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Content Copyright 2023 Tisha Marie Reichle-Aguilera
CLAIMING OUR SPACE
by
Tisha Marie Reichle-Aguilera
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
LITERATURE AND CREATIVE WRITING
August 2023
ii

And if going home is denied me then I will have to stand and claim
my space, making a new culture–una cultura mestiza–with my own
… feminist architecture.
-Gloria Anzaldúa, Borderlands/La Frontera

iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Epigraph ........................................................................................................................... ii

Abstract ............................................................................................................................ iv

Introduction ...................................................................................................................... 1

Chapter 1: Identity in the Home Space .............................................................................. 14
Beyond the Limbo Silence .......................................................................... 15
Ghosts of El Grullo .................................................................................... 19
Make Your Home Among Strangers ........................................................... 23
Leaving the Home Space ............................................................................ 26

Chapter 2: Identity in the Liminal Space............................................................................ 27
Beyond the Limbo Silence .......................................................................... 28
Ghosts of El Grullo .................................................................................... 32
Make Your Home Among Strangers ........................................................... 35
Leaving the Liminal Space ......................................................................... 40

Chapter 3: Identity in the College Space ............................................................................ 41
Roommates and Other Peers ...................................................................... 42
Beyond the Limbo Silence ............................................................... 43
Ghosts of El Grullo ......................................................................... 46
Make Your Home Among Strangers ................................................ 50
Institution................................................................................................... 56
Beyond the Limbo Silence ............................................................... 57
Ghosts of El Grullo ......................................................................... 61
Make Your Home Among Strangers ................................................ 63
Leaving the College Space ......................................................................... 66

Chapter 4: Identity in the Hybrid Space ............................................................................. 67
Beyond the Limbo Silence .......................................................................... 69
Ghosts of El Grullo .................................................................................... 72
Make Your Home Among Strangers ........................................................... 75
Embracing the Hybrid Space ...................................................................... 77

Conclusion: Story Sharing in the College Classroom ......................................................... 79

References ........................................................................................................................ 83

Appendix: SO FAR FROM HOME ................................................................................... 86

iv

ABSTRACT

Claiming Our Space refers to the action necessary for women of color whenever we enter
predominantly male or predominantly white spaces. It is an homage to the generations before us
who fought so our feminist voices could be heard, so that we could make space for our
perspectives. This research examines the intersection of the college novel genre and the
Bildungsroman form, both of which are traditionally white and male. Often referred to as
coming-of-age stories, these novels usually take place during childhood or the teenage years. The
novels featured in this study demonstrate how identity formation continues in a profound way
during a person’s college years, and the campus environment, as represented in the novel, offers
a unique space for examining what I am calling the post-adolescent ethnic feminist
Bildungsroman. All set in the late twentieth century, these novels by Elizabeth Nunez, Patricia
Santana, and Jennine Capó Crucet illustrate the ways that three women writers of color subvert
the expectations of the form to reveal unique development patterns for young women of color in
college instead of the child or adolescent protagonist. By combining the Bildungsroman form
with the college novel genre, I examine the intersectional identities of young women of color in a
new environment, and how they create new support systems when the existing ones no longer
serve all their social emotional needs. In these fictional representations of the college experience,
all three protagonists continuously negotiate their identities as they transform from the home
space, through the liminal space and into the college space then emerge with a hybrid identity.
Specifically, I argue that development of post-adolescent identity in these novels reveals the
myriad ways self-formation occurs in conjunction with and in opposition to the protagonists’
families and cultural communities; that unlike the traditional linear Bildungsroman, it is a
cyclical, reflective journey that incorporates ongoing ancestral influences even in the college
space AND carries the influence of the protagonists’ education whenever they return home.

1

INTRODUCTION
Going to high school in the 1980s in an isolated rural town, I only had a handful of models for
what being a college student looked like. I attended 4-H State Leadership Conference at UC
Davis two summers and spent two weeks one summer staying in a frat house with my uncle at
Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. Other than that, I only knew what I’d seen in movies like Animal
House (1978) and Revenge of the Nerds (1984), which I’d watched at a friend’s house without
my very-Catholic parents’ permission. So when I left home at 17, there was a lot I didn’t know.
And my parents, who I had relied on for guidance throughout childhood and adolescence but
who had never been to college, could not help me. My post-adolescent development relied
heavily on my college roommates, professors, AAP tutors and mentors, and (if I’m being totally
honest) some misplaced affections. I maintained a B average, worked part time to pay my rent,
was involved in social justice issues, served as an editor for the Chicano/Latino student
newsmagazine, and went to a lot of parties.
After undergrad, I began writing fiction. My first attempt at a novel was loosely based on
that college experience. I constructed a narrative similar to the ones I had watched (not read)
since high school—Higher Learning (1995 - filmed on campus while I was an undergrad) and A
Different World (1987-1993)—because those resonated more with my experience than Back to
School (1986), With Honors (1994), and Real Genius (1985), which all featured white male
protagonists. I tried to expand the story I told beyond the party scene to include social activism
and academic struggles. But the early partial draft was still an indulgent representation of college
life that lacked insight about how the characters’ race, class, and gender impacted their journey
through the college space.
When I started teaching high school full-time, that novel went into a drawer, stayed there
2

almost 10 years, until I enrolled in a low residency MFA program. My goal was to finish the
novel. My mentor insisted I write a sex scene. The novel became more about the character’s
mishaps and trauma than about anything she had accomplished. So I put the completed novel
away again and wrote short stories. After completing my MFA, I went to an artist colony in
Costa Rica planning to revise the novel so I could start querying agents. It was then that I
realized the novel needed historical context. These characters didn’t experience college just
anywhere. It was Los Angeles in the early 1990s, the boiling point of racial turmoil and
unprecedented fee increases for college students. These social, political, and economic influences
found their way into my revised manuscript. The protagonists from a small town in New Mexico
navigate social institutions that aren’t always helpful and learn how to develop alternative
support systems when they can no longer rely on their families. They turn to counselors,
employers, and professors who understand the difficulties unique to first-generation students and
seek companionship with other students of color; together they become activists in a time of
turbulence. The novel is, at present, unpublished.
At that time, I had no idea the “college novel” or “campus novel” or “academic novel”
was a thing nor that it came in a variety of forms, usually divided into “staff-centered” and
“student-centered” narratives (Kramer). Ten years later, I read Jennine Capó Crucet’s Make Your
Home Among Strangers (2015) and thought: “Someone else gets this! I am not alone!” And I
searched for other novels like Crucet’s so I could study their narrative structures and devise ways
to revise my own. I read dozens of college novels written by women of color. Some featured
graduate students (Margins by Terri De la Peña, 1992 and Chemistry by Weike Wang, 2017).
Others focused primarily on social aspects of being in college (Emergency Contact by Mary
H.K. Choi, 2019) or professors in predatory relationships with undergraduate students (My
3

Education by Susan Choi, 2014). Several featured the civil rights struggles college students were
involved with outside of school (Freshwater Road by Denise Nicholas, 2016 and Big Girls Don’t
Cry by Connie Briscoe, 1996). While others featured students grappling with religious and/or
romantic conflicts (The Incendiaries by R.O. Kwon, 2019 and Sorority Sisters by Tajuana
Butler, 2007) or didn’t include the social activism that I was looking for (American Panda by
Gloria Chao, 2018). I also read novels by ethnic writers like Elif Batuman (The Idiot 2017) and
Leslie Pietrzyk (Silver Girl 2018) that didn’t include the connection back to the home and
cultural community as part of the post-adolescent development process.
Ultimately, for this dissertation, I settled on three college novels set in the late twentieth
century that focus on the continuous influence of family and cultural community for young
women of color in college that are in conversation with each other as well as with the novel I had
written. Elizabeth Nunez’s Beyond the Limbo Silence (1998, 2003), which features a Trinidadian
student at a Wisconsin college, takes place amid the civil unrest of the 1960s. The protagonist,
Sara Edgehill, is one of three students not from the United States and is forced to negotiate her
identity development in the college space without actual support from home, only the echoes of
ancestral and parental voices. In Patricia Santana’s Ghosts of El Grullo (2008), Mexican-
American student Yolanda Sahagún from the Palm City barrio of South San Diego attends UC
San Diego in LA Jolla—a more affluent area—in the 1970s. She confronts class discrepancies
before she even leaves for college; once there she learns how to resist the patriarchal oppression
in the home space that has made her life unbearable. Jennine Capó Crucet’s Make Your Home
Among Strangers (2015), features Cuban-American student Lizet Ramirez from a working-class
suburb of Miami, who attends college in upstate New York in 1999. There she realizes her
socioeconomic status has hampered her academic preparation. She also grapples with obligations
4

in the home space that cause tension when she chooses academic opportunities over family
responsibilities. The development of post-adolescent identity in these fictional academic settings
reveals a transformation of self as part of an ongoing negotiation with both the home space and
the college space as the protagonist develops her hybrid identity. The fictional lives represented
in the three novels analyzed here reflect some of the same struggles the authors faced when they
went to college. It is possible that Nunez, Santana, and Crucet all recognized the depictions of
college life in contemporary literature was dominated by white, mostly male, people’s
experiences and are attempting to offer counternarratives.
In her memoir, Not For Everyday Use (2014), Elizabeth Nunez shares her experience as
an immigrant to the U.S. for college during the same era as the one depicted in Beyond the Limbo
Silence (2003). She acknowledges how the Civil Rights Act influenced immigrant policies in
1965 and how the subsequent assassination of King and Kennedy forced “the eyes of the world
upon America for its treatment of its black citizens [and how] the immigration officer was
shamed into complying with the law” when she applied for her visa. (Nunez, NFEU 66). This
awareness of cultural bias and the history of racism in the United States serve as significant
influences on the protagonist, Sara Edgehill, in Nunez’s novel.
Patricia Santana shares several characteristics with the young protagonist, Yolanda
Sahagún, of her novel as well. Both grew up Palm City and went to UC Diego during the 1970s
when the Chicano and Feminist Movements had a profound impact on developing minds. Both
have ancestral roots in El Grullo, a Jalisco, México town. Santana’s fictional narrative also
weaves in the role of parents similar to her own and she hopes it will help people “understand the
complexities” (Fudge) of Chicana/o life.
Jennine Capó Crucet’s journey to college began like her fictional protagonist’s with only
5

two applications: one near home and one to an elite university in upstate New York where social
class conflicts were prominent features of her post-adolescent development. As articulated in the
essay collection My Time Among the Whites (2019), the other similarities between Crucet and the
protagonist she created is their first-generation college student status and how not knowing what
we don’t know is exacerbated by not being able to seek guidance from our parents. These are all
conditions that protagonist Lizet Ramirez faces, obstacles she must overcome.
My own financial struggles, never feeling brown enough, avoiding intimacy, and my
social activism through student media (when I really wanted to work in public television) are all
the ways in which the fictional journeys I created for Leticia Morales Murphy and Graciela
Morales Gonzalez in my novel “So Far From Home” reflect my own post-adolescent
development in the college space.
This dissertation examines how the college novel, which centers the student experience,
interacts with the Bildungsroman form. Bildungsroman is a German word that means “novel of
education” or “novel of formation.” The bildungsroman is a class of novel that “depicts and
explores the way a protagonist develops morally and psychologically during their formative
years” (Britannica.com). It is more commonly referred to as a coming-of-age novel and these
usually take place during childhood or the teenage years. In the novels I’ve selected, identity
formation continues in a profound way during a person’s college years; the campus environment,
as represented in the novel, offers a unique space for examining what I am calling the post-
adolescent ethnic feminist Bildungsroman. My work focuses on the ways that three women
writers of color subvert the expectations of the form to reveal unique development patterns for
young women of color in college instead of the child or adolescent protagonist. Specifically, I
argue that development of post-adolescent identity in these three fictional representations of the
6

college experience reveals the myriad ways self-formation occurs in conjunction with and in
opposition to the protagonists’ families and cultural communities; that unlike writers of the
traditional linear Bildungsroman, these authors utilize a discursive narrative structure that
incorporates ongoing parental and ancestral influences even in the college space and carries the
influence of the protagonists’ education whenever they return home.
According to Franco Moretti, a traditional Bildungsroman involves the protagonist on a
journey where he confronts the transition between social classes (viii), eventually leaving his
former identity behind, and experiencing a profound transformation as a result of his interactions
with the world. The masculine pronoun emphasized here reflects the tradition that only included
male protagonists moving from bourgeoisie and aristocracy. In some ways, the feminist
Bildungsroman adheres to the male traditions. In Beyond Feminist Aesthetics, Rita Felski (1989)
asserts: “the feminist Bildungsroman is characterized by a historical and linear structure, female
self-discovery and emancipation is depicted as a process of moving outward into the public
realm of social engagement and activity” (126-7). Felski explicates the restrictive gender roles
women faced within the domestic sphere during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and how
they rejected traditional marriage constraints. While I adopt Felski’s broad definition of feminist
literature as literature “that reveals a critical awareness of woman’s subordinate position and of
gender as a problematic category” (14), I add to this definition that the literature also illustrates
how critical awareness instigates action, a resistance to the subordinate position. In the case of
the three novels in this study, the protagonists not only resist gender roles, but defy cultural
expectations and expand their understanding of self as college students. In this way, my
intersectional analysis departs from Felski’s research. In Daughters of Self-Creation Annie O.
Eysturoy analyzes Chicana literature as Bildungsroman and calls it “an exploration and
7

articulation of the process leading to a purposeful awakening of the female protagonist” (4). I
argue that her perspective can be applied to the novels written by other women of color as they
navigate the dominant society’s expectations. For the protagonists of Beyond the Limbo Silence,
Ghosts of El Grullo, and Make Your Home Among Strangers, the college journeys are also
problematized by race and geography.
The upward or outward journey cannot be the reality for young women of color who have
strong connections to their home and cultural community. For them, the collective identity
develops alongside the individual one. Like Frances Jane P. Abao’s (2001), my examination
offers a model for how the Bildungsroman form situates the fictional narratives in the socio-
political context of the family and culture. For young women of color, the support systems that
had nurtured success in childhood do not always offer the necessary support for academic
achievement in the college space. They reject not only the gendered restrictions but the
socioeconomic constraints of the home space. Their choice to leave and attend a four-year
university is the first illustration of them resisting traditional gender roles and altering their post-
adolescent development. Therefore, instead of the compromise that Moretti suggests is crucial to
self-formation, the young women of color protagonists in this examination of contemporary
college novels engage in a continual process of negotiation within the constraints of both
gendered home expectations and classed institutional restrictions, that determine their self-
formation. Mikhail Bakhtin (1987) noted this kind of “cyclical emergence” in some male
protagonists’ journeys, “complicated in the end by varying degrees of skepticism and
resignation” calling it a “novel of emergence [that] depicts the world and life as experience, as a
school through which every person must pass and derive one and the same result: one becomes
more sober, experiencing some degree of resignation” (22). While the complicated cycle and
8

skepticism may apply to the protagonists in this dissertation, “resignation” is not an option for
students of color in college. Their response to academic knowledge and social influences in a
Predominantly White Institution (PWI), combined with conflicting moral and economic realities
at home, determine their post-adolescent self-formation.
In order to portray these kinds of interactions in multiple worlds, the authors subvert the
linear form of the traditional Bildungsroman. Instead, all three authors rely on a discursive
narrative structure. According to Pin-chia Feng, “This process-oriented narrative pattern
contrasts with the traditional definition of the Bildungsroman … stress[es] the dissonance and
conflicts of life and demonstrate[s] that instead of a unified identity, an ethnic woman is
engaging in an endless negotiation of her contradictory multiplicity” (41). In the novels by
Nunez, Santana, and Crucet, this negotiation often begins before the young woman leaves home
and continues throughout their post-adolescent development. As noted by the editors of The
Voyage In, “development is delayed by inadequate education until adulthood when it blossoms
momentarily then dissolves. … development does not proceed gradually from stage to stage
[rather] the time frame for development is doubly unconventional” (Abel et al 11-12).
Development progresses forward while in the college environment then the protagonist has to
return home physically or through her memories and the “blossoming” is paused while the
conventions of home and the cultural community inform that ongoing progress. The narrative
strategies used by Nunez, Santana, and Crucet expose the characters’ internal and interpersonal
conflicts: with mothers, roommates, and romantic interests; with their physical surroundings and
the political tensions of the time period; as well as their desire for independence. What emerges
is a complex weaving of the protagonists’ interactions with social conventions and their
resistance to those expectations. Their identity “blossoms” then exists in a fragmented state for
9

some time but over time becomes the hybrid identity they leave college with.
While some scholars today argue that the Bildungsroman form is oppressive because it
endorses assimilation, I disagree. Much has been written about the ethnic Bildungsroman,
coming of age novels that feature people of color. Scholars Pin-chia Feng (1999), Kaisa Ilmonen
(2017), Heather Smyth (2011), and Frances Jane P. Abao (2001) have taken the German tradition
and “dislocated” it, exploring its usefulness as a framework for understanding work by US
writers of color. In Unsettling the Bildungsroman, Stella Bolaki (2011) examines the fiction of
ethnic women and demonstrates how they can embrace the novel of formation. All these scholars
have examined subjects coming of age in childhood or adolescence. My work, however,
examines subjects coming of age in post-adolescence while attending college. Away from home
for the first time, they make choices about who they want to become. These three semi-
autobiographical novels allow the authors to consider a variety of possibilities for the pursuit of
knowledge and social activism. Consequently, my intervention not only disrupts the Euro-
centric, androcentric Bildungsroman tradition, it also interrogates the college novel. The Bildung
story will continue to be pervasive in literature, on film, and on television, so why can’t we build
on that tradition, disrupt it, and make it our own? I believe that by combining the Bildungsroman
form with the college novel genre, we can examine the intersectional identities of young women
of color in a new environment, and how they create new support systems when the existing ones
no longer serve all their social emotional needs.
Nunez, Santana, and Crucet reveal the necessary transformations that occur when the
protagonists leave home and are under the influence of new authority. All published in the late
twentieth and early twenty-first century, their novels offer an alternative to the wealthy white
perspective commonly portrayed in nineteenth and twentieth century college novels. This genre
10

has been dominated by male voices (Jeffrey Williams, John Ornsby Lyons, et al.). According to
the oft-cited chronicle by John E. Kramer (2004) almost 70% of the 319 nineteenth and twentieth
century college novels published between 1828-2002 were written by white men. Of the 28%
written by women, many featured male protagonists. When female student characters were
featured, they were frequently in some kind of scandalous relationship with a professor. Only
five novels on Kramer’s list were written by African American women. An examination of
contemporary lists published since 2011 by the Washington Post, Flavorwire, Book Riot, LitHub,
and The Guardian illustrate the lack of representation for women of color. The Electric
Literature list from 2017, with the subtitle “The campus novel is alive, well, and no longer the
refuge of lecherous old white men” at least included 50% female writers. But it is still the refuge
of whiteness. Representation of cultural diversity was woeful on all lists.
The novels by Nunez, Santana, and Crucet disrupt the long history of expectations for
scenes of drunken depravity that had been represented in college novels, in films, and on
television. Offering other perspectives is long overdue. As young women of color, the
protagonists—Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún, and Lizet Ramirez—face multiple oppressive
forces in the home space and once entrenched in college space. Their experiences offer insight
about the college experience from an ethnic feminist perspective that are necessary for
understanding the ways in which institutions reinforce oppressive ideologies and how young
women of color can respond to the exploitation they may face in college. My research proposes
that the authors of Beyond the Limbo Silence, Ghosts of El Grullo, and Make Your Home Among
Strangers reveal the protagonists’ post-adolescent transformation within the college environment
while the protagonists continue to grapple with family and community influences. These
representations of the college experience all contribute to the Bildungsroman tradition while
11

revealing something unique about the moral, psychological, and social changes for young
women of color who experience transformation in a space that is not always welcoming.
My approach examines the racialized experiences of young women on the college
campus in the context of the specific historical periods mentioned previously. This has not been
done before. Elaine Showalter (2005) examined novels from the 1950s to early 2000s with a
focus on Anglo-American writers. She, like Jeffrey J Williams (2012) and Mark McGurl (2009)
focus on novels that center on professors, what John E. Kramer (2004) in his annotated
bibliography calls the “staff-centered novel” or “academic novel.” Anna Bogen (2014) focused
specifically on novels of student experience like I do; however, her study features British
students 1880-1945. The novels I selected represent three distinct geographical and cultural
locations in three different historical periods. All emerging from eras when the United States was
experiencing significant social, cultural, and political changes that impacted developing minds.
As a result, the characters’ formation of hybrid identities is delineated as a complex process of
negotiation throughout their post-adolescent development. I maintain that these three novels
offer different ways of thinking about the college experience that first-generation college
students, especially young women of color, need to read.
My intervention illuminates how the college environment influences fictional characters
who are negotiating their marginalization as young women of color attending Predominantly
White Institutions (PWIs) in three different parts of the United States through novels that take
place in the latter half of the twentieth century. Stella Bolaki (2011) argues that the
Bildungsroman can be a useful perspective for examining ethnic novels across eras. For these
three protagonists, development is directly influenced by the racialized and gendered
discrimination prevalent in the U.S. during their respective place and time. The authors offer a
12

perspective on the college environment in those specific places and time periods that has not
been included in the dominant narrative, the one most college bound students understand to be
the possible reality. In Unbecoming Women, Susan Fraiman (1993) argues that “personal destiny
evolves in dialectical relation to historical events, social structures, and other people … blurring
or decentering the ‘major’ narrative by alternative stories of female destiny” (10). While Fraiman
analyzes four female British authors from the Georgian and Victorian periods in her study of the
Bildungsroman, I have focused on three novels written by women of color that “decenter” the
androcentric, Eurocentric narratives in literature. These post-adolescent ethnic feminist Bildungs
illustrate how individuals are altered by historical events, the people they encounter, and the
institutions in power. Their educational experience serves as inspiration for their post-adolescent
transformation away from their home space while they still negotiate family and cultural values.
Each chapter that follows focuses on a specific type of identity development with sub-
sections for each novel. This structure reflects the discursive approach the authors incorporate in
their own novels, allowing for a fluid comparative analysis of all three protagonists’ self-
formation across time and space. Throughout this dissertation, I offer how the non-linear form
and use of first-person point of view enhance the representation of post-adolescent identity
development. The first chapter: “Identity in the Home Space,” focuses on the protagonists’
identity before leaving for college, the influence of family and cultural community that they
carry with them to the new environment and the possibility of reconciliation with their pasts. In
the second chapter: “Identity in the Liminal Space,” the protagonists question who they are and
why they are at the university. Through a complex process of negotiation, they figure out who
they can become. The third chapter: “Identity in the College Space,” chronicles the characters’
resistance to confronting their college peers and the institution itself. This process of self-
13

development is directly influenced by the geographical location and historical period where and
when each novel is situated. Throughout, I highlight the coping mechanisms young women of
color learn to incorporate to survive in the college environment. The fourth chapter: “Embracing
a Hybrid Identity,” reveals the ways in which individual protagonists negotiate the physical and
psychological distance between home and college resulting in hybrid identities and offering
counternarratives to the expected process of post-adolescent development.
As a first-generation Chicana college graduate, I am uniquely situated to offer this
analysis. In addition to writing a college novel, I also taught high school English for twenty years
and continue to volunteer with AVID and Upward Bound students, so I have an informed
understanding of first-generation students today. My dissertation concludes with a review of
teaching strategies offered by Traci P. Baxley and Genyne Henry Boston, Amy Cummins and
Myra Infante-Sheridan and suggestions for including these novels in a literature/creative writing
course designed for first-generation students.

