Salted Caramel Dreams Read online

  “Yeah, Mary Beth is hilarious,” Kiara says. “And Aliyah is just so cool. I wish you could’ve seen what she was wearing today at practice. She had on these adorable purple and black shorts and these bright green sneakers with, like, glitter sewn into the fabric. You would’ve loved them. She’s actually taking me and Mary Beth to the mall tomorrow so we can get some cool workout clothes of our own.”

  “Oh. Wow.” Her words take the wind right out of me. Going to the mall has always been our thing. And my only plans for tomorrow are walking home from Kiara’s house. Not that I tell this to Kiara. Instead I just smile back at her wide grin. “Sounds fun,” I say.

  “I know, right? I can’t wait. Right now I have exactly two pairs of shorts and three tank tops. But now that I made the team, my mom says I can get some new stuff.”

  “That’s really great. She must be so excited,” I say, thinking of the smile I received when her mom opened the door.

  “Yeah, she’s thrilled. I think that’s why she’s letting us have sundaes for dessert.”

  “That’s right, we should go make some. The ice cream will go great with those cookies my mom made for us,” I say, already dreaming of the dulce de leche cookies Mom baked for us this afternoon.

  My mom and Kiara’s mom met back when they first started working at this marketing agency after college, and then grew even closer after having us and moving to the same neighborhood. So as soon as Mom learned Kiara made the team, she booked it to the kitchen and got to work making Kiara’s favorite cookies, even though she was supposed to be working from home.

  “Oh, those cookies. They’re the best!” Kiara says, standing. “And now we can make cookie sundaes! With different sauces! I think we have chocolate and strawberry.”

  “Any salted caramel?” I ask.

  Kiara laughs. “I wish. Though we can always sneak out to Dolce . . .”

  “Right. Not like your parents would freak out or anything.”

  “True. And I don’t want anything keeping me from basketball!” Kiara smiles wide. “Which reminds me, I almost forgot. Carter today, oh-em-gee. You should’ve seen him—we shared the court with the guys for the last ten minutes of practice, and he was on fire! Hit every shot he took.”

  “Whoa, sounds like he’s really good. You talk to him at all?”

  Kiara shakes her head. “Not today, but we did a little on Thursday. Turns out he and Aliyah live in the same neighborhood. She’s gonna give me the inside scoop tomorrow.”

  “Oh that’s awesome,” I say. “I’m so glad tryouts went well. Though I did miss you this week. It was so quiet.”

  Kiara nods as she shuffles over to the freezer. “Aw, believe me, part of me would’ve much rather been with you. What’d you do at Ms. Chloe’s? You finish your bag?”

  I smile, excited to have a chance to talk about my week. “Almost. I mean, I probably should stop messing with it, but every time I think it’s done, I see a loose thread or get this idea to add more beads. Anyway, it’ll soon be done for real.”

  “That’s great,” she says.

  “I know. I can’t wait to use it. Though I’m really loving this other bag I’m working on too. It’s got a ribbon trim and this chain of tassels and pompoms I made. I can see it being a big seller.”

  “Sounds like it,” says Kiara, scooting in. “You have pictures?”

  I grab my phone and pull up a picture of the tote.

  “Whoa, that’s gorgeous! I think I might need one myself.”

  “Sold,” I say, laughing. “My first order!”

  “The first of many,” Kiara says.

  “Definitely. I really am getting excited,” I say. “My mom got me this biography of Coco Chanel and it’s really motivating me.”

  Kiara laughs. “Isn’t that like your fifth one?”

  “What? No!” I say. “The last one was Diane von Furstenberg. The one before that was about Alexan-der McQueen!”

  “Same difference.”

  I roll my eyes. Kiara’s never been a big reader.

  “Anyway, I thought we could dabble in a little styling tonight ourselves,” Kiara says.

  I raise my brow. “I didn’t bring any of my sewing things.”

  “Good, because I wasn’t thinking about sewing, but hair! My mom got this new straightening iron, and I really wanna try it out,” Kiara says, digging into her ice cream.

  “Oh no, not that again,” I say.

