A Formal Affair (5 page)

“Love your shoes!” April exclaimed, peering down at Carolina's patent-leather platform pumps. “Who are they?”

“Jimmy Choo,” Carolina mumbled.

Maya, April, and Dorinda swooned in unison. “It's like we always say,” April said, twirling the long gold chain around her neck.
“It's not a shoe, unless it's Jimmy Choo.”

Carolina smiled tightly. “Listen, you guys, I really need to talk to Carmen about some stuff for my
quince
, and I've got Latin American lit in fifteen minutes, so would you mind excusing us?”

If the SoBees felt dismissed, they didn't show it.

“Of course!” Dorinda said, bussing each of Carolina's cheeks. “We'll leave you to it. Your
quince
is going to rock. Make sure to send out those Save the Dates, though. It's Fabulous season in Miami, and you know how we girls like to stay busy.”

April and Maya gave Carolina air-kisses and then inexplicably blew a kiss at Carmen. As they turned to walk away, Maya gave Carmen's shoulder a squeeze. “This little one is a gem. I don't know how we'd survive without her.”

Little one?
Carmen was five feet nine inches tall! And why were they suddenly being so nice to her? Had she entered some sort of snack-bar-related alternate reality?

Pushing aside her confusion at the sudden change from snarky to sweet, Carmen turned back to Carolina. “Okay, so tell me,” Carmen said. “What's up with you and Patricia? Are we going to have to put a stop to this
quince
before we have even begun?”

Carolina shrugged. “Patricia's competitive. That's who she is. She always has to put herself out there. That's why she loves basketball so much. It's not her against one other person—which is like my sport, singles tennis—she'd much rather take on a whole team.”

Carolina shook out her impressive mane of hair. Then she went on, “Look, I'm not completely ignorant. I know that for a lot of people, the queen and king thing is sort of retro and irrelevant. I'm smart. I want to get my PhD in public health policy someday. I've got a brain and a heart and a soul. But I'm also a girl who loves dressing up. I'm a girl who loves romance and princess movies, and I've
always
wanted to be crowned queen of winter formal. And if I were chosen this year, it would be the best
quince
gift I could ever wish for.

“Patricia is a star on the court,” Carolina continued. “
I
want to be the belle of the ball. Just once. Patricia knows how much it means to me. I never in a million years would have thought she'd do this—sign up and everything—just because she can.”

Listening to the other girl speak, Carmen was reminded of Alicia and Jamie. They were both so close, but, like Carolina and Patricia, so,
so
different. For a long time, Jamie had thought Alicia was rubbing her nose in it that her family was well off and Jamie's was not. And for an equally long period of time, Alicia had thought Jamie had a chip on her shoulder about money. Carmen had played referee between the two of them long enough to know that in any riff between close friends, chances were good that nobody meant to be vicious and that both parties were equally hurt.

Carmen took a sip of her latte, which had gotten just cold enough not to taste good, but not cold enough to pass for iced coffee. “Is it possible,” she asked hesitantly, “that because you guys are
primas hermanas
, because you are more than friends—you're family—that maybe there is more going on than just Patricia trying to hurt you for some reason, and maybe you just haven't seen it
because
you're so close? That maybe she has a reason of her own for really wanting this crown, too?”

Carolina's eyes flashed, and Carmen knew her words had touched a nerve.

“You don't get it,” Carolina said, her dark gray eyes filling with tears. “Everything I have—the good grades, the friends, the clothes—I've had to work really, really hard for. Patricia is one of those lucky people who never plan or struggle for anything, but everything turns out perfectly for them all the same. For once, there was something I thought I could do and have just turn out perfectly. And now that chance is gone.”

Carmen handed the girl a tissue and gave her a hug. “I'm going to be completely honest with you,” she said. “I think Patricia has a right to run for winter formal queen. It's a free country; she can do what she wants. But I also think that you are tougher than you think. You're not just any pretty, popular girl. You're a rock star, inside and out.
You
are the winter formal queen our school deserves.”