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CHAPTER ONE: Identity in the Home Space
Before we can examine representations of the college environment’s influence on these fictional
characters, we have to understand who they were before leaving home. Nunez, Santana, and
Crucet have created protagonists that cling to the gendered expectations of family and cultural
community while taking steps away from it in order to realize a new self. Using a discursive
narrative structure, they weave the home space conflicts through the protagonists’ time in college
to set them up for the possibility of reconciliation with their pasts.
Prior to attending college, the social realities of fictional characters Sara Edgehill,
Yolanda Sahagún, and Lizet Ramirez were confined to Trinidad, Palm City, and Hialeah,
respectively. Because of socioeconomic constraints, they had not experienced much outside their
family and cultural community; so while their formation in the college space is the focus of this
study, the home space must be recognized as a prominent influence that is always present in that
process of self-formation. Because of gendered expectations associated with culture, the
protagonist’s identity is in flux during adolescence, which results in conflicting understandings
of self. What emerges is a fractured identity that is more susceptible to outside influences when
they move away from the home space into the liminal and eventually immerse themselves in the
college space. Understanding Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet’s ethnic feminist identity development
requires establishing who each one of them is in the home environment, how that identity is
influenced by family, culture, and community.
Written in first person, all three novels featured in this dissertation are focalized through
one perspective: a young woman who can’t always rely on teachings from the home space as she
develops her identity in college. By depicting the multiplicitous journey in first person, Nunez,
Santana, and Crucet empower their protagonists to exhibit different ways for managing
15

dissonance. In Daughters of Creation, Annie Eysturoy (1996) considers this a “subversion” of
the patriarchal Bildungsroman. She argues, “By assuming the role of the narrator/protagonist, the
female ‘I’ becomes the conscious subject of her own Bildungs story who, through the act of
narrating, actively participates in the process of her own self-formation. When the female ‘I’
takes on narrative authority, she gains authority over her own life and her own story, an act
which in and of itself subverts patriarchal confinement of the female self” (86). This
consciousness facilitates the protagonists—Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún, and Lizet
Ramirez—negotiating through phases of post-adolescent development as they assert their
feminist identity. In all three novels, they must also subvert racialized oppression and class-based
restrictions. In The Art of Time in Fiction, Joan Sibler says, “First person allows for skipping and
jumping and pausing in the narrative. … The flow of time is channeled by a strong and
personable narrating voice. … We never forget that we are being told this story by the principal
character in it” (34-35). The protagonists’ self-formation does not occur in the same linear
trajectory depicted in most traditional Bildungsroman. Through a non-linear, reflective narrative,
the authors offer detailed accounts of the home spaces for Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún, and
Lizet Ramirez. As they become conscious subjects and prepare to negotiate with two different
environments, each of them begins a complex transformation within the home space.

Beyond the Limbo Silence
In Trinidad, teenage Sara Edgehill is haunted by ancestral and parental trauma. Throughout her
adolescence, she believes that the despair she experiences was inherited from her white paternal
great-grandmother, called Mad Bertha by her mother’s family. Sara resents this legacy she feels
weighted with and is not completely surprised when it manifests inside her because a boy breaks
16

her heart in high school. She recalls, “I suffered a nervous breakdown. I remember only the
brightness of the light blinding me … For weeks afterward I hid myself in my books behind my
locked bedroom door. There were days when the depression that descended upon me wrapped
me in a cloud so dark, so thick, I could barely breathe, barely turn a page” (Nunez 31, 33). Sara
cannot continue with her schoolwork and shuts out the world around her. She is both physically
and emotionally inhibited by the heartbreak. Without access to mental health services at this
time, Sara relies on the only comfort she knows, the fictional worlds created mostly by European
writers, romantic worlds where girls are beautiful and boys fall in love with them. These
fantasies exacerbate her condition, allow her to fall deeper into the inherited despair she fears.
Sara is lulled further into a depressed state by delusions of what love should look like. Love that
she sought in books and that high school boy because she didn’t feel loved at home.
Sara feels forced out of Trinidad by her mother’s resentment. She admits, “More than
anything she desired, my mother wanted me out of her sight. … I had grown from an ugly
duckling into an ugly duck. No swan for me. And my mother saw it. … Books protected me
from my mother’s pitying eyes” (Nunez 29-30). Sara channels her feelings of inferiority about
her appearance into a determination to study so that her intelligence can be her way out of her
adolescent reality. While still on the island, surrounded by judgement, Sara is not capable of
flourishing or even contemplating the possibility of a healthy post-adolescent formation. She
carries the pain of her mother’s rejection and her perceived ugliness with her to Wisconsin where
she is one of only three non-white US-born students. Heather Smyth asserts, “the affirmation of a
girl’s links with the women in her family and community, represents Caribbean women writers’
participation in the search for origins characteristic of ‘roots’ discourse. Yet Caribbean women
writers have simultaneously used the genre to explore relational and communal dynamics, in
17

particular the dynamics of difference” (189). As Sara begins to recognize the gendered
oppressive forces that keep her mired in misery, she retreats into literature that transports her
away from her own community and offers the opportunity to explore different cultures. These
representations, however, are idealized fictions that cause her to further resent her family and
cultural community.
Sara believes it is necessary to sever those roots before she can embrace her difference.
As she prepares to disconnect from her family and culture to attend college in Wisconsin, her
paternal grandmother—mad Bertha’s daughter—provides Sara some semblance of hope and
eventually strategies for facing adversity that she takes with her to college in the United States.
Her “courage and nobility, her selfless masking of her feelings … She had to be strong; she had
to set an example for us. So she wore her mask. How many times was I to wish I had that same
strength, that stoic control over my emotions” (Nunez 12-13). Sara longs for the ability to
maintain her composure the way her grandmother does when faced with disappointment and
loss. She respects the “mannish” characteristics her grandmother is often criticized for by her
mother’s family. Sara is not critical; she understand her grandmother’s comportment as a sign of
bravery and discipline, characteristics she knows will be beneficial in the U.S.
Instead of being discouraged, Sara takes the colonial damage her ancestors experienced
in Trinidad and makes it a tool of her own empowerment. Sara represents the themes of
migration and dislocation that Kaisa Ilmonen examines in 1980s Caribbean literature. Her work
indicates that novels reflecting their cultural reality “acknowledge various simultaneous
mechanisms of submission. Mothers and grandmothers were often constructed as bearers of a
repressed past; daughters were presented as alienated seekers, or as heroines who were capable
of finding the grandmother’s voice symbolizing resistance” (Ilmonen 63). It is implied that while
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some women serve as agents of the patriarchy who reinforce gendered notions of beauty like
Sara’s mother, there are also women like Sara’s paternal grandmother who attempt to subvert the
oppressive forces. Equipped with both kinds of influences, Sara transforms trauma into an
opportunity for individual growth.
Also while still in Trinidad, Sara is made painfully aware that the blue-eyed African
American priest—representative of Catholicism and colonialism—had invaded their home space
to “discover raw talent in the primitive world” (Nunez 28). She is othered by a visitor to her
homeland and made to feel inferior. His assessment of her home and cultural community
exacerbates the pain she feels when rejected by her mother yet offers her a way to escape where
she can indulge in self-formation away from oppressive cultural forces. Sara’s othering manifests
in ways that can be better understood in the context of Caribbean writers from this period. Kaisa
Ilmonen (2017) argues that Caribbean fiction:
portrays the Caribbean girl subject becoming an outsider, rather than a ‘completed
self’; she undergoes a slow transition to a state of cultural and gendered otherness
and a dislocation of identity. … where the end is defined by a drifting towards
fragmentation of identity or a neurotic self-image rather than towards wholeness,
thus narrating an anti-bildung. (62)
Ilmonen pushes the boundaries of the Bildungsroman form to distort the expectations of a linear
narrative and reveal the myriad influences on the protagonist. With her theory in mind, Sara
Edgehill’s othering within her own family can be seen as the result of cultural and gendered
“dislocation.” Because Sara doesn’t conform to her mother’s standards of beauty, she is
ostracized. Even after leaving the island, Sara cannot move toward “wholeness,” toward that
idealized beauty her mother expects or the noble stoicism her paternal grandmother embodies.
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Her “neurotic self-image” develops through reading voraciously, a pursuit that earns her a place
at a college in the United States. Sara’s formation in the new environment, however, will
continue to be fragmented as she struggles through the process of negotiation while grappling
with memories of the home space.
Sara Edgehill takes on narrative authority as she prepares for her move to Wisconsin. She
reflects:
“Before I left Trinidad I had begun to miss the landscape. Now I knew that I
would miss even more than that. … I never could have imagined this utter feeling
of isolation … a feeling of being completely severed from the human race. …
And so I arrived at that tiny airport in Oshkosh, burdened with words of advice,
warnings, dismal predictions, feelings of desolation and a yearning to return to the
familiar … my imagination was aflame with all that had been said to me about
America.” (43 & 48)
Sara clings to her memories of home. With a first-person point of view, Nunez evokes a
reflective tone to capture the doubt Sara feels, the trauma that awaits her in the U.S. Sara’s
conscious awareness of the potential dangers is emphasized with the words “isolation,”
“severed,” “burdened,” “dismal,” and “desolation.” Sara’s active participation in her own self-
formation is revealed through the fluid use of the past and present as she recognizes the obstacles
she will face, and later calls upon the “advice,” “warnings,” and “predictions” from her parents
and ancestors to negotiate her development in the college space.

Ghosts of El Grullo
Yolanda isn’t plagued by a permanent physical “dislocation” like Sara Edgehill. Rather it is the
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gendered conflicts at home and class discrepancies between the two environments that create her
“fragmented” identity. Yolanda’s father does not support her college dreams. He is rooted in
tradition and serves as Yolanda’s primary antagonist. He reprimands her for “talking back”
(Santana 21), diminishes her acceptance to the “fancy university” in an attempt to keep her
humble (Santana 22), and calls her “a disgrace … for abandoning [her] family” because she
plans to leave home and live in the dorms (Santana 23). Yolanda’s father resents her learning
from a place that he feels doesn’t respects him and his cultura. He thinks a young woman should
not leave home unless it’s for her husband. Unlike her two older sisters, Yolanda questions the
gendered regulations that have governed her life. She reminds her father that two unmarried
brothers left home and live on their own. His response is to call her “foolish” and be “ashamed”
of her (Santana 24). He inflicts patriarchal dominance in a time—the 1970s—when women were
demanding equal rights. Santana offers Yolanda as an example of resistance within the home
space. She represents an ideal Chicana Feminist transformation in the way that Eysturoy explains
it: “to portray an authentic female Bildungs process that leads to self-discovery and self-
definition, the protagonist must necessarily subvert patriarchal traditions and definitions of the
female self” (85). Yolanda transforms over time because of the college influence and that altered
self is able to confront dominance in the home space. As part of her developing identity once she
has experienced college, Yolanda internalizes feminist ideologies, she stands up to her father’s
oppressive and dismissive force. She influences her younger siblings, furthering the goals of both
Chicano/a and Feminist Movements.
Yolanda’s mother, on the other hand, encourages her to leave and at the same time insists
Yolanda remain connected to the home space. When Yolanda is having a particularly difficult
time in college, she recalls her mother’s support:
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“I’m so proud of you, going to college, learning things I never learned, meeting
interesting and intelligent people. You are part of another world, m’ja… All I ask
… is that you not forget where you come from and that you respect your
childhood home. You never know when you might want to return, looking for a
familiar, loving face.” (Santana 75)
This creates a different kind of dissonance for Yolanda. While her mother has accepted the
restrictions of her own domestic role, she does not impose those same gendered expectations on
her daughter. She understands that it is not necessary for Yolanda to completely escape the home
space as Sara Edgehill has done. Yolanda learns to negotiate with the expectations at home and
throughout her process of self-formation in the college space.
Integral to Yolanda’s transformation is a resistance toward feelings of socioeconomic
inferiority. Before she leaves the home space, Yolanda articulates her understanding of class
difference through her observations of architectural styles that she learned about by reading
magazines at her house cleaning job. She compares her home to the ones she dreams about:
In a romantic world of euphemisms, the words to describe my house would be
‘cottage’ or ‘bungalow’ at one conjuring something small and quaint, cozy and
warm … In a world of realism, the words to describe my home were: ‘There was
an old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children she didn’t know
what to do.’ Replace ‘old woman’ with ‘kind mother’…replace ‘cottage’ with
‘shoe’ and ‘seaside’ with ‘freewayside’ and you pretty much got the picture.
There was no bitterness in my description, please understand this. I was a realist
and a romantic at one and the same time. Both cottage and shoe lived happily in
my mind, vary rarely arguing with each other for dominance. (Santana 18)
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Acknowledging the differences permits Yolanda to embrace her childhood reality while
articulating a desire for a different one in her adult life, a life that she observes nearby and
believes is attainable with her college education. Through this juxtaposition of socioeconomic
realizations, Santana reveals the coping mechanisms necessary for survival as a first-generation
student. Yolanda prepares to embark on a journey for which her parents can offer no practical
advice. For Chicanas and other women of color, self-formation is not the same individual
journey evident in the androcentric, European Bildungsroman. The ethnic Bildung involves
negotiations between individual and community as the young woman attempts to re-define
herself. Culture is just one of the mitigating factors in the character’s Bildung. There are
socioeconomic factors often at play too.
While still in the process of development, Yolanda leaves the home environment with a
strong sense of self, which allows her consciousness to develop and her identity formation to
flourish when on the college campus. Yolanda Sahagún doesn’t travel nearly as far as Sara
Edgehill yet engages in a thoughtful assessment of her own journey from the home space to a
more affluent part of San Diego. She admits, “It wasn’t that I was afraid of what awaited me …
it was just that I had a feeling it would be a much longer distance from home than the twenty-
five miles north of Palm City it took to get to the university in La Jolla” (Santana 30). The
“distance” is more than the physical miles but rather a change that uproots Yolanda from cultural
comfort and places her in an unfamiliar, predominantly white environment.. She shares: “Of
course I was nervous. … I saw the thick fog enveloping us … It was so thick and sudden that all
you saw were brake lights in front of you like evil, red-eyed monsters appearing out of nowhere
in a gray, spooky fog, watching your every move … the fog curled around us as if we had just
stepped into a scary Twilight Zone” (38-39; my emphasis). Santana incorporates symbolism that
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signifies the uncertainty Yolanda will face in college, the scariness that could smother her once
her parents leave her in this new environment. As a conscious subject, Yolanda reacts to the
symbol both physically and intellectually. The brake lights, she thinks, are a sign that she should
stop and avoid the “monsters” that await her in college. With narrative authority, Yolanda
considers how this journey reinforces her feelings of displacement. This experience plays a
significant role in her post-adolescent Bildung.

Make Your Home Among Strangers
Similar to Sara Edgehill, Lizet Ramirez travels a great distance to college but is able to return
like Yolanda Sahagún, just less frequently. Therefore Lizet’s “fragmentation” and “dislocation”
are mediated by contact with family and cultural community via telephone and holiday/break
visits as well as the lingering impact of the gendered and classed reality of her childhood and
adolescent development.
Lizet begins negotiating her identity even before she leaves Hialeah. She recalls:
My dad kept saying to me, You betrayed us, this is a betrayal. He said it so much
that the word stopped meaning anything—betray betray betray betray betray
betray betray—…. No one said betrayal, but as I filled out my financial aid
appeal form—alone in my room, the door closed, half my things in boxes marked
Send to Rawlings and the other half in boxes marked Lizet’s stuff—I knew exactly
how much hurt could fit into a word. (Crucet 47)
Because of her father’s accusations, Lizet feels responsible for the predicament her mother and
sister now face in her absence. Lizet’s fragmentation is the result of the turmoil caused by her
impending departure. Her root system is disrupted as she prepares for both moves: hers to upstate
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New York and the stuff she won’t need in college—the remnants of childhood she isn’t ready to
give up—to her mom and sister’s new apartment, a place she will never call home. Because of
the transplant, she feels untethered from her cultura and comunidad, but her father’s insults do
not deter Lizet. She is resolved to follow the path she carved out for herself. She confronts the
dissonance with determination.
Consequently, her home identity is shaped by this pivotal moment in her adolescent
development. The parent who should have provided guidance cannot or will not do that for her.
She is forced to make decisions without his input. Ironically, after repeating these accusations,
her father then commits a similar act of “betrayal” by leaving his wife and daughters, selling the
home they’ve always lived in, and relocating to another place with a roommate but doesn’t give
Lizet his contact information. Like Yolanda Sahagún’s father, Lizet’s father escapes the confines
of home and responsibility, which causes the young protagonist to mire in confusion. Unlike
Yolanda Sahagún, Lizet cannot rely on her mother for any kind of guidance or emotional
support. Her mother is preoccupied with the arrival of Ariel Hernandez (Crucet 27-32), the
fictional version of Elian Gonzalez. As a result, Lizet feels like she has been “betrayed,”
neglected by her family. Her response is to further separate herself from the home and her
cultural identity even before she goes to college.
Lizet’s developing consciousness is also influenced by her sister Leidy’s decision to get
pregnant after high school graduation to try and trap her boyfriend. Leidy’s positive pregnancy
test makes Lizet think, “I wanted one for myself: some test that would measure whether or not I
was really headed for the same future” (Crucet 33). Lizet is determined to alter her destiny, to
create a reality for her adult life that does not resemble her mother’s or her older sister’s. The
only means by which she knows to impose significant change in her life is by applying to
25

college, so she chooses to apply to a top tier school she finds on the news lists because both
home and high school offered her little guidance in the process. When Lizet takes on narrative
authority, she is able to make conscious decisions about her future. She asserts, “I wanted
whatever result my actions brought—positive or negative—to indicate something irrefutable
about me” (Crucet 34). Never fully comfortable with who she is even in the home space, Lizet
constantly negotiates her identity: when she’s in her working-class neighborhood and when she’s
in the elite academic environment at Rawlings.
Lizet’s high school boyfriend, Omar, also causes conflict for her as she prepares to leave
for college. After they have sex in his car, she thinks, “I saw some foggy future me—flanked by
smart women with tame hair—already looking back at Lizet … with her hair matted at the base
of neck, her chest slick with saliva and sweat, saying to that animal girl: No, no, no. I don’t know
how, but I believed both versions: I believed we would find a way to be together, and I believed
there was no way I could let that happen” (63). Lizet has been conditioned to accept one
inevitable destiny for herself that requires boyfriend to become husband and eventually father to
her children. Through this fictional account of her experiences, Crucet provides readers with an
alternative to that reality: college. According to Bolaki, “by expressing their dissatisfaction with
patterns of socialization that pertain either to mainstream American society or their ethnic
communities … these texts acquire a place in the tradition of American dissent” (25). Crucet
places her protagonist in a dilemma: conform or resist. Lizet has a clear understanding of her
destiny as long as she remains in the home space—the example of her mother and sister. By
rejecting the home space for the college space, Lizet facilitates her own dislocation. However,
she takes that ethnic identity with her to the Predominantly White Institution (PWI) where she
has to compromise in order to achieve her academic goals.
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Leaving the Home Space
Nunez, Santana, and Crucet all use first person point of view in combination with a discursive
narrative structure to “dislocate” or “unsettle” the Bildungsroman tradition. They offer a post-
adolescent ethnic feminist Bildungsroman that reveals how the home space impacts the critical
awareness of their three protagonists as they prepare to interact with others outside that space.
Their individual perspectives are influenced by their home communities. While they each have a
different physical connection to their home space once they are in college, all three are haunted
by lingering effects of the gendered, raced, and classed oppressions that are part of the home
space. These tensions impact their self-formation in the college space. We will observe the ways
they resist subordinance and defy cultural norms on their journeys while still maintaining some
connections to their adolescent selves and negotiating their new identities.
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CHAPTER TWO: Identity in the Liminal Space
When immigrants, daughters of immigrants, and young women of color from economically
disadvantaged circumstances leave home for college, they experience liminality. In this
transitional space—over time and varying physical distances from home—they question who
they are and why they are at the university. Feng argues that women of color “can never easily
leave their childhood and adolescence behind” (8) and has created an inclusive vision of the
Bildungsroman to reflect the fluid identity formation of ethnic women within specific cultural
and historical parameters (15). Rather than the linear, masculine journey away from home to
some higher status perpetuated by the traditional Bildungsroman, the ethnic feminist Bildung is
cyclical because of the continued influence of home and cultural community even while the
young woman’s self-development occurs outside the home in post-adolescence. Nunez, Santana,
and Crucet have created three characters who gain personal independence away from family
traditions and experience both cultural and intellectual transformations.
Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún, and Lizet Ramirez carry the influence of their pasts—a
blessing and a burden—when they first enter college. The former self, then, is in conflict with
the developing self, revealing patterns that Stella Bolaki (2011) asserts “allow characters to
literally inhabit two, if not more, cultures simultaneously … these back and forth movements
dramatize the constant processes of socialisation and resocialisation to which the female
characters are subjugated and the conflicting cultural values they have to negotiate” (239). While
Bolaki examines patterns of migration from one country to another, it can be argued that like
migrants, these fictional students of color never fully inhabit their new homes—the college
campus—because they return to or are haunted by their families and cultures. This reinforces
their feelings of displacement and positions them to negotiate a new idea of self.
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Beyond the Limbo Silence
Sara Edgehill does not experience the physical back and forth that Bolaki analyzes but carries
Trinidadian culture and generational trauma with her on her journey. Yet she still relies on
aspects of her identity deeply embedded by cultural tradition. While they had seemed
problematic to Sara when she was in Trinidad, she contemplates their benefits in Wisconsin.
Sara’s feelings of displacement, the result of complete detachment from home, are heightened by
the drastically different cultural norms that govern her post-adolescent development in college.
This abrupt alteration of authority and complete reliance on the institution accelerates Sara’s
journey toward conformity.
While developing her identity in this liminal space, Sara has to negotiate with new people
she encounters. When Sara arrives in New York, Mrs. Clancy, a family friend, classifies Sara’s
world as “primitive.” Sara realizes that encounter “widened that gap between us—between her
people, black and white, and me—to such a distance that I experienced an isolation for which my
self-imposed exile into a world of books had not prepared me” (42). Mrs. Clancy initiates Sara’s
understanding of the difference between Black people from the U.S. and Black people from the
Caribbean. Away from home for the first time, Sara’s post-adolescent formation is initiated by
hostility and resentment; she questions what she understands about herself, her family, and her
culture. It is not a situation she can intellectualize; it is one she has not yet developed the skills to
cope with. Subsequently, Sara meets her Sacred Heart roommate and tries to adopt a different
attitude. She thinks: “No more mournfulness for me. No more sadness. No more despair. … I
wanted a new life. Hope. … That was what I wanted: a new chance, a place to be myself, to start
again. … I had escaped. I had chosen my escape here. I would make something of this,
something of myself” (Nunez 62). She repeatedly rejects the tragedies of her past, the limits of
29

the life she left behind. She affirms her plan for a different life, away from her family and
cultural community, where she can become who she thinks she wants to be. She sees the United
States as the land of opportunity, despite the familial warnings to the contrary. To reinforce
Sara’s determination, Elizabeth Nunez employs anaphora three different times in the passage.
The assertion of what Sara doesn’t want, what she wants, and who she thinks she can be are all
part of her self-development in the new environment. Sara has to compromise with her former
self as she forms a new identity in college in the U.S.; however, this requires hiding her culture
from people in the new environment on occasion.
To this end, Nunez incorporates various forms of “masks” as a motif in Beyond the
Limbo Silence. The memory of them and Sara developing her own both help and hinder her post-
adolescent development. As Sara confronts new obstacles, she recalls, “I witnessed the stone
wall of silence that my grandmother built around herself when someone dared to question her
about the past. …I made myself begin the process of forgetting. No tears. I promised myself. I
would become my mannish grandmother” (Nunez 75-76). The silence, the forgetting, and the
stoic comportment are all coping mechanisms Sara employs to endure the hostility and
uncertainties in the new environment. In Wisconsin, Sara quickly learns to identify the privilege
of whiteness: “Happiness was spread out unabashedly on their faces as if they knew the world
was theirs, as if they had never known deprivation or loss” (Nunez 78). For Sara, this illustrates a
sharp contrast to the ways in which emotions are experienced and expressed in Trinidadian
culture. “In Trinidad we were more guarded with our joy. We knew happiness was never
permanent. It could be snatched from us without warning” (Nunez 78). Sara’s cultural traditions
serve as her defense mechanism. She draws on this knowledge to protect herself from what her
parents and ancestors taught her could be potentially harmful and temporary. In the liminal
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space, she returns (in her mind), to her home and cultural community for comfort but
simultaneously, that home space causes her trauma in the college space.
This is most evident when Sara settles into a routine at Sacred Heart. Letters from her
parents saying they miss her, love her, and are proud of her contradict the narrative of home she
has carried with her into the college space. She decides:
I would not let myself be trapped by lies that would make it impossible for
me to survive here, in this bitingly cold place, with strangers who never
stopped staring at me. … If I were to believe her now … I would have to
confront a waste so enormous that I would find it impossible to live with
myself, to forgive myself. I would have to accept a burden too great for
me to bear: I had exchanged green grass, blue skies, white sands, the sun
in my face for nothing. (Nunez 160)
Their words unsettle Sara. She will not allow herself to be seduced by her parents’ love in a
letter. She calls their words “lies” because they contradict the actions she experienced while in
Trinidad. Internalizing the messages as truth would have made living in Wisconsin more
miserable for her. Her parents’ rejections forced her to leave, and she needs that motivation to
continue at Sacred Heart. By rejecting their written expression of love, Sara negotiates her self-
formation in the liminal space. Through this fictional character, Nunez offers a representation of
home space that may contradict what society expects parents to be. In the novel, this creates a
tension readers can learn from, validates their own dysfunctional family structures, and offers a
strategy for persevering through the liminal space into the college space.
Nunez weaves seamlessly in and out of time and place, recalling Sara’s Trinidadian
experiences that inform her present-day Wisconsin ones. Unlike the traditional Bildungsroman,
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the journey is not always a forward one. The ethnic feminist Bildungs involves a complex
process of revisiting the home and cultural community on the journey to the college space. In
Part Two, Nunez italicizes the passages that are a repetition of familial advice or warnings that
Sara recalls when needed to survive her life in Wisconsin:
“She called the Americans angels… (147)
“If you want to know the secret, Sara…” (194)
“Great-grandmother Bertha tied to a bed in St Ann’s…” (213 and 227)
“My father had let me go to them because they were a nursing order. Were they
nurses for the mind or nurses for the body?” (242)
Sara hears these previously suppressed voices when she feels threatened in Wisconsin, when she
fears losing her sense of self. The conflicting images and ideas emphasize Sara’s inner turmoil,
her negotiation between home and college. Resisting her transformation causes Sara to become
more reflective, to evaluate the influence of home and cultural community in order to utilize
what serves her best in the college environment. Like the novels Ilmonen examines, Nunez
“seek[s] to remember [her] history, to create a story of [her] own, and find a voice lost within a
colonial structure—to talk back” (65). With this narrative device, Nunez offer readers coping
mechanisms for confronting the institutional forces in control of the home space and the college
space. Through the use of conditional language, Nunez emphasizes how Sara’s Trinidadian
experiences inform her present-day Wisconsin ones:
“The landscape I would not see for years…” (35; my emphasis).
“I would wonder later…” (39; my emphasis).
“I was to discover later…” (46; my emphasis).
“I would learn…” (120; my emphasis).
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“I had not yet acknowledged…” (120; my emphasis).
Nunez’s verb choice is both reflective and speculative illustrating how fragile Sara was when she
first arrived in Wisconsin. With this linguistic maneuver, Nunez subverts the traditional
Bildungsroman. Her choice reveals the fluid identity formation of ethnic women that Feng
emphasizes. Sara’s new perspective on race and gender roles is facilitate by her roommate,
another West Indian student and the nuns who run Sacred Heart as she moves from the liminal
space into the college space fully. Ultimately, cultural ritual and racial turmoil—not college
classes—cause her transformation into a perceptive, socially conscious person.

