THE NEXT afternoon, the amigas—and Gaz—met up in South Beach for a planning meeting. Alicia’s dad had offered to give her and Carmen a ride on his way to a tennis game, so they were the first to arrive. At night, Bongos Café was a strictly over-twenty-one hot spot. But during the day, the café served lunch and the friends loved to hang out in the back room, where the banging beats, Andy Warhol portraits of Gloria Estefan, and virgin mojitos had a cool vibe that was a cut above the usual Cuban fare.
Bongos also happened to be the perfect spot for celebrity sightings. This day did not disappoint. As soon as the girls walked in, they noticed Sharon Kim and the Channel 6 news crew setting up in a corner of the restaurant.
Sharon anchored the local eleven o’clock news, but she was best known for her Sunday morning talk show, ¡Hoy en Miami!, where she always snagged interviews with the hottest stars in town. Everything about her high-wattage personality made it clear that she hoped to do much more than be the star of a local news or gossip program. At the moment, she was wearing a tomato red designer dress that Alicia was willing to bet good money was a Michael Kors, because she’d seen it in the look book her mother’s salesperson had sent from Saks. The flashes of red sole from the bottoms of her black stilettos revealed that Sharon’s shoes were Christian Louboutins. And Alicia was pretty confident that the diamond studs in her ears weren’t fake. As she looked around the room, Sharon’s grin was as wide as the I-95 freeway (post the expansion construction).
“I wonder who she’s interviewing today,” Carmen whispered, in awe at seeing their favorite news reporter live and in person.
“It’s Miranda Cosgrove, but she’s not here yet,” said a supercute waiter as he walked by carrying a giant platter of rice and beans. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
He winked at Carmen and continued past her.
Alicia and Carmen turned to each other and whispered, “Omigod—,” then bit their fists.
The hostess, a pretty Blake Lively look-alike, finally took notice of them. “Your table is ready, girls,” she said, making both Carmen and Alicia roll their eyes.
The minute they got settled at their table, Carmen whipped out an imaginary microphone and did her best Sharon Kim impersonation. “Miss Cruz! You look simply stunning. What are you wearing today?” This was a game she and Alicia had been playing since they were in middle school. They called it “Red Carpet Arrivals.”
Alicia tossed her hair, and said, in a fake British accent, “Well, Carmen, today I’m wearing a black Proenza Schouler leather halter, a white miniskirt from the Gap, and a pair of hand-me-down Louboutin espadrilles from my mom.”
“You’re simply flawless,” Carmen said, emulating the accent.
“And what are you wearing today, Miss Ramirez-Ruben?” Alicia said, taking a turn at holding the pretend microphone.
Before Carmen could answer, they heard someone clear his throat.
“I hate to interrupt what is clearly an important media moment, but do you have time for me to take your order?” the waiter asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was the same cute waiter who had passed by and spoken to them earlier.
The two girls stifled a serious case of the giggles. Just how long had he been standing there? Without a doubt he was a MWAH of the highest order (MWAH meaning, Man, What a Hottie!). His hair was buzzed short, he had bright, friendly eyes, and a long, lean build.
Alicia quickly recovered. “We’re waiting for two more friends. But we know what they want. We’ll take an order of papas rellenas. . . .”
“Yum,” said Carmen.
“Fried green plantains with garlic sauce,” Alicia continued.
“Yum,” added Carmen.
“Two stuffed green plantain cups. One with shrimp creole, one with ropa vieja.”
The waiter turned to Carmen and smiled. “No yum with that?”
She blushed. “Nope, just two virgin mojitos, please.”
At that moment, Gaz appeared; he slid into the table across from the girls and said, “And one real mojito.”
The waiter, whose name tag read domingo, looked at Gaz suspiciously. “Hey, man, do you have ID?”
Gaz looked embarrassed. “Um, I forgot it at home.”
“Well, I’m seventeen, and I’m pretty sure that you’re not older than me,” Domingo said. “So that’ll be three virgin mojitos. Besides, we don’t serve alcohol at lunchtime.”
With that, he walked away.
Alicia gave Gaz a mock stern look. “What’s up with that? Did you really just try to order alcohol?”
Gaz shrugged. “I dunno. You were flirting with him. I just wanted to seem older.”
Alicia smiled, balled up a napkin, and threw it at Gaz’s forehead. “I was not flirting with him. Carmen was. The only person I have a flirtationship with is you.”
“Good,” Gaz said, reaching for her hand.
