Point Me to Tomorrow (4 page)

Jamie returned the phone to Alicia. “See you tonight,
amigas
. Stay strong.”

Alicia walked down to the guidance counselor's office and knocked on the door of her adviser, Mr. Stevens. She hardly ever visited his office. In all honesty, she thought of herself as a dispenser of good advice, not someone who needed it.

“Hey, Mr. Stevens, I got caught up in college day, and I heard you could give me a late pass for my next class.”

“Sure, sure,” Mr. Stevens said. He was tall, blond, and tanned, with the easy disposition of a man who started every day surfing at the beach, which he did. He also taught AP macroeconomics, which was a class that landed squarely on Alicia's Always Say Never list.

“College day. How'd it go?” Mr. Stevens asked genially. “Take a seat. Let me pull your file; we'll hang.”

“It's okay, Mr. Stevens, I'll just take the late pass and go,” Alicia replied.

“And miss out on the opportunity to chill with me?” he said. “What do you have now? Classics? Or, as I like to call it, Literature Written by Dead People 101? You're a senior; we've got to talk about your future.”

Alicia sighed and took a seat. Mr. Stevens was a good teacher and a nice enough guy, but she found that his efforts to relate to his students by putting himself on what he considered their level a little overdone and condescending.

“So, how'd it go? Who rocked your world today?”

It was such a funny question. If Alicia were to answer honestly—and she didn't see any point in lying—Serena Shih from Harvard was hands down the most exciting rep. So she told Mr. Stevens all about her iPad demo and Serena and Harvard's two plus two MBA program.

“That's crazy, man,” Mr. Stevens observed. “It's like you were meant for each other.”

“And you know the best part of it all? She never mentioned my parents or the fact that Harvard has to take me because I'm a legacy.”

“That's cool. Shows she's got character,” her counselor said. He'd obviously grown either bored or comfortable, because he had stopped reading her file and begun tossing a Nerf football back and forth with her. “So, what's the problem?”

Alicia missed catching the ball; she picked it up from the floor. How did he know? She hadn't even admitted it to herself yet, but she
was
worried about something. “The problem is that I'm a legacy. Both of my parents went to Harvard. They
have
to take me.”

Mr. Stevens put the ball down and looked at her with that grown-up “Are you doing drugs/smoking cigarettes/breaking the law?” stare. He said, “It's Harvard, Alicia. They don't
have
to do anything but sit on a pile of money and drop their
R
's.”

Alicia shook her head, “You don't understand. I'm a type A, second-generation, high-achieving Latina. My grandparents went against the grain by coming to this country. My parents overcame the odds and went to Harvard. Even though I grew up in cushy Coral Gables, do you think my parents or the Harvard admissions office aren't going to say, ‘Of course, she belongs at Harvard, too'?”

Mr. Stevens sighed. “Alicia, you're a seventeen-year-old whiz entrepreneur. You've found this incredible niche where you make money by helping young women connect to a deeply meaningful cultural tradition. You are already one of a kind. Don't choose a college based upon the need to be the same as, different from, or better than your parents. Choose the place where
you
want to go.”

The bell rang, and Alicia rose from her chair. “Looks like I missed my Literature Written by Dead People class.”

Mr. Stevens said, “Don't worry, I'll let Mrs. Suber know. Let's keep talking, Alicia. I'm here to help you figure this stuff out.”

She smiled. It was actually as satisfying to receive advice as it was to dish it out. She stood at the door and then turned. “So, where'd you go to college, Mr. Stevens?”

He pointed to his board. “UC Santa Barbara. Majored in surfing, minored in economics. Now I teach in Miami and get to catch the waves every day of the week. I'm living my dream, Alicia. Hope you get to live yours.”

THAT NIGHT
, Alicia arrived at the restaurant to find Gaz, Maxo, Carmen, and Jamie already seated. She squeezed in next to Gaz, who said, “Describe yourself in one word.”

Alicia groaned. “Are we still playing that game?”

Gaz laughed. “Are you kidding? This game rocks. It's both misery-inducing and inherently interesting.”

“Okay, then,” Alicia said. “You first. What did you say?”

“I said I was mysterious,” Gaz replied.