Ghosts of El Grullo
Unlike Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún’s formation within the university environment is limited.
Her education in La Jolla during the week and return to Palm City on the weekends illustrates the
kind of socialization process that Bolaki describes but within the same city. The physical
movement between vastly different socioeconomic worlds requires Yolanda to negotiate
conflicting values. While the novel takes place during her college years, it is not solely focused
on her formal education and process of self-discovery within the university environment.
Because of the proximity, she maintains both physical and emotional connections to her
community and family. Her liminal state is perpetual and requires specialized negotiation skills.
Immersed in the academic environment—classes, work study job at the library, and
studying—Yolanda still maintains a connection to her cultura and familia through the television:
“I settled down on my bed to watch another installment of Corazón Salvaje, the classic Mexican
soap opera based on the novel of the same name. This was the only luxury I allowed myself:
thirty minutes with the tormented lovers” (Santana 57). Yolanda’s ritual allows her to engage in
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conversations about the novela with her mom and sisters when she returns home on the
weekends. It perpetuates a closeness she enjoys and fuels her romantic desires. She also
frequently plunges into childhood memories where family conflicts are rooted. The most
poignant of which is her father’s informal schooling where he insists they speak proper Spanish
so that they are not associated with pochos (42-43). These memories are psychological obstacles
Yolanda must surpass in order to succeed in the college environment.
While Sara Edgehill only maintains connection to home through memory because she
never returns to Trinidad, Yolanda Sahagún has both emotional and physical influence of home
and cultural community because she returns home every weekend during her first year of college
and commutes during her remaining years. This causes her to feel the effects of displacement
each time she returns to the college campus that is situated in a more affluent neighborhood than
the one where she lives, but its effects are mitigated by the constant support in both spaces. This
cyclical process is crucial to post-adolescent development for young women of color. As
Eysturoy argues: “The Chicana self is formed in opposition to multiple layers of oppression: the
oppositional relationship between socio-cultural context and the female self is, when it comes for
Chicana Bildung, intensified by questions of ethnicity and class” (137). Yolanda grapples with
gendered and classed questions in the liminal space but does not let them interfere with her self-
formation. She uses the time/place to internalize various ways to compromise with the institution
and with herself. She learns to see wealth and status as both benefit and burden. Walking home
from a party, Yolanda observes a woman crying through the giant window of her enormous
home. In this moment, she recalls her own mother who left her affluence in El Grullo for the man
she loved and what she thought would be a better life in the U.S. Yolanda accepts that while
there are benefits associated with a higher social class, it doesn’t always bring happiness, and
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that with her education, she can create the life she wants for herself.
After her mother dies, the influences from home are even more significant because of the
amount of time Yolanda spends at home compared to the amount of time she spends on the
college campus. Yolanda must contend daily with the opposing ideals of culture and family.
Fortunately, she has help. Yolanda’s relationship with her “forever friend” (Santana 31) Lydia
exists in that liminal space. Lydia is from the same culture, same community; however, she is
also a college student and forges her own path of intellectual independence. She serves as a
guide on Yolanda’s journey, encouraging Yolanda to overcome the obstacles she faces. Yolanda
observes, Lydia was, “sarcastic and impatient with me one moment, and the next, a surrogate
mother” (Santana 262). Lydia intervenes when Yolanda needs her sensibilities. She offers
pragmatic advice about Yolanda’s relationships and academic choices. She worries about
Yolanda’s emotional state in the wake of her mother’s death.
Yolanda soon learns that her goals are only attainable if she resists patriarchal and
cultural trappings to grow beyond the confines of gendered and racialized expectations. On a
weekend visit home, Yolanda witnesses how her confrontations with her father had not
minimized his erratic episodes. In her absence, he wreaks havoc on her sisters still at home; his
outbursts become more frequent, more violent. Yolanda feels “deeply guilty” and is “terrified of
becoming like him (Santana 53). This conundrum plagues many college students who are
immigrants and children of immigrants. The home-school dichotomy reinforces Yolanda’s
feelings of displacement in the new environment, at the same time pulling her back into a crisis
she feels only she can resolve. Through this cyclical growth process, Yolanda serves as an
example of “the process leading to selfhood and creative self-assertion [portrayed] with an
increasing awareness and assertion of Chicana authenticity” (Eysturoy 28). Santana offers a
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representation of the changing Chicana identity in the 1970s with an awareness of feminist
ideology woven throughout. She illustrates resistance and conformity through Yolanda’s process
of negotiation. While Yolanda’s desire is fraught with obstacles, she develops her sense of self
and becomes a conscious college student through formal and informal education. When she
asserts her political identity: “I’m a Chicana,” her father dismissed her because his understanding
is that they are “rabble-rouser politiquillos … who don’t know what they are” (70). In the midst
of a movement designed to empower people of Mexican descent, Yolanda feels empowered by
her education and takes on narrative authority, resists her father’s criticism. She knows that it
emerges from a historical place, one that taught immigrants to avoid conflict; h rejects what he
doesn’t understand.
Yolanda finds comfort in this liminal state. Chicanas, as Gloria Anzaldúa proposes, are
“plagued by psychic restlessness. In a constant state of mental nepantilism, an Aztec word
meaning torn between ways” (78). This characterizes Yolanda’s post-adolescent formation,
positioning her in this Chicana feminist tradition. Santana repeatedly situates Yolanda in
between her family and her self-development, forces her to straddle the border between home
and college as she learns to become a woman in the 1970s.

Make Your Home Among Strangers
Lizet Ramirez travels farther than Yolanda Sahagún, but unlike Sara Edgehill, can return to her
working-class neighborhood in Miami on all the school holidays. Throughout this cyclical
journey, Lizet grapples with socioeconomic disparity, cultural conflicts, and reminders that she
chose to leave for the more rigorous academic experience. She has to negotiate this liminal space
without the home support that Yolanda has. She forges her independence quickly in both spaces.
36

She accelerates her post-adolescent transformation by confronting cultural expectations at home.
During this period of transformation, Lizet has to reconcile class differences in order to
begin the process of post-adolescent development. This tension plagues many working-class and
first-generation college students. The last-minute flight when she returns home at Thanksgiving
“was not in the budget, or el college lay-a-way, or any of the other euphemisms my dad had used
to describe how we would finance the astronomically expensive education I was mostly failing to
receive” (Crucet 6-7). The first opportunity Lizet has, she returns home for support. She is
troubled because she has to consider complications that most of her privileged classmates at
Rawlins are not aware of. Even after only a few months in New York, the harsh distinctions
between the resources her home and cultural community lack and the opportunities available to
her in college make Lizet acutely aware of the choices she will have to make in the future.
On the van from the Miami airport, she observes: “Outside, the houses whizzing by had
bars over their windows, which meant we were closing in on my old neighborhood, but those
bars—it’s like I’d never noticed them before” (Crucet 18). Lizet’s tone—unlike Yolanda’s when
she contrasts homes in her neighborhood with ones in La Jolla—is a critical one. As the drive
continues, Lizet is disheartened by run-down strip malls and the gray buildings of her old high
school surrounded by a barbed-wire-topped fence. After less than three months in college, Lizet
sees her adolescent reality as inferior to her post-adolescent one.
Paired with her feelings of academic insecurity—she is waiting for results from the
Academic Integrity hearing—this visit contributes to her feeling displaced both in college and at
home. She is racked with guilt but does not share the incident with her family to avoid the shame
of the possibility of failure. She comports herself with confidence in front of her family, tells her
sister that she is doing well academically. Much like the mask Sara Edgehill learns to wear,
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Lizet’s coping mechanism is to conceal the college conflicts when in the home space. However,
she confesses her struggles to a stranger, another Latina, who looks professorial to her and is
from her neighborhood: “I’m doing really bad, actually. I don’t know why it’s so hard. Everyone
seems to just know stuff and I—I don’t. It’s like I’m the only one. I don’t even know how I got in
sometimes, that’s how hard it is, how much I’m messing up” (Crucet 19). Crucet uses italics to
emphasize Lizet’s despair. Through this representation of an authentic first-generation college
student struggle, Crucet illustrates how the ethnic feminist Bildungs differs from the traditional
Bildungs. Instead of a confident upward journey, the female protagonist of color moves forward
toward the goal then returns to the previous state/space in a constant process of negotiation. Lizet
experiences “imposter syndrome.” Without family and/or community knowledge to draw from,
first-generation students must confront new institutional challenges alone, frequently making
mistakes or not even trying something new or not being aware of what new experiences will be
the best investment of their time and energy. As a result, their post-adolescent growth can be
stunted. This kind of institutionalized class discrimination, that continues even today, widens the
“achievement gap” and perpetuates class disparities. Insecurity keeps Lizet suspended in the
liminal state. She internalizes the belief that she has to detach from home to succeed in college.
Consequently, Lizet only occasionally visits her family in the Little Havana
neighborhood where they’ve relocated—a place she never actually called home—yet their
influence on her formation is still significant. When she gets off the airport shuttle, she thinks, “I
didn’t recognize my Mom’s new building” (Crucet 23). The physical displacement reinforces the
feelings of inadequacy that Lizet experiences repeatedly in this liminal state. It is exacerbated by
a home space that is neither welcoming nor supportive. Her arrival is met with hostility from her
sister, Leidy, who says, “What the fuck are you doing here?” Lizet thinks, “Her emphasis should
38

have been on the word fuck or maybe on here, but not on you.” (Crucet 24). Lizet feels
unwelcome and unwanted. Even more so when Mami carries on with “You’re supposed to be at
school!” and “You’re not supposed to be here!” (Crucet 24) Their resentment toward Lizet’s
surprise arrival cause her to feel less significant in her mom’s and sister’s lives when she returns.
Leidy clearly begrudges Lizet’s leaving, and her mother seems to be irritated by Lizet’s
presence. Later, when Lizet uses idioms she had heard her classmates at Rawlings use—words
like “sketchy” (Crucet 127) and phrases like “bummed out” (Crucet 147)—Leidy is overtly
critical. She insults Lizet saying that she “sounds so freaking white” (Crucet 147), indicating that
Lizet has forsaken her cultural heritage. Leidy also mocks Lizet: “Awesome! She parroted back,
her voice high and in her nose … Awe-some, awe-some! What other stupid words are you
picking up at that school?” (Crucet 31). Leidy condemns Lizet for changing after only a few
months in college. Lizet doesn’t realize until later that Leidy dislikes her new vernacular because
it makes Lizet seem even further away from home. However, for Lizet, this linguistic
compromise propels her through the liminal space so she can become fully embedded in the
college space more quickly than Sara Edgehill or Yolanda Sahagún.
As a result, Lizet has to become a chameleon when in Miami, especially when her cousin
confronts her about leaving for college. She responds: “The school I’m at is more like UM than
FIU … stupid scholarship” (148). She feels forced to dismiss her achievements so she can be
accepted by her family and cultural community. This form of compromise allows first-generation
college students like Lizet to maintain some home/cultural connection so that they never feel
completely dislocated. However, Lizet’s awareness that her comportment is a “mask” to
facilitate temporary acceptance reveals that she has begun to internalize the necessity of post-
adolescent transformation in college. Lizet makes multiple attempts to adapt in both
39

environments by altering her identity repeatedly. She’s “El” at home and “Liz” in college. She
explains: “Going by Liz was easier than correcting people when they said, Sorry, Lisette? or Like
short for Elizabeth? after I told them my name. I like Liz fine, and it seemed more and more
weird to me that no one had ever called me by that nickname before… asking new people to call
me El seemed annoying of me, like I was trying too hard” (Crucet 85). Though infrequent, the
migration process from home to college, forces Lizet to assert her identity differently in the two
different spaces. Lizet’s movement between her working-class Little Havana neighborhood and
the private college in upstate New York cause both a physical and emotional detachment. This
cyclical process of negotiation in both spaces diverges from the traditional Bildungs in that the
journey does not progress forward toward the goal continuously. The return requires repeated
compromise throughout the process of post-adolescent development. Lizet’s Bildungs relies on
departing from who she was so that she can succeed in the new physical and academic
environment.
This also requires that she adjust her relationship with her boyfriend, Omar. Lizet
negotiates her identity when she interacts with him. At first, she tries to maintain their
relationship the way it was. She shares: “He was the only person I’d confessed my homesickness
to—and he had my sad list of Reasons Why I Shouldn’t Be There memorized at that point … But
instead telling me the usual (You are smart enough Lizet; no it’s better being away from your
sister … you won’t freeze to death…) he presented the list back to me as evidence” (Crucet 60).
Omar uses Lizet’s insecurities and feelings of outsider-ness against her which causes tension in
their relationship. She resents his lack of support for her academic struggles. She questions the
certainty of their future together (Crucet 62) which sharply contradicts the cultural expectations
for Latinas. Throughout the process of self-formation, Lizet confronts these kinds of gendered
40

norms of home and cultural community, while learning from her new independence in college
that she is capable of forging a different reality away from the home space.
As Lizet progresses through the liminal space, she chooses to leave the traditions of home
and cultural community in that space. In an attempt to focus on her college obligations, she visits
home less frequently and limits her phone contact. Consequently, she never feels as haunted by
her childhood and adolescence as Sara Edgehill, but she doesn’t experience any nurturing from
home like Yolanda Sahagún does. The result is a post-adolescent development that more closely
resembles the upward, linear journey in a traditional Bildungsroman at different points, but
because of the oppressive ideologies Lizet recognizes, she can never fully assimilate into the
dominant culture. Her home identity lingers even when she attempts to ignore it.

Leaving the Liminal Space
The discursive narrative structure is the ideal model for representing the liminality within the
post-adolescent ethnic feminist Bildungsroman. The editors of The Voyage In assert: “Literature,
especially the novel, offers the complexity of form necessary to represent the interrelationships
shaping individual growth. … [specifically] the interplay of psychological and social forces”
(Abel et al 4). This study expands the notion of individual development by examining the ways
in which the protagonists’ development of self during post-adolescence occurs in both the
academic environment and within the home/cultural community simultaneously. Through the
novel form, authors of color are able to offer representations of individual and collective
development from cultural groups previously not represented in literature.
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CHAPTER THREE: Identity in the College Space
When Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún, and Lizet Ramirez attend university, they experience
cultural, social, and academic transformations. This is the first time they regularly interact with
people who do not share their social class, nationality, or cultural background. Sara, Yolanda,
and Lizet enter college concealing insecurities, masking their fear and confusion. These masks
reflect what they learned in the often-traumatic home environment; how they were forced to
adjust in the liminal space as their post-adolescent development was in flux; and are the result of
continued resistance in college. These young women of color gain personal independence away
from family traditions but face unfamiliar social and institutional restrictions. Moving to college
influences the characters’ emotional transformations in post-adolescence much like characters in
other ethnic Bildungsroman experience but with the added challenge of relocating to a new
environment. Bolaki asserts: “Mobility creates opportunities for reinvention of identity but it
becomes entwined with trauma in many recent ethnic American novels of female development
that focus on experiences of displacement and exile” (Bolaki 240). By moving away from home
for college, Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet have the opportunity to develop an identity outside the
cultural community; however, over time, their geographical “displacement” causes them to feel
“exiled” from their home and cultural community. Yet because of the discursive narrative
structure, we continue to witness the ongoing influence of the home space on their post-
adolescent development in the college space.
Their process of self-formation is also influenced by the geographical location and
historical period where and when each novel is situated. Sara in Wisconsin in the 1960s. Yolanda
in La Jolla in the 1970s. Lizet in upstate New York in the late 1990s. As Heather Smyth argues,
“Formation and growth and the development and fate of individual and nation are tied together
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… complex shifting of frames between self and nation” (186). Sara confronts racist assumptions
about Black people and has to negotiate her own Blackness with the white nuns, her white
classmates, and white people in the neighboring community while learning about the violence
surrounding her during the Civil Rights Movement. Yolanda benefits from the gains made by the
previous generation of women and people of color. In college she learns how to comport herself
as a Chicana feminist and takes that new identity home to challenge the patriarchal traditions she
grew up with. Lizet faces more class-based challenges in college, never quite comfortable with
her lower socioeconomic status especially when she learns that it has put her at an academic
disadvantage. She embraces her cultural heritage more when it becomes necessary to defend
Cuban Americans from the critical white gaze. All three protagonists learn how to negotiate their
self-formation in the context of the changing world around them. This chapter chronicles their
transformation to conscious subjectivity, the coping mechanisms they employ for survival in the
college environment, and the resistence strategies they use to confront their peers in college.

ROOMMATES and OTHER PEERS
First-generation students like Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet develop their sense of self in comparison
with other students from different backgrounds who seem more worldly and connected to
informal support networks. This can lead to a desire for a different self in relation to the world, a
common characteristic of the female Bildungsroman. Susan Fraiman acknowledges that
“selfhood [is] the clashing, patchwork product of numerous social determinations, the ‘I’ as
basically unstable and discontinuous; and … formation is differentiated in terms of class,
country, race, and time as well as gender” (12). With their identity in a constant state of flux,
Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet continuously negotiate their developing identities, relying on their
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collegiate peers for stability. The people Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet encounter outside the home
and cultural community give them a new frame of reference for how they can exist in the world.
They can choose to emulate those examples or reject them as they proceed on their journeys. No
longer confined by home identity, they shift out of the liminal state into a new phase of self-
formation in college.

Beyond the Limbo Silence
Sara Edgehill relocates to Sacred Heart College in Wisconsin where she continues to be
“othered” by the nuns who, like the priest who visited Trinidad to recruit, repeatedly reinforce
how grateful the “foreign” girls should be for this opportunity. Sara is one of only three students
not from the U.S. studying at this all-women’s college. She and the other two foreign students
are separated from the white students in the dorm and cannot engage in the same social activities
because of their financial situations. Sara’s roommate is Angela from Guiana. She has
internalized her role as gracious guest. From Sara’s perspective, Angela is “lighter in color, her
skin the shade of black tea drawn in hot milk. Her straight black hair was parted down the middle
and fell along the sides of her face. Her eyes were smaller than the other girls’ and sparkled with
a kind of childish gaiety. She had a short, thin nose and a small mouth” (Nunez 56). Sara’s
observation of Angela is factual, not complementary. She places Angela’s features within a
familiar context and diminishes Angela as “childish” and “small” twice. Angela offers Sara one
way to be an ethnic college student in the U.S. in 1963: assimilation with their white classmates.
Angela devotes tremendous energy toward feeling included at Sacred Heart. She says, “‘I really
like it here. It’s terrific. The Sisters are wonderful. They’re kind to us. They treat us really well.
And the girls are very friendly … You’ll love them.’” (Nunez 60-61). The use of qualifying
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adverbs and six different complimentary adjectives reveal how desperate Angela is to be part of
the white community. Angela focuses on the generosity of the white hosts, the charity that has
been extended to them as foreign students on scholarship. She interprets this kindness for
acceptance. Sara wants to embrace Angela’s more positive outlook. She decides: “I chose the
light. I chose Angela” (Nunez 63). Sara’s decision is made with conviction. She anticipates how
Angela’s distinct approach will alter her life in Wisconsin. In the U.S., she believes her life can
be different, that she can change the way people perceive her and how she perceives herself. She
rejects the negativity that had plagued her life in Trinidad. She is determined to alter her life’s
trajectory and wants to be optimistic, so she tries to assume Angela’s attitude moving forward at
Sacred Heart. This second “light” could subconsciously refer to the whiteness that surrounds
them, reinforcing Sara’s desire to assimilate into the dominant culture.
As the semester progresses, Sara struggles to maintain her composure the way her
grandmother had done when faced with disappointment. Sara desires this kind of self-control;
however, instead of utilizing this coping mechanism, she tends to let everyone see how she feels.
When Sara has conflict with the white students, Angela offers advice: “‘You don’t always have
to explain yourself to them. … Give them their fairy tales’ … ‘You don’t have to bleed all over
them You don’t have to let them know how you feel’” (98 and 108). In an attempt to guide Sara
toward a more accommodating personality, Angela advocates assimilation as a coping
mechanism. Angela wears the mask she thinks her classmates want to see in order to fit in and
avoid conflicts, because she wants to be accepted by them and doesn’t understand that she never
can be. Initially, Sara resists. “‘What about your self-respect? … How can you let them think of
you as some primitive savage?’” (Nunez 98). Sara questions Angela’s strategy because she feels
it presents her cultural heritage in a negative way. Sara wants to stand up for herself but does not
45

have the skills to do that without exposing her insecurities and self-doubt. She feels her selfhood
“clashing.” Her resistance to Angela’s influence is short lived. Over time, Sara sees that
assimilation is one way to cope with her feelings of displacement.
Courtney, a young woman from St. Lucia, offers Sara Edgehill an alternative way of
being in the white world: resistence. Courtney projects skepticism toward the U.S. institutions
and the people who perpetuate the racialized structures of power. Courtney simultaneously
makes Sara feel comfortable in her new environment, not just because of her physical familiarity
but because of “the lilting way she spoke. … She was a foreigner as I was” (Nunez 56). Having a
common language links the two students, gives Sara specific joy. Courtney, however, has not
been wooed by the whites like Sara’s roommate Angela has been. Sara observes: “There was a
cold bitterness in the sing-song way [Courtney] mimicked Angela’s words. It was not only
Angela she meant to mock but the [white] girls, too. I found myself getting angry with her, with
her unfairness in trying to spoil everything for me, to color my impression of the other girls
before I got to meet them” (Nunez 61). Courtney’s “dark mood” is one Sara recognizes and she
does not appreciate Courtney’s tone. She has just arrived at Sacred Heart and while she
appreciates Courtney’s linguistic sameness, she also has a strong desire to disconnect from her
past/home and reject the racialized/gendered expectations she has been burdened with. However,
Sara doesn’t want to completely lose her connection to Courtney. When Sara passed out on the
cafeteria floor and work up staring at the nuns standing over her, Courtney’s response solidified
their kinship. Courtney “knew, without being there, what had happened to me the night before in
the dining room when my body shattered into tiny fragments and fell like rain into the cupped
hands of the smiling nuns. She knew how I liked my tea: milk, no sugar. She probably knew my
isolation and loneliness” (Nunez 62). Sara compares her anxiety in the new environment to
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fragile, broken pieces that are now being held by the white people in power—much like what her
family warned her would happen in the U.S. Sara knows Courtney can empathize with her
internal conflicts, her resentment of home, and the simultaneous desire to return to the familiar
cultural world. Their island heritage bonds them on a spiritual level.
Courtney also facilitates Sara’s interaction with white people outside the university.
When they leave the O’Brien’s after a heated racial confrontation, Courtney reminds Sara, “she
had her roots … voodoo” (Nunez 137). Voodoo can be considered in direct opposition to the
Catholic environment they are now immersed in, the world that Sara had hoped would offer her
an alternative to what haunted her in Trinidad. As a result, Sara resists, claiming that as educated
people they should know better. Courtney replies, “‘Yes, you should know better. You should
know where you came from.’” (Nunez 138). In response, Sara avoids eye contact with Courtney
again. She is still conflicted about how to exist in this world, still considers her roommate
Angela’s strategy of assimilation as a viable option. But later, when Sara has a clearer
understanding of the racial turmoil Black people in the U.S. face and the implications of that
racism for her new life, she embraces her cultural history, defends Courtney’s voodoo practice as
a religious tradition when Angela criticizes it (184). Part of Sara’s resistance is to negotiate the
various coping mechanisms she is developing and use them appropriately in different situations
to ease her post-adolescent development in this overwhelmingly white environment.