  “No, this time will be different,” Kiara says. “I saw her use it before work the other day and it looks way easier. And her hair looked so silky smooth. Actually, hang on a sec, let me go grab it.” Kiara jumps off her stool and heads toward the family room. “Mom, you in there? Hey, I was wondering if we can borrow your hair straightener. Jasmine and I want to try it out ourselves . . .”

  Kiara returns a minute later, her steps so quiet I don’t hear her until she’s almost back at her stool. No matter how many times I sleep over, I can never get over how quiet and peaceful and orderly everything is here. Kiara’s house is the polar opposite of mine, which is probably why we spend most of our sleepovers watching movies in the Murphys’ basement. Not that there’s anything wrong with my house, it’s just that at home things are busy. With Kiara’s brother away at college, it’s just her and her parents. But at my house, there’s Mom and Dad and Edwin and Michael and Abuela, who moved in with us last year after she got diabetes. Meaning that no matter the time, there is always someone watching TV or cooking or shouting about something. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I’m so quiet. In a house full of people, conflicts can often drop down out of nowhere like a tornado. Sometimes keeping your mouth shut is the best way to stay safe.

  “So you ready?” Kiara asks.

  “I guess,” I say, savoring the peace. “Though I still doubt it’ll get hot enough to tame my hair.”

  Kiara giggles. “I’m telling you it will. Promise.”

  Visions of my black curls frizzed out like a bird’s nest come back to me, and I laugh right along with her, happy to be reliving one of our own private stories. I do Kiara’s hair first—it takes less than ten minutes, as her fine brown locks have very little wave to flatten—and then we start on mine. After a few yelps and finger burns, Kiara finishes. When she puts down the straightener, I can still feel some frizz, but the strands I can see seem pretty straight.

  “So, what do you think?” she asks, handing me a mirror.

  One look and my mouth falls. “Honestly?” I say, holding it up.

  “Honestly.”

  “I think I look like a wet cat!” I say, bursting into laughter. “Look at me!”

  The flat hair has thrown my whole face out of balance, accentuating my broad nose and wide eyes, the pimples I can never get rid of on my forehead.

  “Seriously? After all my hard work?”

  “Sorry, but I don’t see being a hair stylist in your future.”

  “Fair enough,” she says, between laughs.

  And then with the hair straightener still hot, Kiara throws on her pajamas while I reach for the air mattress we keep blown up underneath Kiara’s bed. A minute later, we’re both tucked in tight.

  “Tick tock, tick tock . . .” Kiara says from under the covers.

  “Who’s the coolest on the block?” I finish, reaching up to meet her hands.

  “Night Jas,” she says.

  “Night girl,” I say.

  And then I close my eyes and begin to drift off in Kiara’s warm, quiet house. But before sleep can find me, I remember what Kiara said about shopping tomorrow with Aliyah and Mary Beth. And how this time, she didn’t even try to invite me.

  Chapter Three

  THREE’S A CROWD

  “So what do you think of the new headbands? Cool, right?” asks Kiara as we walk home from school. It’s been a month since she made the team, and today is the first Friday in three weeks that Kiara doesn’t have practice. While we always talk during lunch and science class, and have managed to keep up with our nighttime text sessions,
walking home from school has been lonely. And as nice as the younger girls are at Ms. Chloe’s, they just aren’t as good at telling stories and making me laugh as Kiara. So right now, it feels good to have her by my side.

  “Yeah, I like them,” I say. “Especially that pink one you showed me. But I still think your wire clips are the coolest. They’re just so unique.”

  “True, but these bands, they seriously may be the way to go. They take like ten minutes to make and girls can wear them all the time. The clips are more like for special occasions, you know?”

  “It’ll be cool to see what sells best.”

  “Well, I already have three orders for the bands. I would have four but I gave one to Beatrice for free.”

  I nod and pull my jacket around me. Three orders. Already. For fancy elastic bands covered with a thin ribbon of polka dots. They’re not different or exciting or anything except ordinary. I sigh, wondering how long it’ll be before I can even make that many tote bags.

  “So you still coming to the game tomorrow?” she asks as we reach the intersection of our roads.