Carolina's eyes widened as she used the tissue Carmen handed her to wipe her tears away. “Do you really think so?”

Carmen nodded. “I know so. Consider me your first fan. I'm on Team Carolina. And together, we are going to make you a belle!”

OVER AT STARBUCKS
, Patricia was busy giving Jamie her side of the story. Which sounded eerily similar to Carolina's tale of woe. The crux of Patricia's complaint was that her cousin had been the family favorite since the day she was born.

“She was born a week ahead of me, and I feel like I've been playing catch-up ever since,” Patricia complained. “Carolina is that picture-perfect, cashmere-sweater-wearing, tennis-playing, honor-roll girl. She can do no wrong. I, on the other hand, am constantly trying to prove myself.”

Jamie could identify with Patricia's outsider perspective. Even though she'd moved to Miami at the end of junior high and had known Alicia and Carmen almost as long as she'd known anybody, Jamie still felt a bit like an outsider around them, as though she could never make up for the history that they had built together, or the ease with which they navigated Miami's social circles. Yes, her boyfriend was a rising golf star. Yes, she spent more time at country clubs and resorts than she had ever in her life imagined she would, thanks to Dash, and yes, because of him, wherever they went together, people treated them like royalty. But part of Jamie always resented girls like Carolina, whose money and looks got them everywhere they wanted to go.

Of course, the truth was that Patricia was no less privileged than her cousin. But in her own story, she'd cast herself as the underdog, which meant that she had a fan in Jamie.

“Is it true that you've known since you were kids that Carolina had this big dream of being winter formal queen one day?” Jamie asked before slurping down the remainder of her iced chai tea, which, to her chagrin, was mostly ice.

Patricia shrugged. “So, she wanted to be winter formal queen. Big whoop! Is nobody else supposed to run? If she's the queen that the school wants this year, then she should have no problem with a little friendly competition.”

Jamie couldn't have agreed more. “I'll help you out. I believe in shaking things up.”

And just like that, Jamie Sosa, née Jamie of the boogie-down Bronx, became not only the
quince
planner for both Reinoso girls, but a behind-the-scenes campaign manager for Patricia's winter formal queen campaign.

It wasn't until Patricia had left, taking off running toward her Spanish class, that Jamie realized that she had never gotten to ask Patricia why she wanted to be winter formal queen. Why the sudden change of heart? But that was okay, she figured. There'd be plenty of time to ask later.

None of the members of Amigas Inc. had time to catch up for the rest of that day. Carmen was busy with SoBee-related work, Alicia had promised she'd attend an art exhibit with her mother after school, and Jamie was way behind on some work for her Etsy site. So it wasn't until the next morning, on the way to class, that Jamie even saw Carmen. But when she did, her eyes narrowed. Her friend was holding some suspicious-looking boards with bright lettering all over them.

“What are those?” Jamie asked.

Carmen shrugged. “Just some winter formal stuff for Carolina. She asked me to help her out.” It was now her turn to grow suspicious. Because Jamie was holding on to something as well. Pointing at the banners draped over Jamie's arm, Carmen asked, “And those?”

“I'm helping Patricia with her campaign,” Jamie replied matter-of-factly.

If anyone had been standing close to the two friends at that moment, he or she would have felt a distinct chill in the air. The girls looked at each other, eyes still narrowed. Carmen had her free hand on her hip, while Jamie had cocked her head, as if to say,
Wanna make something of it?

“Um, correct me if I'm wrong,” Carmen said, “but you're Super Art Girl, and Patricia's a client. You should be helping both girls.”

Jamie instantly reacted. “Pot calling the kettle black much? What about you, then? Why are you helping Carolina? Besides, Patricia's not just a client. She's my new friend—
and
the next winter formal queen.”

To which Carmen replied, “Well, we'll see about that.”

Lunchtime found Alicia and Gaz in the cafeteria. They were sharing an enormous Cuban sandwich chock-f of ham, roasted pork, Swiss cheese, pickles, mustard, and salami.