Ghosts of El Grullo
The challenge of leaving home to live in the dormitory is different for Yolanda Sahagún who has
lived with a large family, shared a room with four sisters, never slept alone. Because Yolanda
returns to the home environment frequently, however, she does not feel the same “displacement”
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Sara and Lizet experience. Instead, Yolanda contends with “constricting social and cultural
factors within her own particular environment in order to successfully complete her own process
of self-development” (Eysturoy 15). She must negotiate with the traditional restrictions of home
even when they are no longer present in the college environment. Her resistance is a more
individual, private one that is shared with us through her self-reflection and analysis of her
environment. She has a unique opportunity to “re-invent” herself as a conscious subject when
she interacts with peers from different cultural and socioeconomic locations.
With only one roommate in college, Yolanda experiences a new kind of freedom. She can
decorate the walls to suit her taste, including a psychedelic Santana Abraxas album cover that
features “some sort of angel-devil in fluorescent reds and blues with magnificent wings, … [the
Virgin Mary] straddling a bongo as it made its way to black magic woman herself who was
lounging, like a queen on her throne … a white dove perched in front of her crotch” (Santana
47). Yolanda studies the poster with her developing intellectual maturity, considers the
symbolism of both drum and dove, provocatively placed near the representation of sexuality on
the naked, Black version of an image she had been taught to revere her whole life. The
amalgamation of images empowers Yolanda, guides her as she contemplates the role of religion
in her life and her own sexuality. When Yolanda is outside the restricted familial space, she has
the opportunity to grow independently, and her self-formation is influenced by factors outside
her cultural community. By embracing this newfound control of her physical space, Yolanda
establishes “dominion of my sanctuary” (Santana 47) and grounds herself in the academic realm
during the week, which facilitates her participation in the college environment albeit in limited
ways.
When her roommate plans a Thursday night party, Yolanda joins her and their friends at
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Black’s Beach, the nudist beach adjacent to Torrey Pines Golf Course. Even though it is in San
Diego, that area has never been part of Yolanda’s reality. It is her first college party, the first
time she has faced these particular conflicting expectations about her body. She chooses to
remain clothed which causes her to feel a different kind of “displacement” and marks her as an
outsider. Her formation is plagued by the “clash” that Fraiman discusses. Yolanda’s feelings of
inadequacy are exacerbated when the other students discuss their elaborate spring break plans.
She was “stunned by what they were saying so nonchalantly” and wondered if she should tell
them her break would be “in a barrio of mainly poor Mexicans with a few immigrant Germans,
Poles, and Swiss sprinkled about.” Instead, she lies, referring to Palm City as “an off-the-beaten-
path resort on the Pacific Ocean [where] only a few families have vacation homes” (Santana 63-
4). Yolanda’s half-truth reveals her attempt to shift her identity to feel more comfortable with the
more economically privileged students she has not been surrounded with growing up. Her coping
mechanisms is deceit, the best way she knows to manage the contradictions she experiences in
that moment.
At that same beach party with wealthy white students, a friend offers Yolanda a joint. In
this era of social rebellion, there were still legal restrictions on the use of marijuana and a social
stigma associated with its use. After Yolanda’s first toke, she had “an out-of-body experience, as
if I were some ghost hovering over this campfire, watching these college kids, feeling detached
from this group. And this terrified me and made me sad … I should have just stayed on the farm,
forgot all this highfalutin university stuff because this was not my world and never would be my
world” (Santana 65). In the altered state, Yolanda can no longer maintain the façade. She is
forced to acknowledge the ways in which she feels displaced. She has a moment where she
regrets leaving the comfort of her barrio because she cannot imagine ever being included in the
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world she has always longed for, even when parts of that world are like her own.
Yolanda encounters frequent social class conflicts like this one in college that disrupt her
self-formation. In the first semester, she seeks solace in her religious upbringing and attends
Catholic mass at the Newman Center. She realizes: “But I might as well have been back at the
pot party discussing spring break plans. It was the same kind of people, really. … I don't mean to
be disrespectful, but I just didn't fit. It was not the kind of Catholicism I was used to” (Santana
69). The contradiction Yolanda experiences in her religious exploration is likely rooted in
language and social class differences. As Yolanda develops intellectually in post-adolescence,
she begins to understand the tension she feels is not only within herself but embedded in the
college space. Those “same kind of people” who once made her feel ashamed of home are not
her kind of people.
Empowered by this realization, she resists her own insecurities. Rather than altering
herself to fit in that particular intellectual space, Yolanda chooses to reject it outright and seek
space that has some level of familiarity but still allows for her social and emotional growth.
“Whatever the case might be, it didn't take long for me to find something on campus akin to
home” (Santana 69). She aligns herself with people who share her cultural background,
socioeconomic status, and language. She participates in MEChA, the Chicano Student
Movement that showed solidarity with United Farm Workers by encouraging boycotts of grapes,
head lettuce, and other produce as a way to protest unfair working conditions during the 1970s.
She explains: “I was hungry for enlightenment, for knowledge and for a view of the world
beyond the sheltered perimeters of my Palm City. I wanted to see the world with new eyes, but I
wanted to see it with people who came from a place like mine. And without MEChA, I sensed I
would be too lonely and alienated to see the light” (Santana 72). Yolanda’s hunger fuels her to
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seek out cultural sameness within the college environment to contrast the feeling of other-ness.
That solidarity contributes to Yolanda’s self-formation, and she is empowered by her new
community. Yolanda’s desire for a different life takes the form of activism in college. She
successfully inhabits the two spaces—home and college—simultaneously.
Sara Edgehill did not have the luxury of ethnic organizations that she could rely on for
support at Sacred Heart College. As a result, she did not have spaces to counter her “foreign”
status, which is why she aligned with Courtney and Angela who offered some semblance of
solidarity. In that time period, integration with her white peers was problematic, even though
changes were in process in the country. In the same way that Yolanda tries to fit in with her
classmates in La Jolla, Lizet wants respect from the upstate New York crowd.

Make Your Home Among Strangers
Lizet’s post-adolescent development serves as the most poignant example of self-formation
“entwined with trauma” as she negotiates her changing identity. In the late 1990s, white people
feel empowered by their newfound acceptance or tolerance of multiculturalism. At the same
time, Cuban Americans experience special scrutiny in the wake of political and economic
tensions between the U.S. and Cuba, exacerbated by the controversy surrounding the arrival of
Elian Gonzalez to Florida’s shores.
The only moments of ethnic solidarity that Lizet experiences are at the event specifically
for students of color the first week of school. There she meets another Latina student from
Houston. The other student had just returned from the family ranch in Argentina, has a diamond
necklace from her ex-boyfriend, and went to a private high school. This obvious class difference
reinforces Lizet’s insecurities: “Each word she spoke had the unintentional side effect of
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convincing me that she was some sort of alien, or maybe a poorly designed alien robot. I’d never
encountered anyone like this in my life and I knew better than to ask how someone could be a
legacy here” (Crucet 80). Even at a gathering for students of color, Lizet doesn’t feel like she
belongs. Imposter syndrome is common for first-generation students who don’t have family
knowledge and experience to draw from. In that same gathering, she learns “that students of
color struggle more in college than our white counterparts. … that when combine with being
from a low-income family … one [orientation] specialist said -Your chances of graduating
college fall to somewhere around twenty percent” (Crucet 82-3). This statistic emphasizes
Lizet’s fear that she may not have been adequately prepared for the college experience. Lizet
only feels better about her situation when she meets an undocumented student from Los Angeles
who is also homesick and feels displaced at Rawlings. Lizet tries to reassure Jaquelin that they
have similar struggles. Until Jaquelin reveals that because of her mother’ immigration status, she
cannot get on a plane to visit. Lizet recognizes her privilege as a Cubana. “Jaquelin was proof
that someone at Rawlings had it harder than me, and if only twenty percent of us were going to
make it, then at the very least I had a better chance than her. … Maybe I belonged just a little
more than this one other person, and ugly as it was, that felt like something, like an actual
advantage” (Crucet 83-84). Lizet’s multi-faceted experience forces her to negotiate her
preconceived notions about cultural identity. Even with people who seem to share her cultural
heritage in some way, Lizet struggles to feel like she belongs. Ironically, her feelings of
displacement are reinforced at an event designed to help students of color feel welcome.
Around her white roommate, Jillian—whose older brother is a college student too—
Lizet’s feels more alienated, especially because her older sister, Leidy, is a single mother who
works at a hair salon. Having this particular roommate forces Lizet to cope with her financial
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insecurities. When Jillian loans Lizet designer mittens (Crucet 46) she lets other people think
they are hers in an attempt to perpetuate a more affluent image and fit in with her peers. Lizet
attempts to compensate for her perceived inadequacies by immersing herself, literally, into her
roommate’s life: “I pulled back her butter-colored quilt, slipped one of her DVDs into her
sleeping computer’s drive … and got in her bed, tugging the quilt up around me” (Crucet 77).
Lizet seeks physical comfort in her new college space, thinks it is only possible if she can be
embraced by luxury like most of the other students. She repeatedly watches a movie she’d never
heard of in an attempt to gain cultural capital, “looking for clues to the jokes, for the setups—the
warnings I’d missed … I laughed when it seemed like I should, until the act of laughing itself
triggered the real thing” (Crucet 77). Lizet believes that only by altering her approach to life and
her perception of self, can she achieve the success she craves. Her formation continues due to
Fraiman’s “numerous social determinations.” She makes both academic as well as social efforts
to change herself, to become part of the Rawlings community.
At a PWI, there can be a perceived threat associated with being the only person of color
in any space. When Jaquelin, the undocumented Latina, invites Lizet to join her at a party, they
revel in the process of getting ready together (Crucet 116). After being at the party for a while,
Lizet and Jaquelin “immediately started dancing together, immediately fell in sync. … eventually
the DJ threw on a song with the beat enough like merengue, so then we danced as a couple,
deploying every turn and spin we knew, and a circle started to grow around us. I was happier
than I’d been in weeks, just moving like that…. I felt closer to home in that moment than when
I’d been back there” (Crucet 123-124). Dancing becomes one of Lizet’s coping mechanisms. By
situating her body in familiar movements, her confidence increases. At that same party, her
roommate Jillian is totally wasted and says to Lizet, “‘You are one fucking hawt mamacita!”
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(Crucet 119) and after Lizet denies being attracted to a guy, Jillian tells her to “calm down Miss
Thang” (Crucet 123). Both racialized comments, one intended as a compliment, are offensive to
Lizet. They both cause her to rethink her admiration for Jillian and distance herself further from
the Rawlings reality she has been immersed in.
Part of Lizet’s struggle to adapt at Rawlings was people’s perceptions of Cubans in the
late 90s fueled by media representations. These racialized expectations are continuously
reinforced by Lizet’s roommate Jillian: “Her worst offense (which I wasn’t even sure counted as
an offense) was that, without fail, she introduced me to anyone she knew—the softball girls, the
friends she’d brought along from high school—this way: This is my roommate, Liz. She’s Cuban.
Her doing this bothered me but I didn’t know why exactly, so I kept telling myself: It’s not like it
isn’t true, what would I even want her to say?” (Crucet 88). Lizet is uncertain how to react to
Jillian, is not sure why she constantly needs to foreground her cultural identity. In Hialeah, Lizet
never had to and growing up, no one ever asked if she’d been to Cuba. She lived in a
homogenous community and is now the only representative of her culture. However, in upstate
New York, Lizet is an anomaly. She has to “reinvent” herself in order to cope with feeling
exiled. In college, when asked “Where are you from from? … [she] eventually learned to say
what they were trying to figure out: My parents are from Cuba. … Once I learned what I was
supposed to say, it became a chant, like the address I’d memorized but didn’t think of as home”
(Crucet 10). People of color have their identity policed like this regularly. At a Predominantly
White Institution (PWI), Lizet has to shift the frame of her identity to include the nation—one
that she has never been to, but one that influences her familial culture. This school-home
separation Lizet tries to establish is negated by the questioning and influences the way she
interacts in the academic world. She is preoccupied with who people think she is and who she
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wants to become.
Ironically, Jillian is dismissive of Lizet’s Cuban heritage when she needs to feel superior.
They see the Ariel Hernandez news report and argue about whether he should stay or return to
Cuba. Lizet feels like this is where she should be respected as an authority; however, Jillian
dismisses Lizet saying she’s too “connected to the whole thing.” Lizet responds by tossing her
book aside, leaning forward, and getting loud: “What the fuck does that mean, connected? I’m
not fucking related to that kid.” Lizet’s reaction is both physically and verbally aggressive,
fueled by all the cultural slights she has experienced since being at Rawlings. And Jillian’s
response is: “Don’t get ghetto, Liz. I’m just saying that, no offense, but as a Cuban person, you
can’t really expect people to believe that you’ll be completely rational about this” (Crucet 89). It
is the second time Jillian uses the phrase “no offense” in their conversation, as if her derogatory
comments can be that easily erased. Lizet is temporarily silenced by the “ghetto” part of the
comment, struggles to regain her composure, and attempts to imitate Jillian’s calm demeanor in
her rebuttal by claiming cultural knowledge. Women, especially people of color, are often
categorized as more emotional than “rational,” even in our supposedly more conscientious
society today. Jillian insinuates that, culturally, Lizet’s perspective cannot be trusted, even
though Lizet has the closest connection to the issue they are discussing. Unfortunately, Lizet is
not wholly confident about her own perspective, feels a “clash” of ideologies because of what
she experienced with her mother on her last visit home, so when Jillian accuses Lizet of being
racist, saying “people of color can be racist, too” (Crucet 90), Lizet does not argue. She lacks the
training to articulate what she thinks is wrong with Jillian’s argument. These feelings of
inadequacy are entwined with the academic citation trauma earlier in the semester. The
accumulation of contradictions hinders Lizet’s resistance.
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Over time, she becomes overwhelmed by her other-ness. She is outnumbered by people
who don’t understand her experiences as a first-generation student of color. When news about
Ariel Hernandez spews from every television channel, Lizet faces multiple incidents of
discomfort in the bathroom and in the dining hall where she is questioned about Ariel’s status:
“they thought something was wrong with me when I’d shrug and answer, I don’t know. They
said, How can you not? I wanted to hate them for asking … but it was hard to do that because
they were right: I did live two blocks from Ariel, even if they didn't know that” (Crucet 250).
Lizet recognizes that these people often tokenize her or expect her to represent all Cuban people.
She feigns indifference, even to herself, because at this point, she is still processing her feelings
of resentment toward her mother who is obsessed with Ariel’s case and has ignored her when she
visits Miami. However, the white majority insists Lizet have a different response, insist she take
a stand on an issue they only know from television because she has what they perceive as some
direct connection. “There was this quick, whispered conversation, the kind of semi-private banter
I recognized from months earlier—the morning I first saw snow, when they watched me and
play-by-played my reaction, me just a freezing spectacle” (Crucet 288). Being an outsider again
puts Lizet on the defensive and she reacts, like she did to her roommate, with physical and verbal
aggression. She attempts to articulate this to her college peers but can only do so by yelling and
cursing, which she realizes is making them all afraid of her. Only one student dares challenge
Lizet, conflating Ariel’s arrival to the US with Lizet’s own access to academic privilege at
Rawlings. Only one student intervenes on Lizet’s behalf, more to keep Lizet from a physical
altercation than out of actual allegiance to Lizet’s perspective on Ariel and Cuba. The entire
encounter further alienates Lizet from the women in her dorm, including her roommate once she
hears about what happens.
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Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet negotiate their post-adolescent identity development in
opposition to their peers, perpetuating the instability Fraiman talks about. The discursive
narrative structure provides Nunez, Santana, and Crucet a way to entwine the trauma from home
and cultural community throughout their protagonists’ peer relationships in the college space.

INSTITUTION
In the college space, institutional restrictions that reinforce the larger schemes of racism and
classism replace the moral authority of the home and cultural community. For young women of
color from oppressed communities, there is a necessary negotiation with representations from
these institutions. In an examination of Caribbean literature, Kaisa Ilmonen offers: “According to
Bhaba, the acknowledgement of authority depends on the immediate visibility of its rules of
recognition as the unmistakable referent of historical necessity. Resistance, however, lies for
Bhaba in the ambivalence created by the dislocated presence of authority, as the rules of
recognition of the dominant discourses start to articulate the signs of cultural difference” (110
quoted in Ilmonen 64). I would argue that although they are accustomed to obeying parental
authority, young women from various cultural communities might be hesitant to follow the rules
in their new space and may, at least internally, question the guidelines they are forced to live by
in the college environment. This resistance becomes more overt when they realize there are
different rules for white and/or wealthy college students. When Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet
confront these institutional oppressions and learn new rules, they must develop different coping
mechanisms that enable them to navigate uncertainty in the college environment.

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Beyond the Limbo Silence
Prior to living in Wisconsin, “America” had been an abstraction for Sara Edgehill. As she
struggles to establish herself in this new environment, her memories of past trauma interfere with
her transformation. When Sara arrives at Sacred Heart College, she confronts her future
classmates and instructors, the nuns. “I remember the shock of looking into a sea of white faces
drowned in white cotton. I had never before seen so many white people, so white, all crowded in
one room. … I had never seen such whiteness gathered in one place. It frightened me. … white
clouds, strangely ponderous and heavy, now converged upon me, enveloping me, smothering
me. I gasped for breath and the clouds entered my lungs and expanded my chest further and
further outward until I exploded and my body broke up into tiny fragments of white paper that
gently floated up out of the vortex” (54-55; my emphasis). Sara faints in response to the
overwhelming dissonance she faces. Hailing from Trinidad, she grew up surrounded by people
who looked like her, but now there are only two other non-white people with her in the college
space. Nunez offers this racialized experience to underscores the psychological factors at play in
Sara’s post-adolescent development.
All the whiteness shocks Sara. No amount of nun love can alter her feelings of
displacement and exile. When Sara meets individually with Sister Agnes, she tries to adopt
Angela’s gay demeanor, to internalize that appreciation for the nuns’ generosity that her father
warned her would be necessary for her survival in the U.S. But Sister Agnes makes Sara
“uneasy” and “afraid” (Nunez 69). Sister confronts Sara about her “nerves” and tells her, “Your
feelings are too strong. You must learn to control them or they will control you … You must
control with your will, too. …not only with your heart but with your mind. … Know when to let
go. … You need to strengthen your nerves. … You can’t go through life being overly sensitive.”
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(Nunez 72-73). The nun’s concern troubles Sara. She doesn’t perceive herself to be ill,
physically or mentally, and initially resents the nun’s implications. She attempts to explain that
the boy who rejected her was not the reason she did not take exams in Trinidad. Sister Agnes is
insistent, repeating, “control” three times, advising Sara how to increase her fortitude so Sara
won’t have another episode that reveals her weakness. Sara’s cautionary and critical memories in
this new environment force her to embrace a new self, facilitate her transformation from naïve
girl to empowered woman. Ancestral experiences manipulate Sara’s transformation in her
present-day college life and eventually, her memories do not control her but contribute to her
self-development. What is evident here is that “remembering helps to construct the subjugated
Caribbean women as an agent of history, while the narrative forms drawn from bildungsroman
are useful in depicting the processes of re/membering” (Ilmonen 65). Nunez subverts the
traditional Bildungsroman with an ethnic feminist protagonist on a non-linear journey of self-
formation that is continuously influenced by the home and cultural community through Sara’s
“re/membering.” This maintains a disconcerting connection between Sara’s new self in college
and her adolescent self. However, Nunez positions Sara a participant in history empowering her
to take control of her own narrative.
Sara knows very little about the United States before she arrives at Sacred Heart College
in Wisconsin. During dinner with the O’Briens, a white couple, Sara realizes that the evil she has
only read about in books and seen in movies, does in fact exist and her childhood innocence is
destroyed. Her journey, “would begin with my resistance, my longing to see the world as I
wanted it to be, my reluctance to accept that I could not separate myself from what was taking
place in America in 1963. That I could not be an outsider. It would be a journey that would end
in my beginning … and would link me irreversibly to black America” (Nunez 120). Unlike the
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traditional Bildungsroman, Nunes must consider the socioeconomic and political turmoil present
for characters like Sara as they negotiate their identity in a Predominantly White Institution
(PWI) and the surrounding community. Sara experiences a constant clash with whiteness that
had not been part of her life in Trinidad; however, she acknowledges that the plight of Black
Americans is intertwined with her own. She realizes her new role is to support the resistance.
Here, the private, individual Bildungsroman is transformed into a political narrative. Feng argues
it now serves as “an index to the larger cultural, socio-historical condition” and is “inseparable
from the political agenda of their ethnic groups” (42). Fighting against institutional racism
becomes part of Sara’s post-adolescent formation. She can no longer ignore the civil unrest
percolating across the country in 1963.
Sarah attempts to resist institutional authority by renouncing her scholarship because the
nuns will not admit Black American women to Sacred Heart College. Sister Agnes replies: “‘The
fund would end, Sarah … Not just for you, but for everyone else. … You have to think beyond
yourself, Sarah. Think how your actions might hurt other people. … That may mean Courtney,
and Angela, too. Do you understand? I'm talking about their scholarships, also. Do you want that
responsibility?’” (Nunez 211-212). Sara’s confrontation of Sister Agnes is a pivotal moment for
her. It solidifies what she’s learned about race relations in the U.S. at this time. The nun
manipulates Sara, forces her to carry the burden of inclusion or risk jeopardizing her friends’
financial support. It becomes even more obvious to Sara that the nuns and the wealthy white
Americans they represent via this institution have complete control over her just like her father
had warned. She becomes, “enlightened” (Ilmonen 64) about the U.S. Civil Rights Movement
and racial injustice but cannot act on this knowledge without betraying the only friends she has.
The nun’s veiled threats stifle Sara’s social consciousness and reinforce her feeling of
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displacement. Over time, the agreement to stay weighs on Sara. It exacerbates her alienation at
Sacred Heart: “I was knowingly letting her use me to keep her conscience clear for Communion
on Sundays. Every day I kept my scholarship, I was in complicity with her. I, too, was guilty.
She had trapped me. … Silence was my only weapon against her.” (Nunez 214). The oppressive
forces at work within the Institution serve as an example of patriarchal agents who strive to
diminish the power of other women. Sara recognizes this and her own role in perpetuating the
socioeconomic and racialized injustices at play in the U.S. in the 1960s. She decides to stay
silent—silence being the way that she resists. Heather Smyth argues, “Nations use institutions
like the family and schools—the key staging grounds for bildungsromane—to create ‘the people’
through the invention of fictive ethnicity” (187). Sara didn’t understand herself as Black until she
was immersed in the white institution. Living in Trinidad, her “ethnicity” was not a factor in her
interactions until the blue-eyed priest invaded her homeland. Like Zora Neale Hurston (1928)
who “felt colored when thrown against a sharp white background” at Barnard College—their
first Black graduate in the 1920s. In Sara’s case, the university provides an opportunity for post-
adolescent development that attempts to erase her culture and negate her experiences.
Institutional expectations and personal reality cause academic conflict for Sara. The rigor
of the college curriculum is not what she expected after successfully completing her last two
years of high school in Trinidad. She was bored. Although Sara is not being challenged
intellectually, she does not have the power to articulate that to the institutional representatives for
fear she will lose this new life and destroy potential opportunities for others like her. Ironically,
the nuns assume the opposite of her and when she does well on an exam, accuse her of cheating.
Courtney finds Sara crying in the cafeteria and says: “‘It’s not worth crying over. … They
simply don’t believe that black people have brains. They can’t handle your intelligence.’ … My
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teachers in Trinidad would have laughed at her. Intelligent was not a word they would have used
to describe me” (Nunez 158-159). Courtney serves as a guide for Sara, whose family and cultural
community cannot help her navigate the U.S. educational institution. In the face of authority,
Courtney is an example of resistance. She inspires Sara to think differently about herself, to alter
the gendered oppressive scripts Sara had internalized from home. Courtney’s advice facilitates a
pivotal moment in Sara’s self-formation as she confronts the institutional authorities in the
college space.