Jamie and Alicia burst out laughing.

Carmen put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “He's kidding, right?”

Maxo nudged Gaz and added, “Well, I said I was a genius.”

“Okay, so I'm a tad gullible. Now I know you're both kidding,” Carmen said.

As they passed around a bamboo tray of steamed dumplings, Alicia asked, “I don't get it, Maxo. If you're deferring school for a year to volunteer in Haiti, why are you even putting yourself through this gruesome process?”

Maxo popped a dumpling in his mouth and put a finger up to indicate that he was still chewing. Then he said, “Because, in order to defer college a year, you actually have to be accepted and enrolled in a school. So, I'm pretty much in the same boat as the rest of you—dream school, safety school, and eight tedious applications in between.”

“The thing I don't get,” Carmen said, “is why do we have to apply to so many schools? In my mom's day, you'd apply to four or five. Now, any sane person applies to at least ten. I'm seriously thinking about doing early decision to Parsons. No muss, no fuss. FIT and Parsons have been the two schools I've always wanted to go to, and I had a great meeting with the rep from Parsons today. She convinced me that I'd be a perfect fit.”

Alicia always admired Carmen's steadiness. Her friend had wanted to be a fashion designer since she was six. And she had wanted to go to a college specializing in art and design since seventh grade, when she had asked her parents for the season one DVD boxed set of
Project Runway
for Christmas and proceeded to watch all twelve episodes back to back while the rest of her family slept.

“To Carmen and Parsons,” Alicia toasted, raising a glass of
agua fresca
to toast her friend. “And to the rest of us—may we figure it out.”

Gaz turned to Jamie. “What about you, J.? You've been talking NYU, Columbia, and get me out of hot Miami and back to
Nueva
York ever since I met you. What are you thinking?”

Jamie smiled and took a bite of her pork chop with black bean sauce. “I know I've been talking about the East Coast and New York forever…and maybe I was a little pushy about the greatest city in the world. But college is all about new experiences, right? After I met with the guy from NYU, I stopped by to talk to the rep from Stanford.”

Alicia almost spit out her
pollo a la brasa
. “Stanford? As in, California?”

Jamie got that fierce don't-mess-with-the-Bronx-bombshell look that she broke out from time to time. “Why, yes, Stanford. Did I stutter?”

Gaz whistled. “California! What's up with that?”

Jamie blushed. “Well, Dash is thinking about transferring to Stanford….”

Before Alicia could stop herself, she blurted out, “But Jamie, you can't choose a college based on where your boyfriend goes.”

Jamie glared at her, and Alicia felt as if they'd time-warped back to the beginning of their friendship, when Jamie was always being the hard-core New York girl and Alicia was always saying the wrong thing.

“Alicia, if you would let a person finish…” Jamie growled. “I stopped by the Stanford desk just to mention Dash and how he wanted me to visit the school with him over Christmas break. One thing led to another, and it turns out that the rep is a museum curator at an Asian arts museum in San Francisco. I told him about my eBay store and how much I sell to kids in Tokyo and Seoul. He said Stanford has an amazing Far East studies program and all kinds of arts exchanges. I never thought of the customized pimped-out sneakers and handbags I design as art, but he pointed out all the cool fashion-art collaborations over the years, like Malick Sidibé for agnès b. and Murakami for Louis Vuitton. He thought I might find art school too limiting, and that double-majoring in fine art and Asian studies might be more inspiring.”

“Wow,” Alicia said.

“That's all you have to say? ‘Wow'?” Jamie grumbled.

Alicia could tell her friend was mad at her for sure and probably would be for a while. She shook her head. “I mean,
wow
, I'm really impressed.”

“We're all impressed,” Carmen added brightly, playing the peacemaker and cheerleader. “You'd be amazing at Stanford, Jamie.”

“Well, I was sort of surprised in my meetings, too,” Gaz piped up. “Berklee College of Music is clearly my first choice. But MIT was kind of impressive, too. They've got mad financial aid, and the music department guy said that a lot of musicians never finish Berklee, because they get a record deal or a part in a Broadway show. He said if I really wanted to spend four years living and breathing music as an art and not the music
business
, I should think about MIT.”

