She's Got Game (9 page)

“Sure,” Carmen said finally, giving in. She hoped she hadn't just made a big mistake.

After Binky left to get ready for the game, Carmen went to find her brother.

She knocked on the door of his room, where she found him attempting to pull off an octopuslike juggling act of playing Madden, drinking a milk shake, and kicking his soccer ball from foot to foot.

There was no sense in beating around the bush. Tino was a get-to-the-point kind of guy. So she asked him straight out if he would be Binky's
chambelán
. The grin that spread across his face was the answer she needed. But of course, he had to say something.

“So, she's crushing on me, huh?” Tino asked. He sounded pleased by the idea. The only times Carmen ever usually heard him sound like that was when he was talking about soccer. “Who could blame her? I've got mad skills.”

He picked up the soccer ball and began bouncing it from ankle to ankle and then knee to knee.

“Do you think she'd like me to do this? Or this? Or how about this?”

Carmen tsk-tsked. “I think she'd like you to put on a tux and be a good
chambelán
.”

Tino stopped bouncing the ball. “That I can do.”

“Thanks! I'll tell her,” Carmen said.

As she turned to leave, Tino called out, “Hey, sis!”

Carmen looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“Um, thanks for the intro,” Tino said bashfully.

Back in her room, she felt the urge to share this new development. She picked up the phone to call Jamie. Then she changed her mind and hung up. Then she picked the phone back up and redialed.

“Hey, Jamie,” she said when her friend answered. “Want to hear something interesting? Binky asked me to ask Tino to be to her
chambelán
.”

“What?” Jamie yelped. “Miss Head Cheerleader doesn't have a boyfriend?”

“Well, she did, but the archduke moved back to Austria with his family.”

“Of course he did,” Jamie said.

“Anyway, I asked Tino, and even though I thought for sure he would say no, he said yes!”

“That's weird.”

“
Guys
are weird,” Carmen said. Then, realizing she could use this to try to get some thoughts out of Jamie on Dash, she added, “And kinda stupid. But not all of them. I honestly believe that Dash is less weird and less stupid than most. He likes you, you like him. Give him another chance, J.”

For a moment, there was just silence, and Carmen wondered if she'd pushed too hard. But then Jamie said, “I can do that,” and filled her friend in on the flowers and on the texts she'd accidentally sent to Dash.

“My mom always says there are no accidents,” Carmen said when Jamie had finished. “Everything happens for a reason.”

“And the reason for this is…?” Jamie asked.

“He's probably the only guy in Miami cool enough to go out with you, Jamie-James,” Carmen teased.

LATER THAT
afternoon, the Coral Gables football team played Everglades Academy, Binky and Dash's school. The rivalry between the schools was nothing short of intense.

Of course, with such strong rivalry came strong rules, which weren't supposed to be broken—such as fraternizing with the other side. But Binky didn't care. Dressed in her green and white cheerleader uniform, she went running over to Alicia and her crew as soon as they arrived, shouting, “
Amigas!
Wassup?”

The girls exchanged the now familiar hugs and then, just as quickly as she had come, Binky went back to join her squad. After completing a series of acrobatic moves, the Everglades girls started to cheer.

E is for Excellence,

E is for Elite,

But E is not for Everybody,

Because E can't be beat.

The three female members of Amigas Inc. sat in the bleachers on the Coral Gables side, passing a thermos of hot chocolate back and forth and watching the cheerleaders. It wasn't snowing, but even in Miami, wintertime could be a little chilly. Or at least they liked to think so, since it gave them an excuse to drink hot cocoa.

“I think I would rather walk over a bed of hot coals than be a cheerleader,” Jamie declared as she watched.

“Don't hate, appreciate,” Alicia insisted. “Look at Binky flip. She's really good.”

Just then, Gaz ambled up through the bleachers toward them.

“I have to say that if it takes Binky Mortimer to get you girls out to a football game, then she's okay with me,” Gaz said after he had taken a seat.

Alicia gave him a playful nudge and slid her hand into his. She couldn't really argue with him. He was always trying to get her to go to games—he was a football fan in spite of his more artsy side—and she was always saying no. But when Binky said jump, you had to ask how high. As they watched the heavily uniformed players pass—and more often drop—the football, Alicia found herself hoping Gaz didn't think this would become a regular thing.