Ghosts of El Grullo
Yolanda’s relationship with the institution is not a contentious one like Sara Edgehill’s. Because
of the Chicano Movement, she has the opportunity to grow within her cultural identity not only
in opposition to it. Yolanda also has a support network at her nearby home. While still an
outsider facing marginalization on multiple levels within the Institution, Yolanda learns to create
“multiple dialogues” (Feng 23)—personal, familial, cultural—in opposition to the dominant
culture, in order to maintain connections in the midst of tensions. In the college environment,
Yolanda is focused on her academic achievements and habits. It is possible the intermittent
separation of her home and school lives contributes to this success. Her experience contradicts
John Lyons’s assertion about the male undergraduate protagonist who “tends to be disillusioned
with the academic experience” (134). Instead, Yolanda puts all her weekday energy toward her
job at the library and her scholarly pursuits: “There was a world beyond my home that
continually had my eyes bugging out and mouth agape in disbelief. A world of zany intellectuals
that I yearned to be a part of” (Santana 71). She enjoys and feels empowered by the possibilities
of learning that surround her. Her physical reaction to professors and classmates are influential to
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her post-adolescent development.
As a college student, Yolanda grapples with cultural differences that are more prominent
when she’s away from the university campus. Her Bildung continues to be influenced by family
and home community while it is altered by her college experience. Santana situates Ghosts in
San Diego, California in the 1970s, where young people of color are benefitting from the Civil
Rights Movement, Chicano Movement, and other social struggles. Yolanda had been cautioned
by her Tías against being a noviera, a collector of boyfriends, like her mother. She dismissed
their concerns because,
My newfound politics, were my real passion. Joining MEChA, the Chicano
student political group on campus, was a natural, inevitable path for me. … What
I found in MEChA was a much-needed family of friends on campus who
reminded me of home and Palm City … friends who contributed to my ever-
growing vocabulary, a litany of words that constituted a new kind of prayer. For
me, words such as “cultural nationalism,” “Marxist Leninism,” “oppression,”
“exploitation,” and “dialectical materialism” … I gobbled these words and
concepts and philosophies with the ravenous hunger of a vulnerable and naive
apprentice. I was hungry for direction and enlightenment in my young university
student mind. (Santana 231-2)
In Yolanda’s case, institutional opportunities outweigh the institutional restrictions. Her
post-adolescent development is influenced by the cultural resistance of the time period, struggles
against larger institutions outside the university. As a result, Yolanda gains confidence that not
only fuels her intellectually but contributes to her ability to foment change within her family too.
When she returns home to sit vigil with her dying mother, Yolanda shares about an
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author from her favorite literature class:
The one who most intrigued me, was Juan Rulfo. … I told her about her famous
literary compatriot, about his collection of short stories that dealt with religion,
politics, poverty, despair, and the horrible human condition. … I avoided telling
her about his novel, because I had already said too much: all the characters were
dead—phantoms—when they told their stories. “He's so fatalistic,” I said. “It's
disturbing.” I looked at Mamá. … “He gives us no hope.” (Santana 107)
Yolanda embraces the opportunity to expand her world view, develop her ability to learn more
about literature, and engage in academic dialogue. And she thoughtfully shares some of this with
her mother—the person who inspired her pursuits the most. She attempts to interpret what she
has learned in a way that makes sense to her mother and the tragic circumstances she faces.
Throughout Yolanda’s time in college, several transformations occur for her: sexual
awakening, development of cultural consciousness, intellectual stimulation that alters her
understanding of gender roles, and increased appreciation for family, community, and home.

Make Your Home Among Strangers
At Rawlings, Lizet faces unspoken restrictions, academic rules she didn’t even know existed
because they had not been part of her adolescent development. In her post-adolescence, she is
forced to confront the new regulations when she is accused of plagiarism. “I’d attempted to
correctly cite something, but I didn’t even know the extent to which that needed to be done to
count as correct” (Crucet 11). When Lizet confronts the Institution at her hearing, she
experiences the “dislocated presence of authority” Bhaba refers to. Fortunately, the Academic
Integrity Committee is lenient because Lizet went to “an underserved high school” where she
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had not been given the necessary skills to succeed and they insist she can “overcome these
deficiencies” if she remains at Rawlings (Crucet 11). The Institution offers Lizet the opportunity
to succeed despite her deficiencies and suggests support resources; however, they also make it
clear that there are consequences if she does not meet the university’s expectations by the end of
the semester. This is a crucial moment in her post-adolescent development. It reinforces her
decision to persist on this journey. However, the incident also causes Lizet to question
everything she was taught at home and learned from her cultural community. This ongoing
negotiation further influences her self-formation.
After Lizet is made aware of her academic deficiencies, her insecurities are heightened,
the challenges in the choices ahead of her become glaringly obvious. Lizet cannot rely on advice
from the home space and must negotiate with the Institution on her own. Her response illustrates
how a “successful Bildung requires the existence of a social context that will facilitate the
unfolding of inner capacities, leading the young person from ignorance and innocence to wisdom
and maturity” (Abel et al, 6). Crucet situates her character in an Institution that is physically far
from home so that return is not a viable solution and exacerbates the tension with dire
socioeconomic circumstances. If Lizet fails and has to take remedial classes, her grant will be
replaced with unsubsidized loans. Lizet’s independence is crucial to success in college. While
she struggles, she also develops the necessary skills to survive in the college space. Many first-
generation college students have probably experienced self-blame when confronted with their
inadequate high school preparation. These kinds of consequences often serve as the impetus for
withdrawal. First-gen students do not want to further burden their families with the financial
obligations that could ensue. Lizet, however, refuses to internalize the blame and recognizes the
role the Institution plays in ensuring her academic success. “I wanted to ask: where was
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everybody before that day? Why did it take this plagiarism hearing to get someone to notice that
I was in major trouble in a whole other subject? If things were as bad as this letter indicated, why
hadn't I seen my advisor since orientation? … Why did I feel like I'd tricked Rawlings into
letting me in at all? How could I make that feeling go away?” (99). Grappling with imposter
syndrome, Lizet continues her process of resistance. She begins to understand the dominant
discourse and uses it to fuel her academic growth. Accordingly, Lizet changes her habits. “I
could concentrate better in the library, a fact about myself. I should have recognized earlier in
this semester” (101). She makes more responsible choices that impact both her scholarly life and
her personal life and through this process, takes on narrative authority.
Eventually, Lizet limits regular interactions with family and friends from home. She
asserts herself as a conscious subject: “Part of my study plan for finals was to not call home as
much as usual, since I didn’t think I could handle being much more than a Rawlings student for a
little while” (108). For Lizet, the psychological distance must accompany her physical distance
for her to counter the influence of her deficient academic foundation, which had been brought to
her attention by the committee. She believes she can only be successful if she denies her old
identity and fully embraces this new one. By doing that, she achieves some level of academic
success: earns a B- in all of her academic classes. Transformation occurs as a result of the
negotiations Lizet makes with the home space in order to achieve her goals in the college space.
As she matures, her “inner capacities” are strengthened, and her confidence increases. She no
longer sees herself in opposition to the Institution but learns to work within it. With this
newfound focus, Lizet approaches her spring semester classes more diligently, especially the
biology lab. After the professor demonstrates the sterilization technique, they take their first
exam and Lizet executes every step without any mistakes (256). This is a turning point in Lizet’s
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post-adolescent development. Despite the obstacles she had faced in the fall, she learns to
embrace her scholarly self, a crucial step in the formation of her academic identity.
For Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet, the college space presents new and unique authority. Their
negotiations with authority often require resisting the influence of the Institution but at other
times, the protagonists must comply. This can often only be possible by contradicting their
cultural upbringing, defying what was prioritized in the home space. Their resistance is often
class-based, pitting them against the rules that work for wealthier, white classmates. Their
resolve is strengthened through a continuous process of negotiation.

Leaving the College Space
Nunez, Santana, and Crucet offer these fictional representations of the college experience from
an ethnic feminist perspective that can amend society’s perspective on post-adolescent
development for young women of color. These non-traditional narratives are necessary for
understanding the ways in which Institutions reinforce oppressive ideologies. They also offer
strategies that are necessary for negotiating self-formation.
Migrating between the home and college environment Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún,
and Lizet Ramirez encounter numerous opportunities to negotiate with various peer groups and
the Institution throughout their post-adolescent development. As is evident in most traditional
Bildungsroman, the three protagonists in these three novels all desire a forward trajectory.
However, given the lingering influences of home and cultural community, they are never able to
fully embrace their new identity in college.
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CHAPTER FOUR: Identity in the Hybrid Space
Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún, and Lizet Ramirez negotiate the physical and psychological
distance between home and college as they develop their hybrid identities and offer
counternarratives to the expected process of post-adolescent formation in college. Georg Lukács
says the traditional who Bildungsroman should emphasize some kind of “reconciliation”
between the individual’s internal and external, private and public influences (quoted in Ilmonen
63). For these young women of color in post-adolescence, their internal or private self is still
rooted in the gendered norms of family and culture. Their new influences in college present
unexpected social, economic, and institutional challenges that are not necessarily the same as the
challenges historically faced by characters in the Bildungsroman. In light of this, Ilmonen asserts
that “reconciliation itself is not possible for the postcolonial, othered subject within the frame of
the bildung genre; rather, it becomes the novel of disillusionment” (63). Ilmonen’s use of
“disillusionment” deviates from Lukás’s notion that is embedded in novels of education; she
emphasizes the way othered subjects are disappointed by the experience that does not live up to
its promise. The Euro-centric, androcentric journey in the traditional Bildungsroman involves a
linear trajectory, upward to achieve some higher level of existence. It’s hierarchical, patriarchal
in its origins. Ilmonen argues for a dis/location of the frame so that the othered subjects can forge
different paths toward their goals.
Nunez, Santana, and Crucet offer their fictional representations of the college experiences
as an alternative journey through post-adolescence that may not be reconciled so neatly for the
women of color protagonists. In these three novels, women writers of color are breaking genre
conventions of the Bildungsroman and challenging the expectations of the college experience.
Bolaki argues “there is room to dismantle the genre’s aesthetic architecture … room for
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alternative formulations of development … [and to examine] the effects of dissonance and
fragmentation” (19). Nunez, Santana, and Crucet have structured their novels so that the past and
present are clearly intertwined, so that the home life and college life overlap and interact.
Examining the Bildungsroman from an ethnic feminist perspective, the structure of the novel has
to be considered. These clashing influences cause “dissonance” in the characters’ lives and result
in “fragmented” identities along the journey. However, as we see with Sara, Yolanda, and Lizet,
they must pick up those pieces and assemble their identities so that they are able to function in
both the home space and the college space. They create a hybrid identity that continues to evolve
through post-adolescence and into adulthood.
Feminist scholars have determined that, “development may be compressed into brief
epiphanic moments. Since significant changes are internal, flashes of recognition often replace
the continuous unfolding of action. … The tensions that shape female development may lead to a
disjunction between a surface plot, which affirms social conventions, and a submerged plot,
which encodes rebellion … between a plot that charts development and a plot that unravels it"
(Abel et al. 11-12). The ethnic feminist Bildungsroman in this study rely on a discursive
approach as opposed to the linearity commonly seen in the white male college narratives. This
feminist mode of communication has traditionally had a negative connotation, seen as rambling
off-topic. However, it reveals a more complex ability to have multiple lines of conversation or
narrative threads, emphasizing how the protagonist’s past, their family and cultural community,
are carefully woven into the fabric of their post-adolescent lives in college. It requires a deft
handling of narrative time.
All three authors utilize what Joan Sibler calls switchback time where “The story design
uses the shifts in an order that doesn’t give dominance to a particular time, where then and now
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and further back are all partners with an investment in the outcome. Their separate roles are
essential to the point the story is making” (45). She visualizes it as a “more complicated design,
… a zigzag movement back and forth across time frames” and argues it is a “more natural
method of storytelling” (51), one that reflects the way we frequently interrupt ourselves and each
other. This design is evident in previous examples from Beyond the Limbo Silence when Sara
arrives in Oshkosh longing for Trinidad, from Ghosts of El Grullo when Yolanda calls upon her
mother’s wisdom about her childhood home, and from Make Your Home Among Strangers when
Lizet agonizes over her Academic Integrity hearing while visiting home at Thanksgiving.

Beyond the Limbo Silence
Sara Edghill is plagued by ancestral trauma, specifically the madness associated with her great-
grandmother, that seeps into her daily life in Wisconsin. Her post-adolescent development,
therefore, cannot follow a linear path because she has to negotiate with continuous interference
from her past. She is forced to compromise with the conventions of the college space and at the
same time confront the uncertainty she has about her own identity from the home space.
According to Heather Smyth, “Counternarratives of the bildungsroman can enable a number of
desired effects … [including] to challenge systems of knowledge and ways of understanding
subjectivity and collectivity that characterize colonial discourses” (182). Sara’s journey
represents one way young women can resist the colonial exploitation that plagued the people of
Trinidad. While she did not understand that until she leaves the island, she discovers:
I became more and more haunted by the memory of swimming with the mermaids
between the coral and dancing sea grass. I … did things that made me acceptable,
normal, in the eyes of others. I talked—even smiled …But I did these things in a
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trancelike state, a billowing fog that drew me ever closer to its dark center …
Then one afternoon the brightness stood right before me, blinding me. … I broke
through the fog. (Nunez 241)
In the shift that takes place, Sara moves through the liminal state, counters what she has carried
into college from home with the coping mechanisms she has developed as a result of her ongoing
struggles with the Institution. The Institution that represents colonial power and the oppressive
forces that she has battled all her life. Exposing the traumas serve as Nunez’s “submerged plot,”
the constant presence of whiteness that Sara must rebel against. In this “epiphanic moment” she
uses “brightness” as a way to break free from what has hindered her—both from home and in
college—to find a peaceful existence. Sara is transformed by her college experience and the
result of this ongoing formation is a hybrid identity.
Growing up in Trinidad, Sara lived among Trinidadians. In her newly enlightened post-
adolescent state, she must confront the racist realities of living in the U.S. While she had some
awareness of colorism while living in Trinidad, and the priest with blue eyes offers some caste or
class awareness, this notion of race is relatively new for her. A social construct developed in the
U.S. to separate people by the color of their skin and country of origin, race serves to reinforce
socioeconomic power dynamics and is used to justify the disenfranchisement of people of color.
When the news reports on “two Negro bodies” (249) that were found dead in Alabama, she
repeats the phrase “two Negro bodies” several times, realizing how these men have been
dehumanized by reporters calling them “bodies” instead of men or people. Sara understands that
framing them this way allows white people in the U.S. to avoid feeling any guilt about the
murders. The report further dismisses the dead men’s humanity by denying their connection to
Civil Rights activism. Sara is enraged because she realizes the accumulation of injustice is her
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problem too. However, she has the privilege of remaining safe in Oshkosh, where the only non-
white faces are hers and the other two students from the Caribbean. Nunez includes this
“submerged plot” of resistance, a counternarrative that informs Sara’s post-adolescent
development as a racialized and gendered person. Sara’s self-formation, therefore, “unravels” as
she confronts the societal Institutions that reinforce colonial power structures.
While Sara is confronting racism in the U.S., Courtney reminds her about Obeah and
their connection to the spirit world to use as a tool for finding justice. At first, Sara resists, thinks
leaving these aspects of her cultural ways in the past is best. Later, however, Sara embraces how
Courtney’s “words filled my ears: Love yourself. Open yourself to the spirit. Know yourself.
Now I felt an urgency to remember to know, to understand, to love a past that had terrified the
child in me … The darkness surrounded me, penetrated my senses, and entered my every pore. I
must face the truth” (283). This truth forces Sara deep into memories of loss and pain. She
allows her body and mind to be taken over by those memories so she can be engulfed by the sea
gods. Sara embraces her cultural history, harnesses her ancestral trauma, and is transformed on a
spirit journey that leads her out of the darkness she has feared for so long. Throughout Sara’s
realizations, Nunez repeatedly contrasts the silence with the truth and the lies, juxtaposing the
abstract concepts with the landscapes of Sara’s past and present. She learns to accept these
contradictions. It is the only way that she can reconcile with her developing hybrid identity.
The ongoing tension she has experienced with the Institution, her peers, and the political
climate that disenfranchises Black people in the U.S. all contribute to her self-formation. Beyond
the Limbo Silence culminates with Sara Edgehill confronting her past until it merges with her
present, a resolution that deviates from the linear Bildungsroman commonly seen in traditional
male-centered narratives.
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Ghosts of El Grullo
Like Sara Edgehill, Yolanda Sahagún is haunted by the past. After Yolanda’s mother dies, the
ghosts from her mother’s homeland in El Grullo, Mexico are even more influential on Yolanda’s
development as a college student as much, if not more than, the actual educational experience.
As a result, her self-formation happens in brief spurts, moments from home and within the
Institution that she must merge to form her hybrid identity. As the action unfolds in Santana’s
surface plot, we witness the influence of social conventions; however, Yolanda’s home life
continuously emerges below that surface and causes Yolanda’s rebellion, unraveling the linear
trajectory of the traditional Bildungsroman.
At the beginning of her second year in college, Yolanda allows her sorrow and
resentment to consume her after her mother’s brief battle with cancer ends. She shares:
Our mother died in my season of melancholy and introspection, that season of
dried palm fronds and pepper tree branches randomly scattered on the streets
after the Santa Ana desert winds had announced their presence, the backcountry
fires filling the sky with smoke and flakes of ash. And I hated her for dying at
that time of year, at the time of her life and mine. I hated her with the same
intensity and passion that I loved her. … I hated her and I loved her. And
because Mamá had left me with questions that would haunt me and tease me and
torment me into winter and spring and summer, only to return autumn after
autumn with deeper melancholy and anguish. My every season would be shaded
with questions about this woman who left us, after all, in the season of the
pomegranate, the fig, and the quince. (Santana108)
Yolanda feels abandoned and turns inward to find meaning in the painful loss. Nunez compares
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Yolanda’s internal tension to the natural elements that cause the destruction of the earth. These
forces are inevitable and reinforce the “disjunction” that is an ongoing part of Yolanda’s post-
adolescent development. Nunez also repeats “hated” three times alongside the word “loved”
twice to further reveal how deeply Yolanda’s individual self is impacted by the changes in the
home and cultural community. In the pages surrounding the quoted passage above, the
pomegranate, fig, and quince—symbols of woman-ness and fertility—appear four times.
Yolanda’s introspection reveals her passion for femininity, the hybrid influence of her mother
and what she’s learning in college about feminism.
After Yolanda’s mother dies, Yolanda continues to be a college student, but commutes
from home where she and one older sister take care of two younger sisters. This change in
environment alters Yolanda’s academic trajectory, her self-formation is unduly influenced by her
familial and financial responsibilities. Returning home, Yolanda is physically surrounded by her
mother’s past. Consequently, Yolanda longs for a relationship with her Tias in El Grullo,
Mexico. However, even when traveling to Mexico, Yolanda maintains her scholarly demeanor.
She remains focused on her goals: “I was preparing myself for an academic career in British
literature, planning on participating in the education abroad program in England where I would
probably live indefinitely” (Santana 164). Yolanda has clearly internalized what academia
considers the superior English and sees her success as one aligned with that British culture. It
could also be argued that at times, Yolanda’s scholarly focus reflects her desire for a life as
different from her own as possible, one in which the barrio where she grew up could never
encroach on her reality. So while she embraces and appreciates many aspects of her Chicana
culture, she also believes there are benefits of distancing herself from it—further evidence that
her selfhood is “clashing” and “unstable” (Fraiman 12). She develops an understanding of the
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homeland and its ghosts differently, through the lens of academia.
Fortunately, Yolanda has the living guidance of “forever friend” Lydia. When Yolanda is
devastated by their father selling their childhood home where she and her three sisters still live
without him, Lydia convinces Yolanda to apply to graduate school at UCLA. She can make the
choice of attending later, but she has to at least apply. Lydia insists, “It’s time to move on … to
bigger and better things” (Santana 264). Despite the cliché, Lydia’s advice motivates Yolanda: “I
was euphoric, excited as hell. … and then I thought about what I was leaving behind, and
suddenly my euphoria flattened out, made a quick dash for the door” (Santana 264). Yolanda’s
growth as a woman within her family and through her university education provides her the
necessary tools to establish her independence the way her mother had predicted. Lydia joins
Yolanda and her three sisters in forging a new path. Their relationship is rooted in their cultural
community and grows as they develop throughout their post-adolescent journey. They defy
traditional expectations, which is only possible because of the feminist movement.
Empowered and enlightened by the societal changes around her, Yolanda reflects on her
future. She realizes, “even as I tried to recount in a linear, chronological way the turn of events in
my life, I knew that my whole life would unfold before me in this way: a going forward and
backward. Like the tide during full moons and new moons, the rhythms of my life would reflect
my own longing, my own journey” (Santana 131; my emphasis). Nunez offers this meta-
moment, a commentary on the way the ethnic feminist Bildung deviates from the traditional
expectations of form. She exposes the contradiction between naïve expectations and the reality of
post-adolescent development in college. Yolanda’s experience, like the experiences of Sara
Edgehill and Lizet Ramirez, illustrates Feng’s fragmentation and Ilmonen’s re/membering, that
discursive journey that relies on myriad influences in order for the character’s hybrid identity to
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be fully developed.