Gaz had just taken a huge bite of his lunch, some of which ended up on his cheek. Alicia affectionately wiped a smidgen of mustard off his face, and was about to give him a quick kiss when a shadow descended over the table—in the form of Carmen and Jamie. The two girls were scowling, arms folded across their chests.

“What's the
qué pasa
,
chicas
?” Gaz asked, sensing as much as Alicia did that something was wrong.

That was all it took. The girls immediately went at it, talking over one another as they each tried to tell their side of the story. From what Alicia and Gaz could make out, each was arguing that the other had crossed the line by offering her support to the opposing winter formal queen candidate.

After three minutes of loud yelling, Alicia had had enough. “I feel like I'm on
Law and Order
,” she said, banging an imaginary gavel. “Order in the court! Order in the court! Step up to the bench and state your case.”

“Come on, Lici,” Jamie pleaded. “This is serious. Girls like Carolina think they're entitled to be queen of this and queen of that just because they have blond hair and blue eyes and fit the preppy, popular-girl mold.”

Carmen shook her head, incredulous. “As if! Carolina isn't a cookie-cutter popular girl. She's no SoBee. She isn't a cheerleader. She's president of an environmental group. Being queen of the winter formal is something she's wanted from the time she was a little girl. Patricia is just being a hater by entering at such a late date.”

Alicia held up her hands. “As entertaining as it is to watch you two go at it like four-year-olds, this is bad for business. You need to let Patricia and Carolina handle their own campaigns. Our job is to keep them focused on one thing and one thing only: the most important day of their lives—their
quinceañera
. Case closed.”

Carmen and Jamie exchanged hard looks. Alicia's advice was sound, but neither of them had any intention of backing down. They were only just beginning.

After lunch, Carmen raced across the quad to her next class. She had so much to do that her head was spinning. There was a winter formal meeting at 3:15. Then, at 5:30, a meeting with the Reinoso cousins was on tap, and after that it was home to tackle a paper comparing identity and depiction of self in the poetry of Walt Whitman and Willie Perdomo. Just thinking about it all made her tired.

Somehow, she had managed to make it to her next class. But try as she might to pay attention, the exhaustion was just too much, and she let out a huge yawn. Unfortunately, it was at that very moment that her advanced biology teacher, Mr. Julian, walked by her desk.

“Am I boring you, Ms. Ramirez-Ruben?” he asked. “I do try so very hard to be interesting.”

Carmen sighed. If she had had a dime for every time a teacher used that
Am I boring you?
line, she'd have been as rich as a celebutante. Didn't teachers remember what high school was like? How the mad rush of classes and papers and activities and a part-time job could run a girl ragged?

Obviously not. Carmen shook her head and smiled sweetly. “I apologize, Mr. Julian.” Luckily he seemed to be in a forgiving mood and simply nodded. He walked away, continuing his scintillating lecture on one-celled organisms.

When what seemed like eons later, the bell finally rang, Carmen snapped her book shut and took off again across the quad as fast as her legs would carry her.

The SoBees were sitting at the snack bar all dressed up in matching Palm Beach–style sundresses. Judging by the way they languorously sipped their lattes, it was as if they'd been sitting in the quad all afternoon without a care in the world.

“How'd you get here so fast?” Carmen asked, out of breath and feeling closer to gym-class sweaty than she would have liked.

The SoBees smiled pityingly. While Carmen was nearly six feet tall, the SoBees had a way of making her feel as if she were back in the third grade and the smallest kid in the class.

“We never sign up for a class during last period,” Maya explained, as she multitasked, reapplying a fuschia lip gloss while flipping through the pages of
People
magazine.

“But you've got to take something,” Carmen asked, confused.

“Duh. We have study hall,” Dorinda explained. “Two p.m. study hall is monitored by Mrs. Clarke, and she never takes attendance.”

April piped up. “That way, if we've got to bounce early—to go shopping or to spin class or to meet up with some hotties from another school, then we can be out, no prob.”

“Wow,” Carmen said, taking this information in. Some kids seemed born gaming the system, and clearly, the SoBees could count that among their many charming skills. “I'll be right back.”