“So, what's up with you and Dash?” Alicia asked Jamie when she got too bored to watch the game anymore. “Everything cool now?”

Jamie looked down at her hands. “We talked, so I guess it's sort of cool. But I don't know, Lici. We're just so different, and I've had some experience with ‘different.' It doesn't tend to work out for me.”

“I think you and Dash have more in common than you think,” Alicia observed. “You're both stylish. You're both amazing dancers. You both have a passion for Latin culture, and you're both really, really good at what you do.”

“Dash is an amazing golf player,” she added when Jamie still didn't say anything. “Binky says he's good enough to go pro.”

“Of course she'd say that,” Jamie finally said.

“It's not just her,” said Domingo, who had joined them to watch the game and overheard. “Check this out.”

He handed Jamie a copy of
Miami Golf
magazine. On the cover was a picture of Dash, looking sweeter and handsomer than any heartbreaker had any right to look. The cover headline read:
Hey, Miami, meet the future of American golf!

“Wow,” said Alicia.

“Impressive,” Gaz agreed.

Jamie was silent. Finally she got up and said, “I'm going to get a hot dog. Anyone hungry?” At a nod from Gaz, she began to make her way down the bleachers.

Gaz followed. “Hey, I'm not trying to get all in your business—” he told her when they were away from the others.

“But…” Jamie said.

It had taken some time for Gaz and Alicia to work out their secret undercover crushing on each other and finally start dating. But in the process, Gaz and Jamie had developed an easy rapport. Alicia's family was well off. Carmen's family was financially comfortable. Gaz and Jamie had bonded over the fact that, by contrast, they had grown up knowing that a new school year meant one new pair of shoes and one new pair of jeans—not five or six. When Jamie got impatient with her
amigas
or one of their spoiled clients, it was Gaz who was able to talk her down.

Now it seemed he was going to try to do so again.

But he didn't launch into anything right away. They ordered food and drinks for themselves and their friends. Gaz paid and they began to walk back to the bleachers.

Finally, he spoke. “Don't be mad, but Alicia told me what happened.” He held up a hand as she started to protest. “Just take it from me, J. As a guy who's said and done more than his share of stupid things, when you give a guy a second chance, if he's good and if he's smart, he won't waste it. And, James? Dash is good. And smart.”

The game was a close one for a while, and even Jamie forgot her preoccupations and got caught up in the excitement, so much so that she completely forgot that Dash had said he'd be coming to the game—until the C. G. quarterback scored a touchdown that tied the game, the crowd went wild, and Jamie looked up…to see him standing there.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” he asked. He was dressed in a charcoal gray cashmere turtleneck, navy blazer, and jeans, and he looked like a long, lean slice of handsome.

“I haven't decided yet,” Jamie teased, Gaz's words echoing in her mind.
Second chances…second chances…

She had dressed carefully for the game in cropped jeans, which she'd studded at the ankle herself; a vintage leopard-print blouse; and a tweed jacket that had belonged to her grandfather. Her leather booties—an eBay score—provided the finishing touch to what was quickly becoming one of her favorite outfits. She'd always found that being dressed to the nines was the easiest way to quiet her nerves, but, in such close proximity to Dash, and knowing who he was and what he represented, she found that her fierce and fabulous outfit didn't feel like nearly enough.

“Well, how about we try this?” Dash asked sweetly. “I'll sit down, and I'll start talking, and if the very sight of me is repulsive to you, then feel free to tell me to leave at any time.”

“You've got yourself a deal,” Jamie said, sliding over and making room for him on the bleachers.

“So, what's the score?” Dash asked when he was settled, his knee just brushing Jamie's. She debated moving slightly away but decided against it. The feeling was nice. Warm. Comforting.

“Score? They actually keep track of that kind of thing?” Jamie answered, pretending to look shocked. “Honestly, I have no idea what's going on. Who's who, what's what? To me, it's just a bunch of big guys running around in tight pants.”