Make Your Home Among Strangers
Crucet uses a fluid blending of time—like Nunez and Santana do—so that the home/past informs
the college/present, but she also uses a frame device to begin and end with Lizet’s academic
achievements. This retrospective narrative structure frames Lizet’s tumultuous college years with
hope and positivity. Unlike the previous two novels, this one begins and ends when Lizet has
finished her undergraduate degree at Rawlings and is working in her chosen field. In chapter one,
Lizet revisits “the city I used to call home.” With a nostalgic tone, she thinks about “just ten
years ago” and “just before I left for college” (1) as she regales co-workers with stories about
falling in contaminated water near the neighborhood where she grew up. She goes on about years
later when she is a lab manager and connects back to her childhood trauma. This experience
reveals Lizet’s resilience, an expected cultural characteristic. The telling (and exaggerating) of
stories part of the oral tradition that continues today. It’s how we know and preserve our cultural
history.
In the middle, Crucet weaves seamlessly in and out of time and place, structuring the
novel like a patchwork quilt—pieces of the past and present alongside each other, sewn together
with threads of memory. Together, these fragments allow a previously unheard voice to offer an
alternative to dominant college narratives. During Lizet’s first year—the narrative present in
1999—Crucet reveals ongoing cultural tension and occasionally employs the future tense when
Lizet reflects on the times she didn’t know a particular communication technique (67) or class-
specific terminology (68), when she hesitated to share news with her family (284), regretted pre-
judging her sister (321), or needed to assuage her guilt (345). The verb tense emphasizes the
discursive journey, revealing the ongoing influence of past on the present. Like Nunez’s use of
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conditional verbs, which served as a way for Sara to access advice when making difficult
choices, Crucet’s verbs position Lizet in a space where she can reflect on her own growth.
Lizet’s academic experience is interrupted by familial struggles she wants no part of yet
cannot completely remove herself from and cultural expectations that she resists, eventually
rebels against. Lizet chooses to defy her sister and mother and takes a summer internship at a
California biology lab. Her father is the only one who offers some semblance of support: “You
could’ve stayed here for school. Are you doing the harder thing? Yeah. Maybe you can think
that’s better even if we don’t. … You’re learning something, we’ll see what it is. We’ll see
where it takes you, right? It’ll take you somewhere” (378). While Lizet’s father does not agree
with her decision, he still facilitates her pursuit of the dream physically and financially. He
acknowledges that she has to take risks to achieve her goals. But as Lizet’s plane departs for
California, she realizes, “we both kept at what we were doing, our attempts at saying something
never understood, until the distance between us made it impossible to know when the other gave
up” (380). Accepting this flawed relationship is part of Lizet’s self-formation. She realizes in this
moment of departure that she has to forge a life separate from the people she loves while still
retaining some of her cultural values. Lizet realizes her actions have consequences and in turn
makes more effort to rebuild her relationship with her mother and sister. Through that letter
writing—because long distance phone calls were too expensive then—she reconciles with them
and with her past self.
The final chapter of Crucet’s novel returns to adult Lizet, now doing a post-doctoral
fellowship, whose work might take her to Cuba to study the coral reefs, a trip she knows her
parents would not approve of. She states, “My dad would talk about being a little disappointed in
me, about the unfairness of me being able to travel to a country he can’t enter … my mother
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would bring out familiar words—betrayal, loyalty, traitor—words that have come to define our
relationship no matter how much time passes but whose sting has faded and turned into
something I can manage” (385). The themes of “disappointment” and “betrayal” resurface, the
criticism from Lizet’s family during her initial separation from her home and cultural
community. Lizet’s coping mechanism is to withhold the truth from her parents even if it makes
her sad and lonely. She fully understands now that they may continue to disapprove of her
choices and may never fully understand her accomplishments. Maybe Lizet feels like in order to
achieve, she has had to leave her family behind, further evidence that for young women of color,
post-adolescent development is an ongoing negotiation with family and cultural community.
The final scene is Lizet voting for the first time in an election wrought with controversy,
a metaphor for her life: “I wish I’d known, as I pushed through one choice over the other, how
little it mattered which side I ended up betraying, how much it would hurt either way” (388).
Crucet employs a nostalgic tone laced with cultural criticism to emphasize the constant
compromises required on the post-adolescent journey in college.

Embracing the Hybrid Space
Most college novels are primarily situated on the college campus and reflect the post-adolescent
development that occurs there. Unlike stories from the dominant perspective, the novels by
Nunez, Santana, and Crucet document a hybrid experience, one that weaves the home space with
the college space as the fictional characters negotiate their self-formation. These novels reflect
“the marginalized experience …[and] problematize the institutions and ideologies that shape all
of our lives” (Stone-Mediatore 2). Nunez, Santana, and Crucet confront the complications
students of color face in college. They offer strategies for resisting dominant culture and
rebelling against oppressive cultural traditions to create a hybrid identity. Feng suggests that
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women of color create the Bildungs that “are resonating voices from the social margin. The
‘subject’ of their narratives is by no means unitary; the ‘form’ of these narratives, in
correspondence to the dispersed subject., is oftentimes fragmentary. …[and] offers even more
focused insights of ‘experience’ in its delineation of a problematic reconstitution of racial and
personal identity and those conscious negotiations of her multiple positionalities” (Feng 29). As
a scholar, my goal is to bring these marginalized voices into the center and examine how
literature by women of color can deepen our understanding of experiences previously
represented primarily by white male voices.
With a nuanced use of narrative time and first-person point of view, Nunez, Santana, and
Crucet illuminate the “multiple positionalities” of their protagonists. They reveal various
strategies for negotiating within the home space and the college space to merge two vastly
different worlds into an enlightened post-adolescent identity.
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CONCLUSION: Story Sharing in the College Classroom
What we see in these novels is what the editors of The Voyage In refer to as “deferred
maturation” (Abel et al. 11). The protagonists’ self-formation continues in the somewhat
controlled environment of college instead of in an adult workplace which is more common in the
traditional male-centered Bildungsroman or within the confines of marriage like we see in some
feminist Bildungsroman. The post-adolescent development pattern relies on “epiphanic
moments” (Abel et al. 11) as the protagonists negotiate with both the home space and the
college space in the process of embracing their hybrid identity. This kind of negotiation can be
familiar to many first-generation students like me. Some struggle to converse with family and
friends in the home space like Lizet Ramirez. Her sister Leidy ridiculing her for the way she
talks. The negotiation is also a challenge for Yolanda Sahagún who uses what she learned in the
college space to stand up to her father’s archaic traditions. Sara Edgehill grapples with cultural
traditions even though she never returns to Trinidad; her conflicts are internal and manifest in the
opposing forces of Courtney who resists the dominant culture and Angela who advocates for
assimilation. All three of the protagonists offer strategies for coping with obstacles and facing
frustrations in both the college and the home space.
In the class I created based on my dissertation research we read and discuss novels
written by and about women of color that disrupt the white/European androcentric expectations
of the college experience. The class includes reading the three novels discussed in this
dissertation, a fourth novel set at MIT in the early 2000s by Gloria Chao titled American Panda,
as well as an opportunity for students to complete some independent research about an additional
college novel from a list I provide. These novels can now be considered part of a global tradition
of Bildungsroman, stories of formation and development from an ethnic feminist perspective.
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With this critical lens, students analyze how fictional characters develop a sense of identity in a
new, sometimes hostile, environment and explore how the novel contributes to conversations
about identity, diversity, and equality. Students also consider narrative patterns that are
characteristic of the Bildungsroman and the college novel and the ways in which the selected
authors are challenging those traditions.
In all the classes I teach—college, high school, and in the community—it has been
effective for writers to begin with an experience from their time of formative development, in the
place where they felt rooted. Consequently, they can be empowered to tell their own stories. One
of the assignments from my class does exactly that—invites students to share their college
experience. Through storytelling students can contribute to the growing literary tradition of the
College novel. More stories by women of color, reflecting their intersectional experiences in
post-adolescence need to be available for adolescent readers. These representations can empower
future generations and serve as instruments of social change. These stories are essential reading
for students who have previously been othered. For decades, scholars have advocated for the
inclusion of literature that reflects the reader’s identity, stating that it contributes to higher self-
esteem. Personal connections like that are what made me a stronger reader. As a high school
teacher, I saw firsthand how it impacted reluctant readers, students who had not performed
successfully in their previous English classes. We have the power to change the lives of students
and the responsibility to do so.
As an educator, I turn to the work of Traci P. Baxley and Genyne Henry Boston (2014)
who look closely at ways that educators can avoid harming students of color with problematic
portrayals of ethnicity in literature. They argue that “pedagogy can either reinforce the status quo
or challenge existing social structures” (3). My overarching goal is to empower students. One
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way to do that is by creating a supportive learning community, which can only happen if we
know each other. Therefore, it is imperative to select texts that reflect the diverse identities of the
students. While Baxley and Boston studied how young adult literature “encourages students to
engage in complex conversations, explore similarities, embrace, differences, and create spaces
for asking questions“ (4). I argue that these are also vital actions that educators must facilitate for
post-adolescent readers with texts set on the college campus. By examining how Nunez, Santana,
and Crucet situate their protagonist within the historical context and the kind of impact the world
around them has on their identity, we offer students the opportunity to reflect on how their world
impacts their lives as well.
Like Amy Cummins and Myra Infante-Sheridan (2018) who address the impact of the
feminist Bildungsroman on readers in their examination of Chicana Young Adult literature,
Nunez, Santana, and Crucet showcase “empowered protagonists who navigate efficaciously the
border, lands of multiple identities, cultures, and languages. The text function as mirrors for
readers to see themselves and as windows and doors to other people’s experiences“ (36). As
educators our goal should be to create inclusive, learning communities, where a variety of
experiences are represented. I contend that the Bildung usually studied in adolescent literature is
also relevant to young women characters exploring their identity away from the confines of
home. This research and the course I created from it are merely starting points. There needs to be
representation of varied abilities, sexualities, and gender identities in college novels.
Furthermore, Cummins and Infante-Sheridan’s research concludes that many college students
never saw themselves depicted in assigned literature. Instead of perpetuating hegemonic
practices of marginalization, educators can use their position is socially responsible leaders to
shape and inclusive milieu where, together with students, we address economic inequities and
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ways to promote justice.
Claiming Our Space is one way to start. Other courses featuring queer writers, differently
abled writers, and writers from across the globe can offer students opportunities to build their
social awareness. It is our responsibility to guide them through the process of learning about
diverse cultures and experiences by making a broader range of texts available to them.

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as Symbolic Form.” The Way of the World: The Bildungsroman in European Culture.
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APPENDIX

SO FAR FROM HOME

by
Tisha Marie Reichle-Aguilera

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Los Angeles University - Minority Summer Program 1990
Leti looks around the crowded cafeteria. Students bump past her, trays filled with gray
meatloaf and slimy spinach. They jostle her juice. Her backpack slips down her arm, unbalances
her food. Gravy meets jello. She’s not eating dessert now.
Throughout the cafeteria, students have segregated themselves. Black students by the
drink station, Asian students near the patio, and whites, who must not be here for Minority
Summer Program like she is, gather at the entrance. Only the students in athletic gear, across the
room against the windows, cross cultural lines. She wanders toward girls with the same long,
straight, black hair as her cousin, Graciela.
A student from her floor, Jocelyn, waves. “Leticia, sit with us.”
Leti sits and spills food off her plastic tray.
Jocelyn puts Leti’s backpack in the corner with the others. “Damn, girl! What’s in here?”
“My books,” Leti mumbles.
“All of them?”
Leti nods. “I didn’t know.”
Jocelyn smiles and straightens her two long braids. “Carmen’s telling me about her
English class.”
Carmen wears an embroidered shirt and necklace of wooden beads. “The professor was a
total racist,” Carmen says in a deep, raspy voice.
“What did he say?” Jocelyn asks in a softer voice.
“Look at this reading list!” She slaps a piece of paper on the table. “Faulkner, Fitzgerald,
Hemingway, Melville, and London. All dead white guys.”
It’s the syllabus from the American Literature class Leti endured after remedial math. She
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waits to hear more about the problem, which until now, she didn’t know existed.
“He’s sexist too.” Jocelyn pushes stray hair behind her ear.
“If we had our own department,” Carmen says, “we could hire people who understand
our literature.” She stomps her tan work boots on the concrete floor for emphasis.
Women’s department? Leti wonders. Isn’t there already one of those?
“But if our goal is to be competitive with mainstream society,” Jocelyn argues, “don’t we
have to know about all literature?”
Carmen frowns. “Shouldn’t mainstream society consider us part of all literature?”
Their intellectual debate is interrupted by the hooting and hollering of guys in university
gear on the other side of the cafeteria. One of them turns up the volume on a portable stereo.
Leti recognizes him from her math class. His LAU Football shirt stretched tight across
his chest brought back memories of her dad yelling at the television to “Sack the quarterback!”
or “First Down!” as he cheered the Cowboys to victory. Leti was in junior high and he had bet
her college savings on the Cowboys to beat the Rams in the playoffs. He’d promised to pay it
back, and now he can’t.
Graciela walks toward the boys wearing a short skirt Leti has never seen before, and
they’ve been sharing clothes most of their lives. Graciela’s steps coincide with electronic beats
and lyrics repeating “More Bounce.” The cafeteria floor is her personal stage.
Graciela looks at Leti, raises her eyebrows, and takes a seat next to the stereo.
The girls around Leti mutter “slut” and “sin vergüenza” in Graciela’s direction.
Leti doesn’t defend her cousin like she had done in high school. Instead, she fills her
mouth with the gritty chewiness of garlic bread, so she can’t say anything.
Carmen and Jocelyn stare at her.
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“What?” She chokes on her bread.
“I asked, what’s your major?” Jocelyn repeats.
Leti takes a long sip of soda to clear out the lump of guilt. “Business with a minor in
Spanish.” Like my cousin, she thinks, but doesn’t share. “I’ll probably change to Psychology
because of those test results.” They all took an aptitude and interest inventory before entering
Minority Summer Program. She stabs her lasagna. “I’m not sure what I’d do with it though.” But
she no longer has the family bar in Hatch to run, so studying business seems pointless.
“What you wanna do,” Carmen says, “is come with us tomorrow night to the Chicano
Studies meeting.”
“The what?” Leti’s face squinches up in confusion.
In high school, Graciela had elbowed it off her.
“Chicano Studies meeting. Tomorrow.” Carmen adds, “My sister is third year and they’re
trying to get the program organized into its own department.” She leans closer to Leti and
squints. “Wait a minute. Eres Chicana?”
Leti leans back, afraid to answer. “What’d you think I was?”
Jocelyn speaks up first. “I said you were Jewish. Curly hair, light eyes, and your nose.
Jewish or half Black.”
Carmen chimes in. “I said Aztec nose, not Jewish.”
More than anything, Leti wants to get up, sashay across the floor like her cousin, and
vanish from the cultural inspection squad. Her green eyes, like her Irish dad’s, didn’t match the
Spanish her mom and Tia Irene taught her. Her disarrayed curls have always been a nuisance.
Across the room, Graciela flips her long, straight, black hair over her shoulder and
laughs, stretches out her long, golden-brown legs in front of the table. She catches Leti watching,
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winks, and shifts her attention fully to the guys at her table.
Leti swallows hard before she responds to Carmen. “Sure, I’m Hispanic too.”
Carmen gasps loud enough to turn a few nearby heads despite the music. “We. Don’t.
Use. That. Word.” Carmen says. “Where are you from?”
“Hatch,” Leti answers so only Jocelyn hears.
“New Mexico.” Jocelyn nods. “They call themselves Hispanic there. She didn’t know.”
“She’ll learn,” Carmen says, “if she comes tomorrow.”
They look at Leti like she’s a biology specimen. She feels more like an outsider than she
did in high school. At least then, her cousin was with her.
Now, Graciela perches on the edge of the table where one guy talks to her exposed
cleavage and another admires her knee, probably hoping to see what’s covered by her skirt. She
won’t have trouble with college.
“Excuse me.” Leti gets up to bus her tray. Her appetite is gone.
When she returns to the table, Jocelyn and Carmen are gone too. Her backpack sits alone.
~~~
On the lawn outside the dorms, Graciela watches blonde girls expose themselves to the
sun. They’re probably the daughters of models or movie stars. Their laughter and chatter float by
on a burst of a breeze. Her own skin is naturally bronzed, so she adjusts her new sunglasses and
sits under a tree, alone. In high school, she was never alone. But Los Angeles is not Hatch. She
takes deep breaths to calm her anxious heartbeat. She examines the shiny strands of her long
black hair. There must be a way to lighten it.
She looks toward the pale girls again, imitates their relaxed posture and fakes a smile to
match theirs. Back home, she was the one others watched and imitated. She rubs tropical-scented
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oil on her arms and legs, her thick, black arm hair becomes shiny and unruly. She should lighten
it, too, or shave it all off. She inhales deeply and imagines herself at the beach. The crashing
waves and sandy shores are the perfect location to film her first movie. She left New Mexico to
pursue her dream of becoming a Hollywood filmmaker. Even if no one here knows her yet, at
least she’s not stuck in the back of her family’s restaurant with her mother all day, peeling
roasted chiles and stuffing them with cheese.
Other Los Angeles University students scurry by, head toward their classes. One pauses
in front of her, disrupts her view. “Don’t you have calculus now?” her cousin Leti asks, half
cheery and half exhausted. Her hair is a mess. The moisture here, a few miles from the beach,
has frizzed her curls out. “I’m going to American Lit. We can walk together.”
Graciela waves her off. “I switched into an earlier section of that class. I’m done for the
day.” She lies, not ready to be studious. “Easy stuff. You know me and math.” Because of her
placement test scores, she’s enrolled in a class no other students in the Minority Summer
Program are taking. “I’ll see you back at the dorm later.”
“Great, prima.” Leti disappears into the mob of other backpack-clad people. She’s going
to struggle here, but when her family fell apart, she followed Graciela to Los Angeles.
Leaning back against the tree trunk, Graciela resumes her beach front fantasy. She
imagines walking along the shoreline filming a couple’s first romantic moment. No more silly
novelas in Uncle Patrick’s dimly-lit bar.
Pink paper interrupts her daydream. An enthusiastic voice asks, “Want a flyer? It’s for
sorority rush.”
Graciela looks up but doesn’t reach for the paper.
The other student pushes it closer to her face. “We have an information meeting
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tomorrow night.” She shakes the flyer a little.
Graciela snatches it out of her hand and admires the cute graphics and puffy letters,
clearly made on someone’s fancy computer. She has only seen sororities in movies. White girls
in designer clothes and sexy lingerie who live together in a fancy house with spacious bedrooms.
Not like the dorm room she shares with Leti right now. It’s half the size of her bedroom in
Hatch, with less than half the closet space.
“We have service activities and bonding events. And,” she lowers her voice to a whisper,
“we have the best parties.” Her squeal of delight pierces a nerve in Graciela’s eardrums. “I’m
Bethany.” She claps and her grin expands across her face.
Graciela narrows her eyes suspiciously, but all Bethany can see is Graciela’s smile. She
folds the flyer and puts it into her purse.
“Bethany? I’m Gracie.” She avoids the Spanish version of herself.
“See you tomorrow!” Bethany turns away to share her enthusiasm with the girls tanning a
few yards away on the grassy hill.
Graciela vaguely recalls something in the college brochures about sororities and
fraternities. But a Minority Summer Program counselor criticized them, said they are over-
priced. Maybe Bethany is a chance for Graciela to connect with people who can connect her to
movie people.
~~~
“I met someone.” Graciela tells Leti. She poses in front of the full-length mirror on her
closet door, admires her latest purchase: a hot pink lace bra and underwear. “Her name is Tiffany
and we’re rushing a sorority together.”
“Sounds nice,” Leti mumbles, head bent over her thick red math book.
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“We’re going to be roommates in the fall. In the suites at the top of the hill.”
“We can do whatever you want.”
Graciela turns around, hands on hips, “Leti, you aren’t listening to me. I am moving into
a much more expensive room in the fall.”
Leti looks up, makes her annoying confused face. “What happened to your hair?”
Graciela touches a few strands. “Highlights.” The dryness of the lighter strands unsettles
her fingertips. “You are talking shit about hair?”
Leti raises her eyebrows. “Mine is a natural disaster. You probably paid someone a lot of
money to fuck yours up.”
Graciela trades the hot pink lace for black but frowns at her reflection. This one will be
returned. “The suites are much bigger than this.” She waves her arms around, almost touching
the opposite closet door. “I wish my breasts were bigger.”
“What?”
“I won’t have to share a bathroom with all these people.” Graciela waves at the doorway
and trades the black for a third option.
“How expensive?”
Graciela knows Leti can’t afford it, even if her parents were around. “Bethany said it’s
important to live with girls who can help me get into a sorority.”
“Bethany? I thought your new roommate’s name was Tiffany? Bethany. Tiffany. Are you
gonna be Graciely?”
“Gracie.”
“I was kidding. But you are seriously loca.” Leti returns her attention to her math book.
“Not just any sorority.” Graciela sits on the bed, close to Leti’s desk and softens her
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voice. “The best sorority.” She touches Leti’s arm. “It’s important for my career.”
Leti blinks a few times. “What career? We came here together for a reason.” She points at
the open math book with both hands. “Or did they bleach your brain at the salon too?”
“It’s not like we won’t see each other. Maybe we can take a class together.” She looks
down at the remedial math book. “And I can still tutor you.”
Leti shifts her body away from Graciela and doesn’t look up from her attempt to study.
Graciela takes off the third, lavender bra and underwear, uncertain of its fate, and slips
into an old nightgown. New pajamas are next on her shopping list. Something sexy, just in case.
“I have a date tomorrow.”
Leti looks up, math still tortures her face.
“Derek’s from Palo Alto. And he’s in a frat.”
Leti opens and closes her mouth like a hungry baby bird. No sound comes out.
Annoyed by Leti’s silence, Graciela snaps her fingers in her prima’s face. “He’s much
cuter than those guys in Hatch.”
Leti sighs and closes her math book. “Derek? How’d you meet him?”
“At a fraternity party. We sort of danced, sort of talked.” Out loud, he doesn’t sound so
special. “He drives a Mustang. And he got me a fake ID.”
Leti stares at it. “You don’t look like a Linda Meek. Or 22.” She hands it back. “He the
reason you bought lacy chonies?”
Graciela leans on Leti’s shoulder, like they had done in high school—shared boy trouble,
stayed up all night on the patio lounge chairs, and wished on falling stars.
“You’re really gonna move in with snotty white girls?”
“They aren’t all snotty.”
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“But all white?”
Graciela thinks for a minute, not recalling any other Latinas at the sorority information
meeting. “Some Asian. And Bethany who invited me seems cool.”
“If you say so.”
Graciela thinks about how much the dues are and knows inviting her cousin to join with
her isn’t an option. “You going to study more?”
Leti punches the cover of her math book. “Not sure it will do any good.”
Graciela gets up and opens it. “Show me what you don’t understand.”
~~~
Leti rushes across the campus at dusk. She grips a campus map in one hand and the flyer
for Ladies Night in the other. She walks into a random building and is greeted by two guys.
“See Yiska, they do let whitey into our world.”
Leti balks in the doorway and looks down at her light-brown arm. “I’m Hispanic.” She
waits for their reaction, not in the mood for another rejection.
“Ay Mami! Mañana otra cosa,” he says, which makes no sense under the circumstances.
The guy called Yiska stands up from the computer station. He’s almost a foot taller than
Leti, wears a blue and gold warm-up suit with the university logo, like the guys Graciela had
danced for in the cafeteria, and smells like Ivory soap. “Ignore Marv,” he says. “Southern folks
think not Black is white.” Yiska is a darker shade of brown than Leti, except for a pale scar along
his jaw. “You here to use the computers?” Yiska points to a nearby unoccupied terminal.
She feels the moon-shaped mark twitch under her eye. “I’m looking for this.” She hands
him the flyer, her sweaty handprint still visible. “My advisor suggested—” He doesn’t need to
know her whole life.
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His eyes are black, and his long straight lashes look like they might get in his way when
he blinks. “Marv, is this where the girls went?”
He has a girlfriend. His smile wasn’t flirtation, it was ridicule. Leti touches her stray
curls, crunchy with gel but still refuse to stay flat against her head.
“Lemmee see.” Marv snatches the flyer and smooths it out. “Why yes, it is.” He walks
toward Leti like he’s holding a secret. “My girlfriend, Talia, had this flyer at dinner. Follow me.”
Leti looks at Yiska, not sure it’s a good idea.
“He’s totally harmless.” Yiska winks at Leti and returns to his computer.
Across the courtyard, the campus eatery with a partially enclosed patio is crowded with
female students. Marv, who is only a few inches taller than Leti, tiptoes and yells, “Talia!”
Conversations pause at the masculine interjection. A tiny girl approaches, giggling. “I
thought I was hearing things until Yanaha saw you.” She pecks Marv on the mouth and looks at
Leti with her pucker frozen on her face. “Who is this?”
“Hi!” Leti says louder and deeper than normal. She steps away from Marv and sticks out
her hand. “I’m Leticia. I was lost. Your boyfriend and his teammate helped me.” She thanks
Marv and wanders inside.
Talia catches up to Leti and puts a hand on her elbow. “Girl, you walk so fast. You on
track too?”
“No. I’m here for MSP.”
“So am I!” Talia guides Leti to the farthest table where another girl sits. “This is Yanaha.
She’s here for gymnastics.”
Yanaha has the same face as Yiska. Same black eyes and long straight lashes, same lean
muscular body, but slightly shorter. Sister. Not girlfriend.
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She pours a glass of water for Leti. “Talia finish about you and Marv.” Her voice has the
same rhythm as her brother’s, but the end sounds of each sentence are more abrupt.
“I was sayin’ we had to get out of Texas. Southern Methodist only offered partial
scholarships. Our parents can’t help us, so we followed the money to California.”
Yanaha asks, “Where are you from, Leti?”
“Hatch, New Mexico.” She pictures her dad’s burnt bar and the empty kitchen where she
found her mom’s goodbye letter. “My parents can’t help me either.”
“We were practically neighbors,” Yanaha says. “Brother and I grew up in Poston,
Arizona.” Her smile turns to a scowl. “I’m glad to be gone. Yiska wants to go back after we
graduate. Try to fix things.”
“Their town was the site of a Japanese Internment camp.” Talia drinks the last of her
water. “Some things can’t be fixed.”
“History can’t be erased.”
Leti thinks about her own family history. “At least he has a place to go back to.”
Talia’s eyebrows go up and she looks at Yanaha.
Leti doesn’t offer any more details.
Yanaha asks, “Are you on scholarship too?”
“Partial.”
A stranger approaches the table with information about the women’s health clinic on
campus. Another hands them flyers about volunteering at a domestic violence shelter. On the
table, there’s a copy of Third Wave, the university’s feminist newspaper.
Leti traces the symbol on the cover. “Where I’m from,” she says, “feminism is a bad
word.” Like Hispanic is to some people here.
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“Why?” Talia asks. “Women should have equal opportunities. Should we be stuck at
home being wife and mother if we don’t want to?”
Leti thinks about her own mother. Who abandons her daughter right before high school
graduation? If she was done being wife and mother, why didn’t she say something?
“African-American women might be mothers and wives,” Talia says, “but they’re still
running the show. Historically, we’re a matriarchal culture.”
“So are Native tribes,” Yanaha adds. “The anthropology program here emphasizes those
traditions, which is why I came here instead of Arizona State.”
Talia says, “We could collaborate on our projects. My research focuses on the
commonalities among women in oppressed cultures.”
“You already know what you want to research?” Leti puts her forehead on the edge of the
table and lets her hands hang down toward the ground, as if she could magically pluck a topic up
from the dirty cement. “I don’t even want to keep the major I declared.”
Talia pats Leti’s back. “My scholarship is from the Western Civilization Intercollegiate
Studies Institute. They helped me figure out my research topic.”
Talia’s hand reminds Leti of her mom’s, patting and rubbing while she offered consejos
for Leti’s school troubles or broken heart.
Yanaha elbows Leti lightly in the ribs. “I’m not exactly sure what my focus is either.”
“Well it’s fortunate my boyfriend and your brother introduced us all. Things happen for a
reason,” Talia says.
“Like Leti walking into the wrong building,” Yanaha says.
Leti sits up from the table and reaches out her hand to meet theirs.
~~~
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Graciela’s calculus final was much easier than her history one. She doesn’t care who
signed which document a hundred years ago. But numbers make sense. She’s sure a film class
will be even more interesting, so she’s finally meeting with her academic advisor who has left
multiple messages with the dorm’s front desk.
Dolores’s office is in the basement of what must be the campus’s oldest building. She
must not be important. The once-white walls are gray. In some spots, the yellow light is a pitiful
imitation of sunshine.
“The elusive Graciela Morales Gonzalez! You decide to show up for counseling. How
thoughtful of you. I was about to take my lunch break. But since I brought my sandwich today,”
Dolores pulls a baggie and a can from the fridge in the corner, “you can tell me all your problems
while I enjoy my salami and cheese on rye. With jalapeños.”
The stench makes Graciela gag, but she doesn’t want to come back down to the bowels of
this building another time.
“It’s Gracie. And I’ve been busy.”
“Busy? How odd. The rest of us sit around all day doing nothing.” She laughs, deep and
bold, holds her belly, which is large enough to cover a small child. But she’s too old to be
pregnant.
Graciela isn’t sure if she should sit down. “In your last message, you said there was an
urgent family matter.”
Dolores wipes her tears, turns around to a file box, and pulls out Graciela’s folder.
“Where’d you get that?” Graciela points at the photo of her darker-haired self.
“You sent it with your application. Sit!” Dolores barks like an angry dog. “Your mother
called me, worried about you because you haven’t returned any of her calls. She has my
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sympathy. Normally, I tell parents to stay out of it. But I was curious, so I looked at your
academic files.” She points to the contents of her open folder. “You don’t belong here.” Each
word is emphasized with a harsh point to the desktop. Dolores lowers her volume and leans
forward. “Minority Summer Program is for students in need. According to your grades and
financial aid forms, you don’t have needs. At least not the kind we address here.”
“My father paid a lot of money for me and my cousin to start college early.” Tears form
in the back of Graciela’s throat. “If you had to work in the hot kitchen all summer, you’d
understand. My brothers got to be out front wearing nice suits and greet customers or take orders.
But I had to help my mother roasting chiles and peeling chiles and stuffing those god damn
chiles for hours every day until I thought I was going to become a chile.” Her eyes water like
they had done when kitchen smells and heat burned them beyond sadness.
Dolores pushes the tissue box across her desk, but her facial expression doesn’t change.
Graciela refuses the offer. “My parents’ money should not prevent me from being here
with my cousin. Leti needs me for emotional and academic support.”
Dolores takes a swig of soda. “Your cousin is fine. She uses the tutoring services, goes to
class, and has even been to Ladies Night among other summer socials.”
“How in the hell do you know—”
“You, on the other hand, are not doing any of those things.” Dolores sits back in her chair
and sucks on her teeth, probably looking for more food. She places a sheet of blue paper on the
desk with three versions of a fall schedule. All include a film class.
How did she know what Graciela was coming for? Bruja!
“While you peruse my offerings, I’ll also add the Spanish class you need to take.”
“Spanish?” Graciela wrinkles her nose.
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“Leti is taking it, too. You can study together.”
Graciela points at the schedule with History of the Motion Picture. It seems more
interesting than documentaries and television shows.
“You’ll also be taking American History again in the fall.”
Graciela takes a deep breath and asks, “Isn’t there is an easier one? Or at least one that’s
less boring?”
“You have to actually attend class to know it’s boring.” Dolores laughs again and a few
chunks of sandwich escape before she can cover her mouth with a napkin. “It also makes it easier
to pass if you pay attention. Take some notes. We offer tutoring down the hall.”
Graciela slides her chair back and away from Dolores’s flying food. “I don’t need
tutoring! Why is my failure so funny to you? Shouldn’t you counsel me so I feel better?” In
Spanish, Dolores means pain. Right now, she’s a pain in Graciela’s ass. “Has anyone ever told
you you’re terrible at this job?”
“Lots of people.” Dolores drinks her Fresca and clears her throat. “But we aren’t here to
talk about me. That’s what I pay my shrink too much money for.”
Graciela braces herself for more laughter, but Dolores is serious.
Her volume increases. “So, you have a choice. Go to class and show us you’re serious
about being a university student, or I’ll call your mother and tell her to make this,” she slides an
envelope across the table, “a one-way ticket back to Hitch at the end of the fall semester.”
Graciela doesn’t correct her. “Why did my mother send my ticket to you?”
“You didn’t call her back with an address. She was afraid it would be lost in the mail.”
What other fears did her mother share with Dolores?
“And in case you weren’t paying attention at the last pajama party, sororities don’t accept
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students who are on academic probation. Neither does the film school.”