  I nod. “Yup. I’ll be there.”

  “You’re the best,” she says, then grabs my hand, her voice a whisper even though the street’s deserted. “Now before I go, I need to fill you in on Carter.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. What’s up?”

  “He told Aliyah he needs a new lab partner dur-ing carpool yesterday,” she says. “Turns out Teddy’s bombed the past three tests and is moving down a level. So Carter needs to find someone new.”

  “But everyone’s already paired up. What are they gonna do? Make a group of three?”

  Kiara brushes the hair off her shoulder and scoots in even closer. “I’m thinking we should volunteer.”

  “To add Carter?”

  “Yeah. Aliyah said he was asking who else in the class is cool, since he only really knew Teddy.”

  “And lemme guess. She might’ve mentioned you.”

  Kiara smirks.

  “Wow. This is big news,” I say. “Though having him as a lab partner? Don’t you think that could be a little too close?”

  Kiara shrugs. “Enemies close and crushes closer?”

  I force a laugh as she leans in for our handshake.

  “Anyway, I’m sure it’ll work itself out,” she says. “Have a good one, and I’ll see you tomorrow!” She shoots me one final wave as she disappears down the street.

  At home, I retreat to my room, eager to finish the beadwork on my bag. Yet every time I try to concentrate on my beading, my mind wanders back to Carter and science. Frustrated, I throw down my bag and reach for my backpack instead. For the next two hours I lose myself in the world of homework. I finish up just as I hear the front door slam.

  “Pizza’s here,” Dad says.

  Raising my brow, I run toward the door. “Pizza? On a Friday?” Treat night is usually Saturday. Every other night Mom cooks.

  “Yeah, surprise,” says Mom. “Abuela’s doctor’s appointment ran late, and then I had to send out that big proposal and pick up the boys, so I thought treat night could come early this week.”

  I nod as Michael snickers behind me.

  “What’s that?” I say.

  “Shh, you be quiet, Michael Aaron,” says Mom, using her you-better-not-mess-with-me voice.

  Just hearing her tone gets Edwin laughing. “Yeah, you cut it out Michael Aaron.”

  “Um, guys, what’s going on?” I ask.

  “Mom wasn’t too busy,” says Michael.

  “Yeah, she was gonna make chicken and rice. But she spilled it all over the floor!” says Edwin.

  The boys erupt into laughter.

  I roll my eyes at their laughter, then smile back at Mom.

  “Well, pizza sounds great,” I say.

  Mom sighs, then gives my back a pat. Her hands feel cold and her eyes look tired, which they do a lot now that she has to juggle Abuela’s appointments with her work schedule and all the boys’ practices. I try to make things easier for her by not asking for rides or homework help, but even so, she often looks overwhelmed.

  “Thank you,” she says, shuffling back to the kitchen. “Now would you mind calling your grandmother for dinner?”

  “Sure,” I say, happy to help. I run out of the kitchen and down the steps to the basement room Dad spruced up for Abuela.

  I find her hunched over her laptop, video chatting with her sister in Colombia.

  “Abuela, dinner’s ready,” I say.

  She looks up and smiles. “Gracias Jasmine, give me five more minutes.”

  “All right,” I say, trying not to laugh. Abuela’s about as good at following directions as the twins. “Should I tell Mom to wait?”

  She mutes the computer, then lowers her voice. “Depends. What’d she make?”

  Again, I fight laughter. I think Mom’s a great cook, but Abuela is picky.

  “Actually, Dad picked up pizza,” I say.

  “Oh. Then on second thought, I’ll be right up,” she says, unmuting the computer. “Jasmine, say hello to your aunt. I need to go freshen.”

  I do my best to keep up with my great aunt’s rapid Spanish before Abuela returns to say goodbye.

  “I’ll call later,” she says, waving to the screen before closing the computer.

  Upstairs, we find everyone already seated around the table, the pizza displayed on Mom’s favorite serving plates next to a big green salad she made herself.

  “This looks great!” I say, eyeing my favorite yellow peppers in the salad.

  Mom smiles, then says a quick prayer before letting us dig in.