Dash let out a loud laugh, causing the rest of the group to turn and look, curious. When he didn't explain but instead just kept looking at Jamie, they shrugged and went back to watching the game, happy to ignore the pair. Dash, meanwhile, had no real interest in the game himself. “Are you saying you prefer a sport with men in looser pants? Khakis, perhaps? And a nice, clean, crisp polo?” He winked.

“Oh, my gosh, you just know me so well, Dash Mortimer!” Jamie exclaimed, holding a hand to her heart as though she were impressed. Then she narrowed her eyes and grinned mischievously. “More like, I don't like sports. Period.”

“I guess I'll have to do something about that, then, won't I?” he said, reaching out to take her hand. She stiffened and pulled away, causing his eyes to fill with regret.

“Look, Jamie, I can understand why you thought my coming on so hot and heavy was a sign of disrespect for you,” Dash said. “But I swear that I have nothing but the utmost respect for you.”

“So why act like such a jerk after such a great date?” Jamie asked.

“You're a painter, right?” Dash said.

Jamie nodded, puzzled.

“Are you ever in the middle of a painting and your hand starts to move and you look at the canvas and you go, whoa, what is that?”

“All the time,” she replied.

“Well, that's kind of like what happened to me,” Dash said. “All I was thinking about was kissing you, but my hands were way ahead of my brain. I'm truly sorry. I promise never to do it again.”

For a moment, she said nothing. She just stared out at the field, her mind whirling. What he said made sense. And it was honest. She owed it to him to be honest, too. “Look, Dash, I don't know what it is about you, but I really like you,” she finally said. “You should consider yourself lucky, because I really don't like that many people. But now that you know how I feel, I don't need you to make me any promises about the future or anything. I just need for you to treat me with respect in the here and now.”

“That's something I can do.…Would it be respectful, for example, if I
asked
to kiss you right now?” Dash whispered.

“Public place, bright lights,” Jamie said, looking around. “It should be fine.”

Dash kissed her softly and pulled away.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

“That was perfect.”

She leaned forward to kiss him again, but they were interrupted by Binky. Apparently, while they had been talking, the game had finally ended. Binky had her hands on her hips and a big smile on her face. “It's very nice to see that you two have made up. But now, can we get back to more pressing matters—like my
quince
?”

WHILE BINKY
thought it perfectly acceptable to put up a romantic roadblock for Dash and Jamie, her
quinceañera
was not going to get in the way of her own love life—or her attempt at one.

That Friday night, Binky and Tino met up for their first official date, to see if the
chambelán
idea would even work. They'd been talking and texting nonstop since the day before.

Because Tino didn't have a car, Binky did the modern-girl thing—well, the modified modern-girl thing—and picked him up in the family car. The person driving was her father's chauffeur, Ferris.

“Nice wheels,” Tino said when he climbed into the backseat.

He'd dressed for the date in a carefully ironed shirt with French cuffs and cuff links that he'd borrowed from his stepfather. Binky had stepped up her look, too—in a navy blue sweater dress with a thin gold chain and cobalt blue satin platform pumps.

“You look great,” Tino said.

“Thanks.” Binky tossed her blond hair casually. It was in fact a not so casual move that she practiced in the mirror a dozen times a day.

Tino sat next to her, buckled his seat belt, and stretched his legs. He was already six feet tall, and legroom was always an issue. But not in the Mortimers' car.

“This is so spacious,” he said, admiring the car's interior.

“Glad you like it. So, where should we go for dinner?” Binky asked.

“Your choice,” Tino answered. “I hit my savings account this afternoon, so I've got plenty of green.”

Binky smiled. “Ooooh! A splurge. Well, in that case, let's go to Lechuga.”

In the front, Ferris cleared his throat, trying to get her attention. Binky ignored him.

“Okay with me,” Tino said.

Ferris cleared his throat even louder.

“Lechuga, Ferris!” Binky shouted. “And pop a cough drop, you're distracting us.”

Ferris eyed Binky in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure that Lechuga is the most
appropriate
choice, ma'am?” he asked.

Binky, oblivious of the warning tone in his voice, replied, “It's my favorite restaurant. Of course it's appropriate. Let's go.”

Sighing, Ferris started the car and headed away from the Canals toward South Beach. It was going to be an interesting night.