Graciela returns to the dorms frustrated and angry. “Can you believe that shit, Leti?
Dolores is the world’s worst counselor. Do they make coffee mugs that say that? Because I’d
buy her one.”
“Did she say anything about me?” Leti asks.
Graciela glares. “Yes, you’re perfect.” She throws both shoes into the closet and the
bang-bang makes Leti flinch. “Dolores,” Graciela says like the letters hurt her mouth, “has been
monitoring our progress. And she’s been talking to my mother.”
“Did she say anything about me going back to Hatch?”
Graciela opens the envelope she’d clutched like a relay baton all the way back up the hill.
Only one ticket. “Sorry, prima.” She sits next to Leti on her bed.
Leti shakes her head and forces a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll probably have a job by then.”
Graciela says nothing but hugs her cousin while she cries.
~~~
The bright California sky, partially hidden by tall buildings, is a dim reminder of the New
Mexico desert where Leti and Graciela grew up. When they arrived at Los Angeles University
for the Minority Summer Program, Leti was grateful to be more than 750 miles away from her
dad and sort of understood why her mom moved back to Mexico. But she misses them now. And
she has no home to return to.
The uphill climb to the dorms feels steeper than usual, and Leti almost stops walking
altogether until a voice nudges her from behind.
“Need some help?”
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She looks up at Yiska’s scarred jaw and smiles. He slows his pace to walk beside her, and
she extends her stride to keep up with him.
“Leti? Want to?”
Shaking the fuzzy out of her brain, she replies, “Sorry, I was at the library the last three
hours finishing my paper. Took forever. And I’m starving. Want to what?”
He smiles, eyes brighter in the sun than they were in the artificial light of the lab.
“Wanna go to the barbecue at Hilltop. It’s for student athletes and guests. I’m guessing
yes, since you haven’t eaten. Better than cafeteria food.”
Her squinchy face is involuntary. Why would he take her as a guest?
“Talia and my sister will be there. Don’t have to sit by me unless you want to.”
Leti’s stomach gurgles its response.
“There’s my answer.”
She follows Yiska without talking, doesn’t know what to say.
They approach the lawn where hundreds of student athletes try to be heard over the bass.
“U-N-I-T-Y” blares from giant speakers. A woman raps about not being a bitch or a ho.
Yiska shows the guy at the entrance his ID. “She’s my guest.”
Marv and a wide, white boy with spiky, red hair greet them at the gate with high fives.
“We’re gonna make y’all plates.” Marv jerks his thumb at Leti. “Talia’s over there.”
Leti takes Yiska’s backpack. It weighs half what hers does. Maybe the track team gets
copies of the tests ahead of time like the football guys in her math class did. Why didn’t she
make friends with them?
She wanders around the grassy space where people have spread out blankets and low
beach chairs. Every person from the school’s sports teams has on identifying apparel.
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She finally spots Talia at an oversized, wooden picnic table. Talia laughs and chats with
four girls Leti doesn’t recognize. They all wear the same shiny sweat suits Yiska and Marv have.
No Yanaha. Maybe gymnastics has their own section or something. Talia wears a gold tank top
and sandals with her denim skirt. Leti looks down at her ragged cut-off shorts and wrinkled T-
shirt. Her wardrobe makes her more self-conscious than her hair. She reaches up to smooth her
curls and the backpacks weigh heavier.
This is a moment she dreads. Graciela knows how to enter a group with confidence. Leti
pretends to be her. “Hey girl,” she says too loud.
“Hey!” Talia gets up and hugs Leti. “Yiska found you?”
One girl stands up. “My cue to go. And I’m starving.” Two other girls follow her.
Leti watches them before she turns back to Talia and her remaining friend. “Did I say
something wrong?” She hesitates to sit in the vacated space.
“It’s not your fault,” the friend says, her bob of woven strands alternate black and golden
umber, held out of her face with a bright blue headband. “That one has been trying to get Yiska’s
attention at practice all summer. I told her not to waste her time. Don’t worry. We might be
teammates, but we aren’t friends. Sit down.” She gestures at the space next to her.
Leti looks at Talia for assurance.
“I’m so rude. This is Keysha, also on the track team. She’s a jumper.”
“Long, triple, sometime high hurdles if they need me.” She stretches out her legs. “These
are my meal ticket.”
“Leti’s gonna be my roommate in fall.”
Leti groans. “I still need to see a financial aid counselor.”
Talia pats Leti on the arm. “I can help you find more scholarships too.”
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Leti has no idea how she’s going to pay for anything in the upcoming year.
The guys return with everyone’s plates and waste no time digging in.
While the big one has his mouth full, Keysha says, “Good! Red’s eating so he can’t sing
his trashy songs anymore.” She looks past Leti, hazel eyes fiery. “Hope you listened to the
Queen: ‘I’ll bring the wrath. Punch you dead in your eye.’”
Red opens his soda and drinks about half before replying, “They’re just songs, Keesh.
They don’t mean anything. Guys sing those stupid songs like— Like girls do whatever it is y’all
do when you drink together.”
Keysha puts down her forkful of food. “First of all, don’t think all girls drinking together
looks like one of your sick sorority fantasies. Not all of us are like those white girls.” She’s
heated. “Second, those fraternity songs are degrading and disrespectful. Especially the one about
the Mexican whore. Leti, back me up.”
Leti swallows her potato wedge without chewing enough so it’s stuck in her throat. All
she can do is nod and reach for soda to save her from an embarrassing answer. She has no idea
what Keysha is talking about. She manages an enthusiastic, “Mm hmm!” Gives Keysha the
impression she supports her rage.
“We dance,” Marv says. “We don’t degrade women like those fraternity jerks.” He
winks at Talia who smiles and puts a greasy kiss on his cheek.
“Hey, I’m not a jerk,” Red protests. Half-chewed burger explodes out of his mouth.
“You’re a pig!” Keysha shoves him away from her before standing up. “That’s why no
one wants to kick it with you.” She storms off, leaves her plate. Without shame, Red slides it
over and eats her leftovers too.
Marv licks the barbecue sauce off his fingers and says, “That is one crazy Black woman.
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You ask me, Red, you’re better off without her.”
“Marvin!” Talia scolds in her mom voice.
Swallowing three potato wedges almost whole, Marv grins, lifts his chin, and says, “I
only speak the truth.”
Before Leti can say anything stupid, she bites into her burger and lets its juicy
deliciousness erase the discomfort lingering after Keysha’s departure.
Yiska finishes eating first and asks, “Leti, you plan classes for fall quarter yet?”
Leti pauses with a spoonful of baked beans mid-air. “I was waiting for my advisor to call
me in.” Frantic, she looks at Talia for some insight. “Did you?”
Talia’s sparkly gold-tipped fingers rest lightly on Leti’s other hand. “No worries. They
get a sneak peek because of track. You haven’t missed anything. I have an appointment with my
advisor next week.”
Leti exhales and plops her spoonful of now cold beans onto her plate.
Yiska offers a sweet grin of apology. “Didn’t mean to stress you out, Leti, but there’s a
cool Oceanography class in spring, maybe we can all take it together.”
Marv’s turn to drop a utensil on the plate. “Yiska! Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“Marvin!” Talia reprimands again.
“No! Crazy man over here thinks a practically clear dude, two Black people and – what
are you again?” he asks Leti, not waiting for an answer. “Should take an outdoor adventure class
around salt water and marine life. Seriously, Yiska? You think I wanna be ashy? And you,” he
waves in Talia’s direction, “don’t want your freshly-pressed hair to frizz up and out. Poof!” He
holds his hands away from his head indicating the size Talia’s hair would be.
Red giggles. “I’d get so sun burned.”
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Marv squints at Leti’s slicked-back hair, kinky at its sweaty edges. “I don’t know what
would happen to that. Are you Creole? Puerto Rican?”
Talia says, “She’s Hispanic.”
“Oh, yeah.” Marv says, likely remembering the computer lab conversation.
“Mom’s family is from Mexico,” Leti explains. “Dad’s a big, goofy, white guy.”
“Hey!” Red cheers.
Yiska asks, “So you down to cut open starfish and explore tide pools?”
Leti nods.
“Me too!” Talia squeezes Leti’s arm. “I’ll wear a hat at the beach and have a hair
appointment the next day. We’ll be so California.”
Red shakes his head, sweat flies around him. “Not me. Yiska didn’t tell you ladies
Oceanography class meets Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Crazy! No Friday classes for me.”
“Why?” Leti asks.
“He needs recovery time after partying with the Caucasians,” Marv says.
“The what?”
Red explains, “He means the fraternity keg parties on Thursdays. You should come.”
“Really?” Leti isn’t sure what fraternity parties look like in real life. She pictures the
grainy television images, blurry groups of people who remind her of the idiots leaving her dad’s
bar, only younger. Kegs she knows. She has all her life.
Talia says, “Don’t worry. I’m sure we won’t miss anything from what I’ve heard.”
Thinking about Keysha’s tirade, what they’d miss didn’t sound so great.
~~~
Graciela struggles to haul her two giant suitcases off the carousel at El Paso International
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Airport. The heat outside blows in every time someone exits baggage claim ahead of her. By the
time she maneuvers all her luggage into the same area, her hair sticks to her bare arms and the
middle of her back.
“Preciosa!” her older brother Jorge strolls in, unbothered by the dense air and
excruciating temperature. He hugs her, smells like turpentine. “What the hell did you do to your
hair?” He tugs at a few strands like she is still six and wearing trenzas.
Graciela glares at him. “My eyeballs are sweating.”
“Where’s Leti?”
“At school. Uncle Patrick’s still in jail, and she hasn’t heard from Tia Martina.”
“Why didn’t my mom send her a ticket too?”
Graciela shrugs. “But we have to sneak in her house and box up some of her stuff. She
gave me a list.” Graciela waves toward her purse. “Can you take me there tomorrow?”
“Tonight, after the restaurant closes. I’ll call the homies to help. They’ll bring beer.”
The homies means Jorge’s high school friends, who adore Graciela, so she agrees.
“This all the luggage you got?” Jorge gestures to her pile of belongings. “It better be or
you’re walking to Hatch so the bags can fit.” He grabs the heavy bag and a smaller one.
Graciela drags the rest and follows him out the airport. The blast of hot air hits her and
sucks out her breath. If she had to walk a block, she’d die.
In the truck, Graciela reaches over to Jorge’s right hand, inspects his fingernails. “Why
does a business man have paint under his nails?”
He smells his own fingertips. “I scrubbed at least five times.” He smiles. “They’re
stained.” Jorge had defied their father’s orders to study business at UTEP and eventually open
the first Casa Gonzalez in Texas. He wants to paint.
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“I’m taking a film class fall semester.” Graciela confides in Jorge, knows he’d never
betray her. Out the truck window, Graciela watches the plain brown landscape pass by. She lifts
her sticky thighs off the worn leather seats. “Can the air conditioner blast any cooler?”
“You gonna buy more freon? My dad finds out you aren’t a business major, he’ll stop
funding your education too.” Jorge sits up taller, proud he’s been making it on his own.
“Okay, starving artist. I know my mother slips you cash.”
He scowls at her. He navigates the I-10 onramp, and they drive in silence for a while.
“I’m still a business major,” Graciela thinks about the Introduction to Economics she has
to take in fall. “I have to be accepted to the film program first.”
“How were your summer school classes?”
“Hoping to be on the plane back to Los Angeles before those grades are mailed home.”
“Maybe they’ll get lost in the mail.”
They both laugh at their mother’s worries as they transition to I-25. The sun no longer
beats into Graciela’s window, so she takes a nap, dreams of cool ocean breezes, and Derek as the
star of her new movie.

“We’re almost home, hermana.” Jorge yawns and exits the freeway onto Highway 26.
Graciela looks across the Rio Grande to their distant village. “More people live on
campus at Los Angeles University than in this whole town.” The dried grassy banks of the river
are still. They exit Hall Street. A lone yucca stands guard at the path toward their parents’ house.
Graciela changes into a red flared skirt she’s had since junior high. It’s a little shorter
now, so she puts on flat sandals. Her white blouse hugs her small breasts a little tighter than it
did in high school. She loves her reflection in the full-length mirror. She puts on ruby earrings
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and lifts her hair so Jorge can connect the clasp of her ruby pendant necklace. She spins around.
“Am I front of the house ready?”
“Beautiful as always.
They enter Casa Gonzalez through the kitchen to see their mother first. She hugs Graciela
long and hard and almost takes what’s left of her breath. “But this hair?” she asks in Spanish
with an upward nod. Not approving but not completely dismissive either.
“Tengo hambre, Amá.” The aroma of roasting chiles comforts instead of repulses her like
its memory the past three months.
“Hermosa!” her father yells his childhood endearment from across the room. “Your white
shirt is going to get dirty in the kitchen,” he says before he even hugs her. Jorge offers to help
their mother. Their father laughs at him for wanting to be where women belong. “But I should
not be surprised. You are an artist.” He mocks Jorge with a wave of his limp wrist. “I can handle
customers. You both help your mother.”