“Just a reminder,” Carmen pointed out. “Flirtationship—not a real word, not a real thing.”
Alicia smiled. “It’s real to us.”
“I love you, chica, but I’ve also known you for a long time. I remember when Santa Claus and the tooth fairy were real to you, too,” Carmen teased.
A short while later, Domingo returned with their food, and reluctantly, Alicia and Gaz stopped holding hands and began to eat.
Jamie finally arrived and slid into the booth next to Gaz. “Wassup, chicas?”
“Chicos,” Gaz practically growled. “In Spanish, when you’re referring to both men and women, you say chicos.”
Jamie shrugged. “You know my Spanish isn’t that good. But whatever; so not the point. Much bigger issues at hand.” She took a flyer out of her messenger bag. “Check this out. We’ve got some competition. Simone Baldonado started a Sweet Sixteen–planning business.”
All three of them groaned.
Simone Baldonado was the richest girl at school and, as far as the friends were concerned, the most obnoxious. Her quinceañera, with its Princesses Through the Ages theme, had been the perfect encapsulation of Simone—OTT, or “over the top.” It wasn’t a surprise she was a bit of a brat. Her parents owned the Coronado hotel, the South Beach hot spot for the rich, famous, and fabulous. They lived in a massive penthouse suite on the top floor and had amazing views.
Alicia could hardly believe that once upon a time, for about eight months in the second grade, she and Simone had been friends. More than that, they had been mejores amigas, the best of friends. Alicia tried not to think about it too much. Who could explain the choices a person made when she was seven years old? She didn’t even remember entirely when Simone had started hating her guts. But she did remember that, ever since that mysterious moment, Simone had always had something catty to say and was always, always, trying to mess with Alicia—and now Amigas Incorporated.
Alicia looked down at Simone’s flyer and shrugged. “A, this picture of Simone makes her look demented. B, who cares about Sweet Sixteens? We do quinceañeras.”
Jamie pointed to the line underneath the main one. The one that read, We do quinces, too.
As if she’d been waiting and watching for them to find her flyer, Simone suddenly appeared in the restaurant. She walked over to their table, trailed by her best friend, Ellen Thomas.
“What are you doing here?” Alicia asked.
“Having lunch; it’s a free country, you know,” Ellen replied, speaking for Simone.
Wherever Simone was, Ellen usually wasn’t far behind. The two girls were like Frick and Frack. Alicia wasn’t surprised to see that today the two girls were wearing matching pink plaid Burberry polos with pink shorts and pale pink Tretorn sneakers.
“Congratulations, Ellen,” Alicia said, sweetly.
“For what?” Ellen asked, looking ever so pleased with herself.
“You win first prize for not having a single original thought of your own,” Alicia answered.
“Sticks and stones,” Simone purred sarcastically. “I see you’ve gotten wind of our incredibly viral marketing campaign.”
Gaz held up the piece of paper. “You mean the flyer? I thought viral meant ‘online.’”
“Viral, grassroots, whatever,” Simone scoffed. “I’ve already gotten twelve calls, and these just went up yesterday afternoon.”
The four friends tried not to gulp obviously. Twelve calls in one day? They’d been in business for months and were happy if they got twelve calls a week.
“It’s because your mom is offering a thirty percent discount on dresses from her boutique,” Alicia said, pointing to one of the bullet points on the flyer. “Nobody else can compete with that.”
“So what? It’s a business. A discount is a marketing tool used by businesses. Not amateurs like you guys,” Simone said. “My family has owned the top hotel in South Beach for three generations. My mother’s boutique is the number-one seller of party dresses. I am way more entitled to plan quinceañeras than you are.”
“Except for the fact that you didn’t have the idea, you thief,” Alicia fumed. “You stole it from us.”
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game, chicas!” Simone flashed a huge grin, then turned on her heel, giving the group a little wave. She had accomplished what she had come to do.
Gaz groaned and called out, “Chico. As in, masculine. As in, sitting right here.”
But Simone and Ellen were being seated at a table on the patio and didn’t even pretend to hear.
Jamie patted his shoulder. “Poor baby. Don’t worry, we all know you’re a guy. . . .”
“That’s why we keep you around,” Alicia said, winking at Gaz from across the table. “To carry all the heavy stuff.”
She turned her attention back to Simone’s flyer. Even if she couldn’t admit it aloud, the flyer was irksome to her. “This is not a problem,” she said confidently. “Miami is the quince capital of America. There’s plenty of work to go around. No way is Simone going to steal our shine. Let’s get back to planning Carmen’s party. That’s what matters.”