Carmen walked over to the quad snack bar and bought herself a soda. Not the healthiest thing in the world, but she needed the caffeine.

She rejoined the SoBees and took a checklist out of her oversize hobo bag. “We have a ton of work to do—”

“My thought exactly,” Dorinda said, taking the checklist away from Carmen and using it as a coaster for her latte. “First things first, though. Who are we going to support for queen?”

April looked up from her brand-new hot pink iPad and gave her friend a “duh” look. “Is there any question? Carolina. She's pretty. She's smart. She's stylish. And she's our friend.”

Maya nodded. “I couldn't agree more. I met Shakira once at the radio station, and she looks a little bit like her. Carolina is right out of the C.G. handbook. She's the definition of ‘queen.'”

Carmen, unaware that there was such a thing as a C.G. handbook, made a mental note to check it out. She moved Dorinda's coffee and retrieved her checklist. “You guys, can we focus? There are about a hundred things to do on this list, and we're only weeks away from the big event. I know I'm new at this, but it seems like we've got a lot more important things to discuss than who's going to be queen.”

Dorinda, Maya, and April exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. Then Dorinda reached over and patted Carmen's arm, as though soothing a crying baby. “Silly, the whole point of the winter formal is to elect the queen. We have to make sure the queen is as wonderful as the dance.”

Carmen could barely suppress a groan. These girls were nuts. “I
thought
the whole point of the winter formal was to create a magical evening that our classmates will never forget.”

Dorinda placed her fingers, in the shape of a
W
, on her forehead. “Whatever. They'll never forget the winter formal, because it's when we crown the queen.”

Carmen took a deep breath. This was going nowhere. And even though Carmen was now as invested as the SoBees were in her candidate's becoming winter formal queen, she knew from all her experience planning
quinces
how much work and coordination it took to plan for such a big event. The crowning was only one small piece of the puzzle.

But if all the SoBees cared about was the contest and the girl who wore the crown, then, fine. She would whip them into shape by speaking their language and would couch all of her requests in terms of the way it affected the crowning of the queen.

“
O-o-o-o
-kay, Dorinda,” Carmen crooned, in the calmest voice she could summon. “And do you care at all about what kind of decorations are on the wall or what kind of food is served when the queen is crowned?”

Dorinda shrugged. “Hmmm. Let me think about that.…Not really.”

Okay, so maybe there was no common language. Carmen was at her wit's end. “Well, who do you think is going to pull all of this together?” she asked, jumping to her feet and waving the checklist in the air.

“You,” Dorinda replied, almost sweetly. “That's why Ms. Ingber assigned you to be the project manager. She knew that you were the perfect person to get the job done. We always find a super-duper
workabee
to pull all the party details together for us.”

Dorinda stood up and threw her coffee cup into the trash. “Meeting's over.”

April looked at her watch and grimaced. “OMG! We're late. It's the Last Call sale at Neiman Marcus, and there is a pair of sixty percent–off stilettos with my name on it.” She turned to Carmen briefly to add, “But good job on being so organized.”

Maya stood up as well, and she and April tossed their coffee cups into the trash with basketball player– like precision.

“I love you for being such a kick-ass project manager,” Maya said insincerely before giving Carmen a never-touch-the-skin air-kiss.

“That checklist is
genius
,” Dorinda added.

And with that, the SoBees walked off. For a few minutes Carmen just sat in the quad, stunned. How did they do it? How did they saddle her with all of the work and make it seem like they'd all just had a lovely afternoon tea? Before she'd spent any time with them, Carmen had assumed that the SoBees were like any members of a superpopular clique: self-obsessed, shallow, ever so slightly mean-spirited, and not very bright. But now that she'd gotten to know them a little bit, Carmen looked at the SoBees with newfound respect. They weren't stupid. And they weren't merely shallow. They were like the girls from the classic movie
Heathers
. Evil geniuses. More specifically, they were
lazy
evil geniuses who had somehow gotten her to do their bidding.