EARLY THE next morning, Alicia knocked on the door of Carmen’s house. “Come on,” she said when her friend opened the door. “Let’s go for a little boat ride.”

Carmen groaned. “It’s so early. I’m still in my pajamas.”

Alicia, who was dressed in a Topshop bubble dress with gray and white ticking, didn’t care. “No biggie, you’re wearing a cami and sweatpants. No one will know you slept in that!”

Carmen put her hand up to her mouth. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

Alicia paused, then said, “Mejores amigas o no, it might be a good idea if you did that.”

A few minutes later, Carmen emerged—teeth brushed, hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a dab of lip gloss on her lips.

“Makeup, niña?” Alicia said.

“Don’t hate!” Carmen teased. “You’re showered—and fully dressed.”

They made their way to the boat and quickly got in. Alicia was apparently making up for all the time she had let pass without being on the water. Carmen began to row them toward the bridge.

“What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait?” Carmen said, watching the parade of ducks take their morning exercise.

“First, I got you breakfast,” Alicia said, holding up a bag Carmen hadn’t noticed in her sleepy state. “Empanadas and iced Cuban coffee.”

“Gracias. I’m starving!” Carmen put down the oars to eat. “So, tell me. What’s up?” she asked after she swallowed a big bite of the tasty treat.

Alicia reached into her bag. “I’ve solved all of your problems. I spent all day yesterday at the Jewish Cultural Center in Aventura, and look what I found.”

She took out a book and handed it to Carmen.

Carmen looked at it. “Tropical Synagogue?” she read, sounding confused.

“Tropical Synagogue,” Alicia repeated. “It’s a collection of writing by Jewish Latino writers.”

“Great,” Carmen said. “But how does that solve my problems?”

Alicia smiled. “That’s why I wanted to come out on the boat. Turn it back around so it faces your house.”

Carmen maneuvered the oars so that the little boat turned around.

“Okay, there it is,” she said, putting down the oars. “My house.” From where they sat it looked small and unimpressive.

Alicia smiled mischievously. “Maybe you should take some Bible study along with those Hebrew classes you’re starting, ye of little faith. This is going to rock.”

Carmen folded her arms, waiting.

“All right, all right. I’ll tell you,” Alicia said, laughing. “You know how every fall, there are the big fashion shows in the tents in New York?”

Carmen sighed. “Of course. Style.com was the first iPhone app I ever purchased.”

Alicia nodded. “Picture a Fashion Week tent behind your house, facing the water.”

“But I’ve already told you,” Carmen protested, “I don’t want to do a fashion-themed quince. I want to honor my Jewish heritage.”

Alicia pulled out her iPhone. “But the tent is not just about fashion; it’s a powerful symbol in Jewish literature. Check this out: I did a lot of research online, and it all mentions that the tent is a symbol found in rituals throughout all periods of Jewish history. For example, the Tent of the Tabernacle was Judaism’s sacred first tent. And Jewish couples get married under a minitent open on all sides, called a chuppah.”

Carmen’s eyes widened. “Abuela Ruben would love that.”

Alicia went on. “So your theme is Tropical Synagogue. The tent symbolizes both New York Fashion Week and a more serious form of worship and Jewish tradition. We make a runway that comes out from your back door and goes down to the water. You design some clothes. We do a fashion show, and then the runway converts into the dance floor. We line the outer perimeter of the tent with potted palm trees. That gardening shop still owes us a favor for the big account we brought them, and we fixed it when they messed up and brought calla lilies instead of Casablanca lilies. They can lend us a couple dozen palm trees. Can you picture it, C.? A big white tent, the green of the palm trees, the canal glistening in the background . . .”

“No church?” Carmen said.

Alicia shook her head. “Not for this quince. The tent is a portable place of worship. The symbolic, spiritual home.”

Carmen flipped through the book, warming up to the idea. “What if we had Jamie graffiti the inside of the tent with excerpts from all these Jewish Latino writers?”

Alicia nodded. “That would be hot.”

Carmen’s smile faltered. Something had just occurred to her. “Do you really think I could mount a whole fashion show? I’ve got, like, a month to design and make all those outfits. Even a capsule collection with twelve looks would be nearly impossible to do.”

“What would Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn say if you were on Project Runway?” Alicia asked.

“You know,” Carmen said, sheepishly. “You’ve watched all the seasons on DVD with me.”

“But I can’t remember,” Alicia said, feigning amnesia. “When some up-and-coming designer starts complaining that her fingers hurt from sewing and she didn’t get the material she wanted in the challenge and the silly cat ate her pattern, what is it that Heidi and Tim say? I really just cannot remember.”

Carmen crossed her arms and leaned over, staring at the bottom of the boat. Then she whispered, “They say, ‘Make it work.’”

Alicia grinned. “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. What do they say?”

Carmen spoke a little louder. “Make it work.”

Alicia screamed, “I can’t hear you!”

Finally Carmen threw her hands in the air. “Make it work! Make it work! That’s what I’m going to do. Tropical Synagogue, baby. I’m about to make it work.”