Feeling as if words were failing her, Alicia hugged Gaz tight. The purity of his feelings for his music had been one of the first things she'd loved about him.

“So, Maxo,” Gaz said, “from what fine institution will you be deferring admission?”

Maxo shrugged. “Ideally, Columbia. Their international studies program is just the best. And hopefully, being in New York, I could intern at the United Nations, begin to explore a career that mixes diplomacy with technology.”

Alicia looked around at her friends. They were so smart, so unique. She was lucky they even let her hang with them.

“What about you, Lici?” Carmen asked. “Any of those Ivies looking good?”

This would've been the moment to tell them about Harvard, about the two plus two program and her fears of being another unimaginative legacy candidate. She'd let it all out with Mr. Stevens, and she barely knew him. But something about her own uncertainty and the way Jamie was shooting dirty looks at her while texting on her BlackBerry made Alicia pause.

She shrugged. “I'm really not sure yet.”

Gaz, Carmen, and Jamie exchanged glances. Not sure? About her number one college pick? Over-the-top, ultraprepared, I'll Rule High School Today and the World Tomorrow Alicia Cruz? Alicia, who put the
A
in type A? It really didn't seem likely.

Even Maxo, who'd known Alicia for only a few short months, was suspicious. “Well, how did your meetings go?” he asked.

“Hmmm. After meeting with Columbia, Harvard, Yale, Penn, and Brown, if I had to describe myself in one word, I'd say I was
impressed
and
overwhelmed
.”

Gaz squeezed Alicia's shoulder. “That's two words,
mi amor
.”

Alicia shrugged and picked up the dessert menu. “I'm starving,” she said. “Who's up for splitting an order of chocolate and banana wontons?”

“Me,” said Carmen.

“Me, too,” agreed Jamie, looking up from the text she was sending Dash.

“I'm in,” nodded Maxo.

Only Gaz dissented. “No way,” he said. “If everybody wants dessert, no way are we splitting one order. We'd better order two. Matter of fact, they're small—let's order three. Maxo and I are growing boys.”

As the conversation shifted to dessert, SAT prep classes, and weekend plans, Alicia felt relieved that she had dodged her friends' questions. She could feel her shoulders drop from the tense, up-near-the-ears clinch they'd been in just moments earlier.

That night, when Gaz dropped her off at home, they stayed in the car for a few minutes kissing good-bye again and again.

“'Night, Gaz,” Alicia whispered.

“
Buenas noches
, beautiful,” Gaz replied, kissing her even longer.

She smiled and took her hair out of the ponytail it had been in all day.

“So, I'll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

Despite the growing success of Gaz's band and his songwriting deal, he still worked twenty hours a week at the Gap. Gaz's father was deceased, and his mother, Inez, worked as a live-in maid for a wealthy Panamanian family. Having been promoted to assistant manager, he was able to get health-care coverage for his brother and mother.

“Listen, Lici,” Gaz murmured, “I love your friends. But we haven't been on a date, a real date, in
forever
. I want to…I mean, I need to spend some time alone with you alone, just us.”

Alicia nodded. He was, of course, completely right.

“So, what do you have in mind?” she asked playfully.

“Something really nice,” he said. “Are you free Saturday night?”

Alicia pretended to think about it. “Hmmm. I dunno. I'll have to check my schedule…. Let me call my boyfriend and see if he's working….” Then she started giggling so much she couldn't tease him anymore. “Of course I'm free! I'll always get time freed up for you,” she said, kissing him again.

Gaz grinned. “Okay, be sure to dress up. We're going somewhere fancy,” he said, looking excited.

“Um…” Alicia said, gesturing toward her vintage dress and suede ankle boots, “basic Amigas Inc. dress code is fabulous. You only have to tell me when you want me to dress
down
.”

Gaz laughed, “My bad, my bad. Let's kiss and make up.”

He kissed her again, for a very long time—so long that her father came to the door and waved. “I should've turned off my headlights,” Gaz grumbled.

He walked Alicia to the front door, where she greeted her father. “Hey, Dad, thanks for staying up to make sure I got home safely.”

Then, without waiting for her father to answer, Alicia floated up to her room.