IT WAS A PERFECT October day in southern Miami. Cool and just breezy enough for the palm trees to sway, but still early enough in the season that the rains hadn’t begun yet. Carmen Ramirez-Ruben walked down the hall of her school, Coral Gables High. At her left was her best friend in the entire world, Alicia Cruz, and at her right was her second bestie, Jamie Sosa.

One of the coolest things about living in Miami was the diversity of its people. This mix of peoples and cultures was truly reflected at C. G. High, where you really couldn’t judge a book by its cover. There were Indian students who were of Arab descent and Pakistanis who were Hindu. Black students might be Latinos from the Dominican Republic and Panama, or African Americans, or Jamaicans or Saint Lucians. A blond, blue-eyed girl might be from Venezuela, and a dark-haired girl with olive skin might be from Kansas.

All this diversity didn’t mean that there weren’t cliques—the worst of which was the SoBees. They called themselves that because they planned all of the school’s socials and benefits. Like the partners of Amigas Inc., the SoBees were a multicultural and multitalented crew. But unlike the amigas—who, though well liked by their fellow students, were not interested in being part of the superpopular C.G. power elite—the SoBees were zealously dedicated to maintaining their elevated social status.

One member, Maya Clark-Hayward, was a tall, thin African American girl with café au lait skin and thick curly hair that looked like something out of a shampoo commercial. Her mother owned a string of radio stations nationwide, and the inside of Maya’s locker was covered with photos of her and the singers and stars whom she had met when they stopped by the locally owned station to do promotions.

Another SoBee, April Yunayama, was Japanese American, and third-generation Miami elite. A collector of designer clothes, she was petite in stature and rail thin. April also loved to discuss people’s looks and would ask her two BFF SoBees over and over, on a daily basis, whether the outfit she was wearing made her look fat.

And the third SoBee, Dorinda Carrassquillo, was a Dominican, who was notorious for being the most sarcastic person at C. G. High—and the unofficial head of the group. Her father owned several luxury-car dealerships all over the city. Though she only had a learner’s permit, Dorinda had received a car—a Kelly green Escalade—for her quinceañera. And because she was too young to drive without an adult with a driver’s license accompanying her, the family’s maid, Jacinta, was forced to ride along with the SoBees everywhere they wanted to go.

As the three amigas neared their classroom, the SoBees were putting up posters for the winter formal. “Hola, chicas,” Dorinda said, handing the amigas a snowflake-shaped Save the Date card. “This is going to be the best winter formal ever. You all will probably learn a thing or two for your little party-planning business.”

At the words little and party-planning, Jamie lurched forward ever so slightly. Carmen put a calming hand on her shoulder and subtly shook her head. Now was not the time or place.

“Thanks,” Alicia said, taking the card. Smiling, she began walking toward the classroom again, her friends close behind.

The SoBees were safely out of earshot when Jamie went ahead and let her Bronx show. “Amigas Inc. is huge. It’s no ‘little party-planning business.’ Girls like her work my last nerve!”

“Forget about it,” Alicia laughed. “They’re just jealous. This is going to be our first school formal and I’m totally psyched. Even the SoBees can’t ruin that for me.”

“I agree,” Carmen said. “And of course they’re jealous. All they know how to do is spend their parents’ money to make an event fabulous. They don’t worry about budgets or making sure other people are happy.” She cast a disapproving eye as the SoBees teetered away in their five-inch gladiator heels. “We have a real company. Our quinces are off the hook, and we make all our own loot.”

The summer before, the three girls, joined by Alicia’s then close friend—and now boyfriend—Gaspar (Gaz) Colón, had formed their own business, Amigas Incorporated. In what seemed like no time at all, they had become one of the most popular quinceañera (Sweet Fifteen) planners in the city—and beyond. Recently, Gaz had decided to quit the business to concentrate on his music, but he still provided playlists and performed at all of Amigas Incorporated’s gigs. In an ironic twist, since leaving, Gaz’s romance with Alicia had really bloomed; in large part it was because they no longer had to deal with the added tension of having to work together.

As Latinas, Alicia, Carmen, and Jamie knew firsthand just how important a quince was, not only to the girl who was turning fifteen, but to her entire family. Traditionally, a quinceañera marked a Latina’s transition from child to woman, and the ceremony, which started at the church and often culminated in a huge party that lasted until the early hours of the morning, could be as big an event as a wedding. Some parents started saving for a girl’s quince from the moment she was born. Amigas Inc. had planned quinces that ranged in budget from $1,000 to $25,000. It was pretty heady stuff for three girls who themselves had all just turned fifteen in the last year. But they had never backed down from a challenge. Ever! When they got together, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do. Each girl brought with her to the business a rich cultural heritage and a unique talent.

While the three amigas had worked hard over the last year, that didn’t mean they hadn’t played hard, too. Every chance they got, they took off for the beach, hung out at Alicia’s house, or checked out one of their favorite hotel pools.

And then there was the dating. That had to be fit in between school, the job, and friend time. But they made it work. Alicia and Gaz were going strong and were the longest lasting couple of the group.

Even the impossible-to-please Jamie was hooked up with someone. Amigas Inc.’s resident artist had grown up in the South Bronx, or the boogie-down, as she liked to call it. A dark-skinned Latina whose family came from the Dominican Republic, she had a blunt and sometimes brutal take on things, which she called “keeping it real.” Amazing though it seemed, Jamie was still dating Dash Mortimer, the salsa-dancing, Spanish-speaking, top-ranked teen golf star she had met when Amigas Inc. had been hired to plan a quince for his sister, Bianca. Although Jamie was loath to admit it, it had pretty much been love at first sight for both of them, and they had been nearly inseparable ever since.

And then there were Carmen and Domingo. The gorgeous computer nerd–über hottie and Carmen were practically attached at the hip. Domingo had become a fixture at her house; the couple spent hours together, and when they couldn’t see each other, Domingo would send Carmen little love texts to let her know he was thinking about her. It seemed picture perfect.

But at that moment, standing in the hall, when Carmen knew she should have been smiling and laughing and planning for the big dance, she wasn’t. Her smile seemed frozen, forced.

Because she and Domingo were over. And she had no date for the dance. And even though she would never have dared admit it out loud, thinking about Domingo still hurt…a lot.