They were both still laughing as they rowed back to Carmen’s house. Then they saw Sharon and Mary waiting for them and their smiles faded.

“You guys,” Carmen moaned. “I’m in my pajamas. What’s so important you have to be here this early?”

“Better get dressed quick,” Sharon said. “We have a surprise for you. It’s time for the first challenge! The audience is just going to love it!”

Mary nodded. “We can’t tell you what it is exactly yet. But it’s happening at one of Miami’s top restaurants, Michy’s. I hope you girls can cook!”

The two friends exchanged glances. This was going to be huge. Racing toward the house, Alicia quickly shot the rest of the group a text filling them in.

“This is bananas,” Alicia said, as she followed her best friend into her room.

“Bananas, but kind of fun,” Carmen agreed as she dashed into the bathroom. It was time for the quickest shower ever.

“Good thing you can cook! Gaz has work, and Jamie and I are hopeless. I’m pretty sure I can burn water,” Alicia called out from behind the closed door. “What are you going to make?”

“You mean, what are we going to make? Burned water or not, we are in this together,” Carmen said, emerging from the bathroom in a pair of white jeans and a white necklace T-shirt that she’d made herself, attaching strands of thrift-store rhinestones to the neckline. She was dressed to win.

The Project Quince crew drove Carmen and Alicia to Donald’s Cornucopia, a gourmet grocery store near Michy’s. Jamie arrived just as they got there.

As Sharon began to explain the rules to the girls, the cameraman, Arnie, filmed them.

All three of the girls were surprised to see that, as amazing as she was on TV, even Sharon flubbed her lines on occasion.

“I’m here with Carmen Romero. . . .” the anchor began. “That’s not right, let’s go again.”

“Sharon Kim here with one of the contestants of Project Quinte—I mean, Quince.”

Even when she made mistakes, Sharon kept her cool. Carmen, on the other hand? Not so much. She tried not to blush as a small crowd gathered outside the grocery store to view what was going on.

Finally, the television personality got her lines right. “Sharon Kim here,” she said, “with Carmen Ramirez-Ruben and Amigas Incorporated, one of the two teams in our first-ever Project Quince competition. Today’s contest is all about culture. Which quinceañera planners can cook the most delicious Nuevo Latino dish to be served as their party’s culinary centerpiece. You’ll have thirty dollars and thirty minutes to shop; then we’re off to Michy’s for cooking and judging.”

“Where’s the other team?” Carmen asked, looking around.

“You mean Simone’s?” Sharon asked. “She called to say that her client, Raymunda, needed some special Japanese ingredients for their dish. They’ll meet us at the restaurant. But stop wasting time.” She looked down at her watch. “You’ve got twenty-nine minutes to shop!”

Carmen took the money and the girls dashed into the grocery store, unsure of where to begin. Carmen ran to the vegetable section and grabbed several heirloom tomatoes that looked fresh, but then she heard Alicia call out, “Start with the protein!” So she ran to the meat section, with the cameraman following right behind her. It was odd having a person track her every move. She wondered if this was what it was like to be an actress in a movie or to be stalked by the paparazzi.

The minute she got to the meat counter, inspiration struck and she knew exactly what she would make: steak with red and green chimichurri sauce. She bought a steak she hoped was big enough, told the others what she had in mind, and then heard Sharon call out, “Twenty minutes to go!”

Carmen, Alicia, and Jamie dashed around the store looking for the rest of the ingredients they needed: parsley, garlic, olive oil, white vinegar, red pepper flakes, cumin, fresh lemon, bay leaves, and paprika. They ran back and forth, from the aisles that stocked spices to the produce section to look for ingredients to round out the meal.

“Five minutes!” Sharon cried.

“Go and pay!” Alicia yelled.

There was no waiting in line, because all of the shoppers had stepped aside in order to watch the girl’s mad dash.

The cashier added all of the groceries up. “Your total is $32.07.”

“No can do,” Sharon said. “It’s got to be under thirty dollars.”

Carmen made a quick decision and handed two items back to the cashier. “I don’t need the rice and beans.”

“Brave decision to do a Latino dish without rice and beans,” Sharon said, splitting her attention evenly between the camera and Carmen.

But Carmen just smiled. “That’s what makes it Nuevo.”

At Michy’s, the girls met the chef and owner, Michelle Bernstein. Michelle was like the cool older cousin you always wanted to hang out with. In a classic chef’s uniform, a white coat with her name embroidered on it, jeans, and purple Crocs, the woman radiated cool. Her wavy blond ponytail made her seem way younger than she was.

“So, I hear we have something in common,” Michelle said, shaking Carmen’s hand. “We’re both Jewish Latinas.”

“Really? That’s so wild,” Carmen said. Outside of her immediate family and a few family friends, she didn’t really know anyone who shared the same cultural roots. But before she could ask Michelle any of the dozens of questions that flashed through her mind, the cameras were rolling again.