From the moment they walked into the restaurant, Tino could feel his appetite waning and his wallet shrinking. The decor was “rustic contemporary,” which meant huge, elaborate wooden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and animals' heads mounted lodge style on the walls. Everyone in the restaurant appeared to be at least the age of Tino's and Binky's parents, and many of them sat squarely in grandparent territory. Looking around, Tino wondered what Binky liked about the place. She seemed too…well, alive for it.

The maître d' recognized Binky right away and seated them at a table for two in the middle of the dining room. Hemmed in by the tables all around them, Tino started to feel claustrophobic. He took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.

And then he looked at the menu.

The double-digit figures next to every item were so jarring he felt sure he must have been experiencing vision problems. It had happened to him more than once when he fell hard during a soccer game. It had never happened before in a restaurant, though. Tino decided to level with Binky.

“You do know I'm in the eleventh grade,” he said.

“I
adore
older men,” Binky replied, batting her eyelashes playfully.

“What I'm trying to say is that this place is expensive,” Tino said.

Binky shrugged. “That's why God invented credit cards.”

Tino laughed, then grew serious again. “No, that's actually not true. Binky, let me take you to someplace I think you'll like. Someplace I can actually afford without robbing my college fund.”

Binky looked hesistant, but finally said, “Okay. I'm game.”

Tino dropped twenty dollars on the table for the waiter, and they left. “Most expensive glass of water I've ever had,” he mumbled on his way out.

Half an hour later, the two stood on a street corner in the Gables, looking out at the beach. At some point during the drive over, Tino had effortlessly linked hands with Binky, as if it were something he always did. While she had dreamed of being a real-life princess one day, she hadn't felt half the sparks with the archduke that she now felt with Tino Ramirez-Ruben of Miami.

“So, where's the restaurant?” she asked, trying to stay focused. “This is new Prada that I'm rocking, and I don't want to waste it.”

“Well, I think you look amazing,” Tino said.

“Then this dress is definitely not wasted,” Binky replied.

“And don't worry, because…we're here.” Tino pointed to a food truck parked on the street behind them. “It's called Panini. They make pressed sandwiches, and they're so popular they just Tweet their location and people line up for hours.”

“We're having our first date at a food truck?” Binky asked, her eyes wide. “You're kidding, right?” She was making an effort to be more down-to-earth, but earth—when it came to money—wasn't anything she was used to.

Tino put an arm around her. “I'm not kidding,
cariño
. In fact, if you don't like it, then next week I will take you back to the money pit we were just at. I'll treat you to an appetizer—which is really all I can afford there. And I'll drink some more of that expensive water.”

“You're on,” Binky said, laughing.

When it was their turn to order, Tino looked so cute and so excited it was all Binky could do not to throw her arms around him and kiss him.

“So, what will it be?” Tino asked.

Binky perused the menu. The choices, she had to admit, looked pretty yummy.

“I'll have the citrus-marinated steak panini, with black-bean salsa, Swiss, and pickles,” she said.

“An excellent choice,” Tino said. “I'll have the same thing.”

After they got their dinner, they went and sat on a bench looking out over the beach and started to eat. For a while the only sound came from the distant surf and the sound of chewing.

“Isn't it funny,” Tino asked, breaking the silence, “how you can be talking nonstop and then some delicious food arrives, and all of a sudden,
nada
—just pure silence?”

Binky pointed to her full mouth and nodded.

“That was good,” she said, when she'd finished chowing down.

“I'm glad you liked it,” Tino said.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I would never have known about it if you hadn't pulled me out of my fancy place.”

“It's my pleasure. After all, aren't you trying to get in touch with your Latina roots? What better way than with me as a tour guide?” He smiled. “So, to continue on this path of exploration,
cariño
, can I interest you in dessert?”

“Of course,” Binky said. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nutella on toast. It's sick how good it is. I'll be right back,” Tino said. Then he looked at the line that had formed at the truck and corrected himself. “I'll be back as soon as humanly possible.”

Suddenly, however, he did something unexpected. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against Binky's. “By the way, you don't need Prada,” he said softly. “You'd look gorgeous in a paper sack. Now, I'm going to go get us that dessert.”