“Agreed,” Gaz said. Then he added, “So how do we do a cool Jewish Latina quince?”
“Well, your abuela is bummed that you didn’t have a bat mitzvah, right?” Jamie asked Carmen as she picked at the scraps of fried plantains remaining on the serving plate.
“Right,” Carmen said, nodding.
“So, maybe we make it a mash-up, a quince-mitzvah!”
Carmen guffawed, and the mojito she was drinking nearly came out of her nose.
“You are one classy lady,” Alicia said, grinning.
At that moment, Domingo came by with another tray of mojitos. “I thought it looked like you all might want some refills,” he said, putting down four ice-cold glasses garnished with fresh mint.
“We might want refills. Yes,” said Jamie, saucily. “But do we want to pay for refills? No.”
“Then they are on me,” he said, turning to Carmen and winking.
Once Domingo was out of earshot, Alicia bumped shoulders with Carmen. “He totally likes you,” she said.
“Totes,” Jamie agreed.
“You think?” Carmen said. “Is he too old for me?”
“Who cares?” Jamie retorted. “He would be the hottest chambelán this town has ever seen.”
Gaz groaned. “Tell me why I’m not chilling with my guy friends right now.”
“Because you don’t have any,” Alicia replied, playfully.
“Come on, what about Hector?” Gaz said. Hector was a DJ that Carmen had gone out with once. “He’s my boy. It’s just that he’s spinning at some car show today.”
The restaurant had been packed when they arrived, but now all of their food was gone. As were most of the people. Dropping the topic of Gaz’s friends—or lack thereof—Carmen tapped her watch. “My mom is coming to pick me up in twenty minutes. Ideas, people. I need ideas.”
“So, quince-mitzvah is not going to work?” Jamie asked earnestly.
Carmen shook her head. “I don’t think so, niña.”
“A mash-up is a good idea,” Gaz said, “but maybe not so literal.”
“How about ‘Fifteen Is the New Thirteen’?” Jamie said. “We could do a whole Jewish Wizard of Oz: you’re Dorothy, and you’ve got to find your way back to Israel.”
“No!” Carmen said, bursting into laughter. “Please, please stop. Besides I don’t think anyone in my family has even been to Israel.”
Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Maybe we could get everyone to wear those cool red string Kabbalah bracelets, like Madonna.”
Carmen laughed even harder. “I don’t think Abuela Ruben even knows who Madonna is, and if she does, I’m sure that she doesn’t think she’s a nice Jewish girl.”
“Let’s go back to the bat mitzvah idea,” Jamie suggested. “I know it’s a rite of passage like the quinceañera is, except many Jewish girls have theirs starting at twelve and Latin girls have theirs at fifteen.”
“You should’ve split the difference and had yours at fourteen, Lati-jew-na style,” Gaz said.
Carmen and Alicia laughed.
“Lati-jew-na—is that even a word?” Jamie asked.
“It is now,” Gaz said proudly.
“Sorry, chico. No, it isn’t,” Carmen said.
“What does the word bat mitzvah actually mean?” Jamie asked, pressing on. She took out her sketch pad and a black Sharpie and drew the word in cool graffiti script. She held up the pad. “How dope would that look on a pair of high-top Converse sneakers?”
Everyone nodded. Pretty dope, they seemed to agree.
“Bat mitzvah means Daughter of the Commandments,” Carmen explained.
Alicia bounced up and down in her seat. “That’s it! The theme is Daughter of the Commandments.”
“Catchy,” Jamie said, sarcastically.
“Sounds like a super good time,” Gaz added.
“Well, the first commandment is, Thou shalt not interrupt,” Alicia said. “We get a guy to dress like Moses—maybe even Carmen’s dad. You know he’s a clown. And instead of breaking the tablets, he breaks a giant matzo piñata.”
Carmen, Jamie, and Gaz were silent.
“Genius, huh?” Alicia asked.
Her friends exchanged looks.
“You ragged on me for quince-mitzvah,” Jamie finally said, incredulous.
“You made fun of Lati-jew-na,” Gaz added, solemnly, shaking his head.
At last, Carmen patted her best friend on the shoulder. “You’re done, kid; that idea really, really sucked.” Then, looking at her watch again, she added, “Okay, meeting over. On account of the fact that the pressure is getting to Lici, and she’s losing her mind. And my mom is coming. Let’s reconvene—when we aren’t so fried.”