“We are here at one of South Florida’s finest restaurants, Michy’s, for the first competition of Project Quince,” Sharon said. “Our two quinces will have exactly one hour to prepare a dish that shows off their Nuevo Latino flair. James Beard Award–winning chef Michelle Bernstein will judge the dishes.”

Turning to Carmen, Sharon went on. “Our first contestants are Carmen Ramirez-Ruben and her sous-chefs, Alicia Cruz and Jamie Sosa, from Amigas Inc. What are you making today?”

Carmen took a deep breath and tried to ignore the camera. She wanted to look as natural as possible. “I’m making steak with two chimichurri sauces and a red-chili-pepper glaze.”

“Sounds delicious,” Sharon said. “Now, our second contestants should be here somewhere.”

Sharon looked around, and from the back of the kitchen, Simone emerged with a girl dressed in a black ninja costume.

“Ah, yes. This is Raymunda Itoi,” Sharon said, gesturing toward the masked figure. “And her planner, Simone Baldonado. Raymunda, can you explain your outfit? And the dish you two will be making today?”

Raymunda whispered something to Simone.

“She’s very self-conscious about her accent and would like for me to speak for her while she continues to work on her English,” Simone said.

Sharon looked at Mary, who gave her a thumbs-up.

“Well, my producer says it’s okay,” Sharon said. “So, what are you and Raymunda making?”

Simone beamed at the camera. “Florida is the gateway to Latin America, just as Japan is the gateway to Asia, so our dish is a sashimi and ceviche platter.”

Sharon looked impressed. “That sounds delicious. And what a well-thought-out concept!”

The members of Amigas Inc. looked at one another nervously.

“Okay, teams, it’s time to start cooking!” Sharon said. “Aprons on. Knives up. Go!”

At first, Carmen found it hard not to keep staring at Raymunda, who seemed perfectly comfortable cooking in what looked like a Halloween costume. She was also rattled by the intense camera scrutiny. But soon Carmen settled into a groove. She had learned how to make chimichurri sauce when she was a little girl, visiting her grandmother in Buenos Aires, and could make it in her sleep. It would be no problem making it in a fancy kitchen, even with a TV camera following her around as Simone stood next to a ninja slicing and dicing raw fish just a few feet away. Plus, she had her sous-chefs. Before she knew it, she was plating her steaks and pouring the red-pepper sauce, and the time was up.

Carmen’s dish was judged first by Sharon Kim, Mary Kenoyer, and Michelle Bernstein.

“Tell me about the two chimichurri sauces,” Michelle said when Carmen placed the plate in front of her.

“Traditionally, chimichurri is green; it’s got all the fresh herbs in it,” she explained. “But my mom, who’s from Mexico, likes a chunky tomato sauce, so I started exploring how I could bring that green flavor into a red sauce.”

“It’s delicious,” Mary said, taking a bite.

“You’ve done a really wonderful job,” Michelle said. “The steak isn’t overcooked, which is an easy mistake to make.”

“I like the glaze,” Sharon added.

“All around, an excellent dish,” Michelle said. “Do you want to come and work for me?”

“Maybe,” Carmen said, a huge smile on her face, “but it’s a package deal.” She nodded at her two BFs.

“Thank you to the first team. Next up are Raymunda and Simone,” Sharon said.

The girl in the ninja costume handed out platters of ceviche and sashimi to the three judges as Simone posed for the cameras.

The judges had taken only a bite of the dish when Michelle spat the food into her napkin.

“Your ceviche is not cooked,” she said. “If you only have an hour, you have to blanch it first. Fish cut into thick cubes will not cook in lemon juice so quickly; it’s disgusting.”

“The sashimi is okay,” Mary said hopefully.

Michelle took a bite. “For a supermarket maybe, because I’m pretty sure that’s where this came from. Overall, this is an extraordinarily disappointing dish.”

“This isn’t fair,” Simone argued, her face a rather disturbing shade of red. “Maybe this is how Japanese people like ceviche and sushi.”

Michelle shook her head. “That’s just ridiculous. Good food is good food. Like you said, both Florida and Japan are gateways. Unfortunately, your dish is a gateway to food poisoning. Carmen and Amigas Inc. win.”

The three girls squealed and clapped loudly.

Carmen could not wipe the huge grin off her face as she asked, “What do we win?”

“Michy’s will be catering your quinceañera free of charge,” Sharon replied. “Congratulations, girls. This will surely help make your budget stretch much further.”

“No way! You’ve got to be kidding me!” Carmen began jumping up and down. “Thank you so much!”

“Thank you. It was a wonderful dish,” Michelle said, shaking her hand and then moving on to congratulate Jamie and Alicia.

The chef then went over to shake Raymunda’s hand. “Better luck next time,” she said.

But Raymunda did not answer. She simply unsheathed her ninja sword and pretended to commit hari-kari.

“Did you get that on film?” Mary cried out to Arnie. When it turned out he had not, she said, “Raymunda, do it again!”

Hamming it up for the cameras, Raymunda pretended to stab herself with the sword once again.

Show business, as it turned out, was brutal.