  After dinner, I retreat back to my room, ready to give my beadwork another try. But my hands are still too shaky to get it right. So I cast my bag aside, turn up the radio, and pull out my sketchpad instead. Within minutes, I’m in the zone, the day’s troubles forgotten. I work on two new dress designs along with one more bag before deciding it’s time for bed.

  And by morning I’m feeling more optimistic, the sketching having done its job. Who cares about headbands when I have a whole fashion career ahead of me, I think as I throw on my favorite jeans—the ones I distressed myself last year in Spanish class—along with a bell-sleeved tunic. Then I grab my purse and head out to the middle school to watch Kiara play.

  It’s another beautiful day, the fourth we’ve had thanks to the most recent warm front, so I take my time walking toward school, enjoying the downhill stroll past two neat rows of small, well-kept houses. I laugh as I stare at their lawns, a mix of Christmas lights and Thanksgiving corn stalks, left over from the week before. Just ahead I see a family outside dragging their pumpkins to the curb, the back of the SUV loaded with pine. It’s a reminder of the cold to come. I’ve always dreaded that first day I need to wear my puffy coat for the walk to school, because once it goes on, I know I won’t be warm again until spring.

  But this year, with the launch of JKDesigns, winter doesn’t seem as daunting. For the next few months, it’ll just be me and the sewing machine—and hopefully a bundle of sales as well. My stomach flip-flops as I consider the possibilities. Maybe I’ll sell tons of bags right away, maybe it’ll take longer to get going. I tell myself that either way it doesn’t matter, even if Kiara has already sold three headbands.

  As I near the school, I spot Cameron and Lori ahead and run over to them, eager to say hello and fold into the group. I’ve been friends with Cam and Lori since fifth grade, when we took tennis lessons together and realized none of us was cut out for the sport. Since then, they’ve gotten to know Kiara, and we all eat lunch together and talk a lot during our shared classes. Yet despite this, neither Kiara nor I have hung out with them outside school in ages—they’re super into music and are usually tied up with lessons. But today they’re both free. Talk about lucky! I was going to come to the game no matter what, but it’s much nicer to hang out with friends at the same time.

  They’re chatting about the boys’ game when I reach them, which is happening right af
ter the girls’. Apparently the bus holding the boys’ away team just passed them, and even through the bus windows, Lori and Cam could tell that more than one of them was cute. I try to laugh along as Lori fills me in on the brief encounter, then starts evaluating the cuteness of our own players. Within seconds, this turns into a rundown of who has a crush on who.

  I laugh as she continues. The one thing Lori likes more than music is gossip. Not creating it, but talking about it. Especially crushes. She even started a spreadsheet to keep track of them all! Sometimes at school it can get a little old—I’d much rather be discussing my latest sewing projects. But today I don’t mind—I’m thankful for the distraction.

  We reach the bleachers and I sit down between them, excited to have an afternoon out with friends. Who knows, maybe they’ll even want to go to Dolce later! Before I can even ask, though, Lori kills my plans. Turns out her clarinet lesson starts right after the game.

  “I’m not sure I can even stay ’til the end,” she says. “Such a bummer.”

  Cameron nods, then starts complaining about her trumpet lesson that afternoon. Oh well, I think, still smiling. At least we can have fun now. Which is easy to do because as soon as the game starts, our team dominates. Again and again the ball bounces between girls, first to Aliyah, then Mary Beth, and then Kiara. I hold my breath as Kiara dashes down the court and scores. We all erupt into cheers. She repeats this three more times throughout the game, and each time I’m so proud that I find it hard not to stand up and scream. So instead I whoop with the crowd and clap my hands to the beat of the band as the Southfield Sharks cruise to victory against the Greenwich Tigers with a score of 63 to 52.

  “That was amazing!” I say after the final buzzer. “I can’t believe we’re so good!”

  Cameron and Lori nod and wave goodbye, then head off to their music lessons. I decide to swing by the locker room, eager to congratulate Kiara. After fighting through the crowd, I find her by the door with Aliyah and Beatrice. She runs over to me as soon as our eyes meet.