscience. “Technically, I guess.”

“Have you ever screwed up an event?” she asked.

“Obviously not.”

“Then all you have to do is keep your head above water until Mandy hires you.”

Po spoke with such confidence it started to dispel the worst of my fears. “I only sent Soraya my application last night.” A flock of gulls circled overhead, wings fluttering to the tempo of my heart. “Would an interview request come in this quickly?”

“Anything’s possible.” She leaned back into the bench, stared into the horizon. The entirety of the Pacific Ocean twinkled before us.

Her newest quote paired well with her Poverb from Disneyland: Believing is seeing.

Together they drowned out the noise of beachgoers zipping past. Of waves rumbling. Of whirring wind that stretched whitecaps of saltwater to infinity and beyond.

Had I gotten so caught up with trying to prevent the worst that I’d completely forgotten how to anticipate the best?

I pulled my phone from my utility bag and my pencil from behind my ear. “Believing is seeing, right?”

I twirled the end of the pencil over the screen. The gold ring holding the eraser flashed against the sun. “I’m a Mandy intern,” I chanted, part special request, part fairy godmother incantation. “I’m a Mandy intern.”

Po wiggled abracadabra fingers toward my phone. “In the name of JLo, Celia Cruz, and both Selenas, please make Little Cuchara Mandy’s intern.”

A deep breath.

If you’re out there, Soraya, I need you.

Mom, if you’re listening, I need you more.

Here goes everything.

One new email gleamed from my inbox.

Mandy Whitmore Internship Interview Request.

My chest lifted, as if a bounce house inflated inside of me all at once. I read the email twice to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

“I can come in for the interview the week after Paulina’s party,” I squealed. “Or, because of a last-minute cancellation—” I sprang from the bench and broke into a happy dance, not caring that I was in full view of everyone on the strand. “I can come in a few hours!”

Po leapt toward me. “Told ya.” She circled me in an impromptu version of the paso doble. At the next jogger jetting by, Po yelled, “My Little Cuchara’s on her way to becoming OC’s next big party planner!”

Gulls wheeled overhead, flapping their thick wings south toward Pelican Point. Most of my worries flew away with them.

A pair of sunbeams began to pour from a fluffy cloud decorating the sky.

Perhaps I didn’t have one fairy godmother looking out for me, but two.