Graciela’s white blouse is permanently stained with burnt chile, her skirt spotted with
cheese grease. She hurries Jorge out the restaurant to the store for beer on their way to Leti’s
house. They have packed one box when Jorge’s best friend shows up with burgers from Sparky’s
and two twelve-packs of Corona. While they eat, another friend shows up with tequila, and
Graciela can’t refuse his shot offers.
She wakes up in Leti’s bed, three empty boxes at her feet. The sun is barely a glow
behind the Caballo Mountains. She packs a second box, but her face throbs in protest, so she
returns to the bed for a more sleep.
Her oldest brother, Eduardo, storms through the front door like the police do in movies.
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“Are you crazy?” he hisses. “Mi madre is worried sick. She woke up in the middle of the night
and you weren’t home, so she called me. What the hell have you been doing? You smell!”
Graciela sits up and gestures around her. “Packing Leti’s stuff.”
He grabs her by the arm, drags her outside, and shoves her into his car.
“But I have to finish packing.”
“After brunch. This time I’ll supervise.”
“Happy to see you too, Eddie.” Graciela scowls at him.
Eduardo sighs heavily and looks out the window instead of at the road. “Dad’s sick,
Graciela. We have to open the restaurant today.”
Graciela barely hears him, tries not to throw up because he’s driving fast on the rutted
road. “He looked fine last night.” She recalls her father’s smug face watching her, her mother,
and Jorge sweat in the kitchen.
“Use the back bathroom,” Eduardo whispers. “We don’t want to wake him up.”
Under the scattered spray, Graciela rinses out her mouth and lets the cool water reduce
the night’s effects. She dreads another day in the kitchen.
~~~
Leti waits in the financial aid office. It shouldn’t feel like the principal’s office in high
school, but she is in trouble. She hasn’t found a summer job. If she can’t come up with her half
of the dorm room deposit by the end of the week, Talia will have to find another roommate.
“Leti,” the smiley assistant interrupts her worries. “Mrs. Carrillo will see you now.”
Mrs. Carrillo looks like Leti’s first grade teacher. She’s round and dark, and her hair is a
curly mess too.
Leti sits across from her, trying to appear respectable.
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“I’ve reviewed your application.” Mrs. Carrillo pushes a pile of papers across the table,
but her dimpled hand holds on to the edge. “Do you have any additional information?”
Leti doesn’t want to have this conversation. She looks past Mrs. Carrillo at the diplomas
on the wall, and hears herself say, “My dad sent a letter. He’s been convicted of arson, so there’s
no insurance money. The bank foreclosed on the house.” She stops because the words dry out her
throat. She takes a deep breath and continues. “Nothing from my mom since she moved back to
Guanajuato.” Leti’s insides heat up. “She didn’t give me a forwarding address or phone
number.” She can barely whisper, tries to keep her throat closed and the resentment stuck inside.
“Good.” Mrs. Carrillo’s lemony breath reaches across her desk.
Good? Leti reveals her disastrous life and this woman says, ‘Good’? Is she heartless? Not
able to respond, Leti’s tense face locks into place.
“Good,” she repeats, “because I’ll have no problem giving you these funds. They are my
emergency reserve for homeless or undocumented students. Since your minority scholarship
covers half of your tuition, we’ll pay the other part with this scholarship for first-generation
college-bound women. It’s new.” She places her chubby finger on the bottom line. “Sign here.”
Leti obeys without reading the paper, but lunch still squirms in her gut.
“You need to send the Organization of Feminist Scholars a thank you letter. They
selected you to receive their money based on the essay you wrote in your application.”
Leti thinks about the essay, written almost a year ago in high school English. If it’s
earning her money, maybe writing stories could be her new major.
“This package,” Mrs. Carrillo continues, “also includes a work study job so you can buy
books and food.”
Leti signs another form and fills in her social security number.
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“Finally, there is a special loan I was able to get for you, since your parents are not
available to take one out on your behalf, so you can pay for housing. This is the only part you
have to pay back.”
“When?” Leti chokes out, not sure how much a work study job pays.
Mrs. Carrillo chuckles. “Not until you graduate. Don’t worry.”
Leti signs quickly so Mrs. Carrillo can’t take any of the money back.
Then she says, “This arrangement is only for one year. You have to maintain a 3.0 GPA,
or I can’t renew any of it. Not even the scholarship you came to us with.”
Leti panics. “Does summer program count?”
“Not yet. But if you didn’t do well, your grades in fall and spring semester will have to
make up for it. We’ll look at your overall GPA in May to determine your eligibility for renewal.”
A little pressure is lifted. “Is that it?”
“Not quite.” She hands Leti a business card for Dr. Teresa Alas. “You have mandatory
counseling once a week first semester. If Dr. Alas says you’re doing better, then once a month.”
“But I don’t have,” Leti starts to say, “problems,” and realizes her life is pretty shitty
now. “Gracias, Mrs. Carrillo. I won’t forget this.”
“How can you? You’ll be here at eight Monday morning to train for your new job.” She
laughs with her mouth wide open like a cartoon villain. But it isn’t evil. It says welcome to the
family.

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Fall Semester 1990

Graciela watches her roommate, Tiffany, decide what to wear. She stands in the middle
of the room, her breasts and carefully groomed area exposed. They confront Graciela with their
redness.
“Did you hear about Stephanie?” Tiffany is so pale. Her auburn hair and bright pink
nipples are like neon lights.
Warnings or invitations? Graciela isn’t sure.
“Her boyfriend has been cheating on her!”
Stephanie has been with her boyfriend for three years. She and her high school friend
share the other bedroom of the suite. They’re also preparing for sorority rush. Stephanie is a
legacy. She doesn’t have to worry about being selected.
“She says he’s always been a jerk,” Graciela says. “I thought they broke up last week.”
“So did I!” Tiffany plops her naked ass on the edge of Graciela’s bed. Gross! “But Steph
says they’re on a break, giving each other some space for school not for other people.”
Graciela raises her eyebrows. “Did he know that?”
“Apparently not!” Tiffany whacks the bed for emphasis. “I told her to dump Derek
anyway. He’s an ass and never treats her right. He was probably fucking someone else while
they were still together.” She gets up and hops over to her closet.
Graciela hopes Tiffany can’t see redness creep into her face. There’s a chance
Stephanie’s Derek is not the same fraternity guy Graciela has been messing around with. The
stereo feels too loud, her tongue too thick. “If he’s such an ass, why does she care?” She stands
and stretches, tries to appear unconcerned.
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“Because,” Tiffany turns around with a purple skirt in front of her, “he’s her boyfriend.”
Like that’s all that matters. “And he’s fucking loaded! I’d hang on to him too.”
Graciela nods. Not about hanging on, but about the loaded part. Derek had promised her
gifts, complimented her exotic looks and fiery attitude. She had been flattered and responded
with some equally cliché compliments about his resemblance to Don Johnson. He had laughed
and said he could see a future with her. Spoken like a true asshole.
Tiffany prances around and tries on shoes, wearing only her skirt. She recounts Derek’s
sins and fortunately doesn’t mention Graciela as one of them.
Tired of looking at Tiffany’s breasts, Graciela grabs her books and heads for class.
When she calls Derek later, not from her own room, what should she say?
~~~
Leti enters the enormous auditorium. She’s grateful to see an empty seat in the third row
next to Keysha. Her hair is pulled back in the same blue headband and she looks less angry than
when she had confronted Red about the fraternity songs. “What’s up with you and Yiska?”
Leti leans back, confused. “Nothing’s up. I haven’t seen him since the barbecue. Why?”
Before Keysha can respond, Professor Omari greets the Introduction to Sociology class
with a deep, booming voice. It carries over the lecture hall without a microphone and silences
everyone. Keysha half-sighs, half-groans, and pretends to faint. Leti nods with her mouth half-
open. Her heart beats faster.
The guy behind them leans forward. “Me too,” he says in a soft voice, his semi-curly hair
shaved on the sides and flat on top. It resembles Kid ‘n’ Play but bleached bright orange. “That is
one fine-ass man.”
Professor Omari walks up and down the aisles, talks about the individual and people’s
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role in society. Leti listens intently. When he says field research, she imagines an actual field and
running through it holding his hand until everyone else groans out loud.
He laughs over their protests. “You’d rather be stuck in the library reading statistics and
longitudinal studies written by some geezers older than I am?” he asks.
Some brave souls yell, “No!”
Leti looks at Keysha, panicked. “What did he say?”
She points at her syllabus. “Research–” She stops because Professor resumes his lecture.
Leti tries to pay attention to what he says, not how he sounds saying it.
“Sociology is about how people organize themselves into groups, the way we form
relationships and communities. It’s looking at the problems that exist and how we solve them or
attempt to solve them. Some sociologists specialize in the elderly, others in adolescents; some
focus on criminals or family dynamics.”
A class where Leti can examine her totally screwed up family. Is there a chapter in the
textbook about parents abandoning their adult child? Introduction to Psychology was full, so her
academic advisor told her this class would cover similar topics. Maybe she’ll learn something.
“You can also look at a specific ethnic group or any number of specialty populations, the
homeless, indigenous cultures, mixed-race children, or a specific socioeconomic class.”
Professor Omari mentions some on campus possibilities for field research, and the picture in
Leti’s head is no longer romantic. Other students ask questions about volunteer work they’re
already doing, so Leti frantically takes notes, tries to steal some ideas.
Keysha looks over Leti’s shoulder, sips her protein shake, and murmurs her approval.
The guy behind them leans forward again and whispers, “Are you folks ethnic?”
Keysha looks at Leti then at him and says, “What you think?”
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“If you’re interested, I’m doing my field research with the Ethnic Publications, student-
run magazines published twice a semester. Go there.” He hands them a flyer. “Ask for Stefán.”
Keysha writes the info on her notebook and hands the flyer to Leti. “I’ll lose it.”
Leti asks Keysha, “How’d you know all that stuff about fraternity songs?”
“Where I grew up, everybody heard. And they talked shit when I said I was coming down
here anyway.” She stretches her legs out in the aisle, admiring them. “Not gonna let a group of
white boys ruin my scholarship.”
Talia said Marv told her, Keysha is one of the top jumpers in the state. Might even get to
the next Olympics.
Professor Omari finishes answering questions about field research, reviews the rest of the
syllabus, and ends with a short lecture about sociological imagination. After a few minutes,
Leti’s mind drifts and she imagines Professor Omari is her real dad. Maybe she’d be smarter,
struggle less in school. She wouldn’t have the moon-shaped scar on her cheek. She’d definitely
not be receiving a homeless orphan scholarship right now.
~~~
Surrounded by conversations about Scorcese and Zemekis, names Graciela recognizes
from movies she’s watched, she feels like she’s finally experiencing the Los Angeles she left
home for. People around her talk about studio internships, unfamiliar technical terms, awards
she’s never heard about and Graciela feels inadequate, grateful she left the tapes of her silly
home movies on the floor of her closet at home. The guy on her left shares with the girl behind
him, “John Hughes and Cameron Crowe were at the fundraiser I helped organize at Children’s.
They’re totally impressed I’m here.” Graciela’s in awe for a second then realizes he isn’t in the
program either. If he didn’t get in, how will she? She wants to escape, but in the middle of the
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second row, she’s trapped.
The professor walks in, clears his throat a few times, and shifts the books and folders
under his arm. He’s young, wearing jeans and a faded black T-shirt with a hole in one armpit,
visible when he raises his hand above his head for silence. In the quiet auditorium, he sits at the
edge of the stage and stares at the class for a full minute. His pale blue eyes remind her of Uncle
Patrick’s. She recognizes him. Not a professor. A graduate student. He led a tour of the
production rooms during the information meeting for potential film majors. She didn’t pay much
attention to him then, preoccupied by the display of camera equipment. Compared to their
simplest device, hers is an artifact from more than a decade ago. How embarrassing if she’d
brought it to Los Angeles.
“So, you want to make movies?” grad student dude asks.
A murmur of “Yes” and “Yeah” and “Of course,” even a “Duh?”
He narrows his eyes. “Who doesn’t? In this town, about one in a hundred gets a shot at
making a Hollywood film.” He rustles through his papers. “Fewer actually succeed.”
The murmuring around Graciela changes, not as pleasant as before. One person mutters,
“Bullshit!” Another says, “Damn!”
Graciela sits up straighter to pay closer attention.
He ignores their protests. “Your career begins with a little film history.”
There are more moans and groans. “How boring.” and “This beginning sucks.”
He extends a pile of packets to a girl in the first row. “In your syllabus,” he says, “you’ll
find weekly readings and response requirements. Each class we’ll screen a film or part of one
and you’ll connect what we watch to a concept in the reading.” He pulls down the screen behind
him and flips a switch. “We will attempt discussion after each film, but if I see too many people
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avoiding participation, I’ll break you into smaller groups and you’ll have to come to class for an
additional hour.”
More groans. More complaints.
Graciela turns around and looks up the massive auditorium. It isn’t full but there are too
many people to all talk about the film together. And they aren’t even officially in the program
yet. Only about 10-15 people are admitted each year, and there are five or six times that many in
this room. Graciela needs to prepare questions for discussion or something smart to say.
Above the professor’s head, a gray square appears on the screen and the projector
crackles from the back of the room.
The guy on Graciela’s left mumbles, “I hate black and white movies.” He, too, wears a
black T-shirt. Earlier, when he had bragged about his celebrity associations, he sat up all proud.
Now he slumps in his seat. Not so impressive anymore.
In front of Graciela, a few others look annoyed. All black-clad torsos. Her shirt is hot
pink. Why didn’t anyone tell her there’s a uniform for film class?
She must be the only person who recently moved to Los Angeles. She’ll have to work
harder than the rest of them. She can. It’s what she did to get out of high school, out of Hatch.
She looks at the smug instructor still sitting on the edge of the stage staring at the class. She
makes eye contact and holds it. She will be the one in a hundred.
During Life of an American Fireman, a film Graciela had never seen, never even heard
of, she makes a few notes. Slumpy dude next to her doesn’t even pay attention. There’s no
talking, only music and movements that seem exaggerated, as if it’s playing in fast forward.
After five minutes, someone sings, but Graciela can’t understand what he says. The film is only
six minutes and after it ends, there are more mumbled comments. Graciela’s glad she’s not the
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only one confused.
“Write your 300-word response and bring it to the next class. You’ll read them out loud.”
There’s a collective gasp.
He grins, stands, and waves goodbye.
Graciela is stunned. She looks around, hopes someone will offer to help her. But she
can’t ask. She’s never had to before. Students file out of the auditorium more concerned with
grabbing an early lunch than with completing the assignment. She follows them toward the
nearest eatery, wants to appear like she belongs.
~~~
Leti waits outside Dr. Alas’s office for the first time and has no idea what she’s supposed
to talk about. She rubs her scar and thinks about her dad’s letter.
Dr. Alas calls her into the sanctuary, which seems so out of place at the university.
Lavender candles sit on the windowsill and rainforest sounds play quietly in the background. She
takes Leti’s vital signs. “I believe in the mind-body connection,” she says.
Leti becomes more skeptical about therapy.
“Leticia, your stress level seems quite high. Want to tell me why?”
Leti tries to explain about her dad’s apology letter and her mom’s goodbye letter, but her
tongue doesn’t cooperate. Dr. Alas waits patiently while Leti drains the last few swigs of her
soda. “My mom used to call me Daddy’s little girl, because of all the time I spent with him at the
bar. So much of my childhood was spent taking care of his drunk ass.” Leti shows Dr. Alas his
latest letter. “I feel responsible even though it’s not my fault.” Before she can stop them, tears
pour out. “I loved him so much, and he betrayed us. When he was drunk, he hit my mom. Aren’t
men supposed to protect their family?” The last words are barely audible. Leti chokes, glad she
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isn’t on the couch, because even sitting up, it’s difficult to catch her breath.
Dr. Alas sets a box of tissue closer to Leti. “And your mom?”
“Another letter.” Leti gets up to throw away the soggy tissues. “That’s why I’m here,
right? Instead of parents, I have mail.”
Without looking at the second letter, Dr. Alas asks, “And the rest of your family?”
“I have a cousin, the one I followed here so she could make movies. She used to be like a
sister to me, but since we arrived, she seems more worried about her roommates and some stupid
sorority. She won’t be much help now.”
“Yet you stayed here. Knowing your family can’t or won’t support you. Why?”
Leti stands up again. “Where am I supposed to go?” She walks toward the scent of
lavender, inhales deeply, and returns to her chair. “At least here I have friends. Thanks to Mrs.
Carrillo, I have money to pay for my dorm and food. In Hatch, I have nothing.” Leti leans
forward to hold her hot eyes with her cool palms. “I’m sure the real reason my mom left Hatch
without me was because she thought I’d take his side.”
Dr. Alas advises Leti to write her parents back. “Even if you don’t send the letters,” she
says, “it will help you confront them and deal with your feelings.
Leti hates having feelings.
~~~
Graciela enters the language lab to meet Leti for a study session. She watches other
students engrossed in conversation. A bright fluorescent light illuminates two girls in tight pink
sorority t-shirts, the edge of their sleeves blending into their pale skin. Their honey-colored hair
shines like Graciela wishes hers could. One tosses her head back and laughs. Graciela imagines
her as Farrah Fawcett, the Breck shampoo girl. Graciela inspects her own strands, some still
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black, others faded reddish-brown, only some lightened the way she wants.
“Thanks for sending the boxes.” Leti interrupts Graciela’s hair obsession.
She turns around to hug her cousin. “Jorge helped. Eduardo too.”
“I figured. One had a pair of Jorge’s dirty socks in it.”
“At least that’s all you found.” Graciela follows Leti to their reserved carousel. “We had
to let off some steam after peeling and stuffing chiles. Jorge’s friends came over to your house
with beer. And shots. They weren’t much help.”
Leti looks back at Graciela, her eyes damp and mouth turned down. “Sounds like fun.”
“Not really. I don’t remember much after we ate Sparky’s. Until Eddie came to drag me
out of your bed. He made me wash all your bedding, so that was clean when I packed it.”
Leti sits and opens her backpack. “I’ll send your brothers thank you notes.” She gazes up
at the dingy white ceiling. “Maybe that can be my language practice project.”
“Your what?” Graciela’s turn to be the confused cousin.
Leti shows her the syllabus. “We have to demonstrate real life use of language.”
“I don’t think my brothers are fluent outside the restaurant.” She takes out her brand-new
textbook. “I could write my mother, I guess.”
“That’s what my shrink said.” Leti sighs and moves the empty chair closer to her so her
backpack is still reachable. “She said writing letters to my parents would help me process my
feelings.” Leti rolls her eyes and pulls out a worn, used copy of the same book.
Graciela puts her hand on her cousin’s shoulder gently but doesn’t know what to say.
“Our first test is in three weeks. I have a statistics test the same day.” Leti squints at her
calendar. “And a paper due in advanced comp the next day.” She glares at Graciela. “We can’t
waste any more time.”
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Graciela hurriedly takes out her own notebook.
~~~
The Academic Support Center is loud when Leti and Talia arrive.
“I can’t see over all these people.” Talia stands at the entrance, stews for a second, then
grabs a nearby chair to stand on. “There they are.” She waves.
Who they? Leti thought she and Talia were going to work on the advanced composition
paper due next week, not socialize with other students. What if they were meeting Marv and
Yiska? Talia would’ve made Leti fix her hair first. It is a mess because the fog rolled in tonight.
And Talia cares about such things.
“Hola, Leticia.” Jocelyn sits next to Yanaha wearing a bright orange shirt with an
elaborately embroidered design. It reminds Leti of work her mom does for the boutique in Las
Cruces. Did. She’s not near Cruces anymore. What’s she doing now?
“You already know each other?” Yanaha asks.
Leti tenses, waits for Jocelyn to mention her un-Chicana-ness.
“We lived on the same floor in MSP.” She smiles at Leti, two long, dark-brown braids
frame her slightly lighter brown face.
Yanaha’s hair flows around her like a veil and shampoo wafts about them all.
“We have to study for this week’s anthropology quiz,” Talia explains to Leti. “Then I can
work on our paper.”
Leti nods. “I have to finish the last reading anyway.” She leans down to get books out of
her backpack. Jocelyn leans over at the same time, and they almost bump heads.
Jocelyn puts up a hand in apology and there’s dried paint under her fingernails. “Spent
the last four hours in the studio.” She picks at a large green spot on her arm. “Some of it dried
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before I could scrub it off.”
Leti inhales, a faint hint of turpentine still lingers.
“I’ll probably smell like this through dinner.”
“My cousin, Jorge, is an artist.”
“He go here?”
“His sister does. We have Spanish together. He’s at UTEP. He does some sculpting, some
pen and ink, but mostly painting.” She thinks about the carefully wrapped 8x10 of her house with
the Caballo Mountains and Rio Grande in the background Jorge sent with her boxed up things.
“It looks like a photograph,” she says quietly. It’s still in the box.
“Mostly I make a mess. My idea is to create a series of women at work, but it’s not going
the way I want.”
“Don’t let her lie to you,” Yanaha interjects. “She pretends her work isn’t great then
when you see it, you’ll gush with praise. It’s her way.”
“I don’t do that anymore.” Jocelyn blushes a little. “We went to high school together. I
was a little more needy back then.”
“She was my spotter.”
Jocelyn flexes her muscles. “She convinced me to come here instead of staying in
Arizona, but I only got a partial scholarship.”
“Stop by financial aid in the morning. Mrs. Carrillo can look at your application.” Leti
smiles proudly. “I wouldn’t have been able to stay if she hadn’t helped me.” Leti wants to keep
talking about art and scholarships so the conversation doesn’t shift to Leti not being brown
enough. She wants to keep feeling cozy and warm in her new university familia.
~~~
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Graciela waits at the curb in front of Leti’s dorm with her sunglasses on, hoping no one
recognizes her. Derek honks and she hurries out the door. At least three girls give her the jealous
eye when she slides into his black Mustang. Since he and Stephanie broke up, for good this time
she said, there can’t be any harm in going out with him one more time. But she has him meet her
far away from the suites to avoid any confrontations with people who might know Stephanie.
He drives down Sunset Blvd. too fast and the mansions are barely visible on each side.
“I hear a lot of celebrities live around here.”
He reaches over to stroke Graciela’s thigh. “We’ll see some at dinner tonight.”
But they didn’t. At the Roxy, they didn’t see anyone who didn’t smell like beer or smoke.
And Derek ignored Graciela most of the night. He hugged up with girls in black dresses and too
much eyeliner. Their hair wasn’t sleek and shiny. It looked like it had never seen a brush.
“You here by yourself?” one of the bartenders asks Graciela. And she isn’t sure how to
answer. If she says no and he asks where her boyfriend is, can she point to Derek? Not while he
is deep in the neck of the next band’s drummer.
“With friends,” she lies and walks away with her fruity cocktail.
At least Derek doesn’t leave her there like she’d heard he did Stephanie once.
They get back to his apartment in Brentwood and he convinces Graciela to strip for him.
He puts on music and pours himself another drink.
Down to only her pink lace bra and panties, Graciela removes Derek’s clothes. Once he’s
naked, he picks her up and throws her on the bed. Her buzz is gone, so she insists on a condom.
And she daydreams. At first, she worries about tomorrow’s calculus test. Then she thinks about
Leti and her struggles with math. She should offer to tutor her cousin like she did in high school.
Graciela bends over, across Derek’s bed face down. She sees his work clothes thrown on
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top of a pile in the corner. Not a nice way to treat a designer suit. In the pile, pink lace, lighter
than hers and at least two cup sizes bigger, catches her attention. Her own lace-covered breasts
barely jiggle as Derek grunts on top of her. When he finally moans into the back of her neck, she
relaxes flat on her stomach. Her knees hurt.
~~~
Leti and Keysha walk into the old, brick building where the Ethnic Publications and
numerous other student organizations reside. “We should be able to find Stefán easily. He’s
probably taller than everyone in the room.”
“Only because of his hair.” Keysha stands up straighter and adjusts the camera around
her neck. “My writing’s not so good, but I take decent photos.”
In the office, one wall is decorated with framed covers of La Raza, the Chicana/o,
Latina/o and Native American newsmagazine; X, the African-American newsmagazine; and
Ohana, the Asian/Pacific Islander newsmagazine. People gather at a small, round table in one
corner where covers of the newest publications, Third Wave and Pride are also framed.
Keysha whispers, “Are they really playing this old Janet Jackson in here?” She seems
kind of irritated but sings along under her breath and dances a little. The swish-swish of her blue
and gold track pants causes a few heads to turn.
Leti doesn’t recognize the song. The only radio station in Hatch played old rock and roll
and went out of service after blasting “America the Beautiful” at 10pm. They walk past a large
conference table in the middle of the room, littered with photos and art and layout pages like the
ones Leti had used for her high school yearbook. A few staff members hover over them,
discussing arrangement intently.
Keysha spots Stefán at the chalkboard where he writes an agenda. He nods at the student
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who pins scraps of paper and images from The City Times on the adjacent bulletin board.
Leti works hard not to stare at his hair, but then she’s forced to look either at his sparkly
gray-blue eyes or his giant adam’s apple.
Stefán finally sees them and walks over with hugs. Leti tries to hug back but she’s at an
awkward angle and pushes away instead.
“Not a hugger?” He smiles at her. “You will be.”
Keysha looks at him like he said eat liver and stops him before he touches her. “Which
magazine do you work for?”
He looks at her like she asked what their school colors are and opens his buttoned shirt to
reveal the T-shirt underneath. It says Gay Pride in giant block letters.
Leti thinks about her Irish dad, Mexican mom, and mostly Catholic community. She
knows what they’d say about Stefán. But she has realized her parents were wrong about a lot.
“Well, I’m not gay,” Keysha says, “so I’d like to work with the other Black folks.”
Stefán laughs. “I didn’t assume you were.” He looks at Leti, “You?”
She shakes her head, startled by the student at the center table who kicks its leg with her
giant work boot. “The incarcerated youth are as important as homeless immigrants,” she yells,
unnecessarily, since the other La Raza staff members are less than three feet from her face.
Leti recognizes Carmen’s voice and her boots. Most of the staff members from other
publications ignore her outburst, but Leti flashes back to Minority Summer Program when
Carmen had criticized Leti for calling herself Hispanic instead of Chicana.
Carmen slams her fist on the table. “Why do they get two pages and mis niños don’t?”
Conversations continue undisturbed, but Leti feels every angry word deep in her bones.
“Do you want to work with La Raza?” Stefán asks.
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“No!” Leti responds, shakes her head vigorously and takes a step back. She doesn’t want
to relive Carmen’s confrontation. “I want to focus on women’s issues.” No one has accused her
of not being female enough. “In the Sociology textbook, there’s a chapter about the intersection
of class and gender.” Focusing on socioeconomic and women’s issues seems like a logical
choice given Leti’s lack of financial resources and her absent mother. “Do you think that will be
okay with Professor Omari?”
“Want me to visit him in office hours to check?” Keysha offers. She has a little crush on
their handsome professor with the voice like James Earl Jones, only not scary like Darth Vader.
Stefán raises an eyebrow. “Only if I can go with you. He might like me more.”
Keysha scowls at him.
“Both of you are ridiculous. Professor Omari’s probably old enough to be our dad.” And
she fantasizes again about having dignified, intellectual conversations with him, sitting by the
fireplace instead of wiping bar tables and mopping up broken liquor bottles. She touches her scar
and follows Stefán and Keysha to meet the X editor, Thomas.
“I know this fool!” Keysha shakes his hand. “Thomas is Marv’s frat brother.”
Leti didn’t know Marv was in a fraternity. Why are they always talking shit about Red
and his fraternity parties?
“Leti is Talia’s roommate,” Keysha tells Thomas.
Thomas looks at her and smiles. He shakes her hand and holds it too long. “Nice to meet
you,” he says in a soft, quiet voice. Not what Leti expects from a newsmagazine editor.
Stefán exaggerates his glances between them. “Okay. Introductions over. Keysha get to
work. Leti come with me.” Once they move around to the other side of Carmen’s anger, Stefán
whispers in Leti’s ear, “He’s a player. Stay away if you don’t know the game.”
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Leti isn’t sure what he’s talking about but nods in agreement.
~~~
Graciela hopes Derek is at his own frat house tonight, not at this party. A giant sombrero
hangs over the doorway she and Tiffany enter, and the loud guitar music doesn’t match the
décor. Not that Graciela thought they’d have a mariachi band.
“I love this song!” Tiffany shouts.
A screechy voice repeats: “Where do we go now?”
Graciela wants to scream the same until Tiffany grabs her hand and drags her to a guy
with a tray of tiny colored cups.
“Shots!” Tiffany hands Graciela a red one that matches her new tank dress.
It’s sweet and doesn’t taste like alcohol, so they have a few more.
The next song starts. “Let’s dance!” Tiffany screams.
It sounds like a song Graciela and Leti watched on MTV when they could sneak a listen.
But they had to keep the volume low, so her parents wouldn’t hear. On the way to the living
room dance floor, they walk past an inflated donkey and cactus cutouts covered in Christmas
lights. Graciela isn’t sure how to dance to the unfamiliar songs with no discernable beat, so she
imitates Tiffany first and watches the people around them.
After a few more shots and a beer, Graciela follows Tiffany to the bathroom where the
music isn’t quite as deafening, but “Talk Dirty to Me” is still ringing in Graciela’s ears.
“Have you ever done that?” Tiffany asks.
“What?” Graciela looks around. “Done what?”
“Talked nasty on the phone with a guy?”
Graciela pictures the goldenrod phone hanging on the kitchen wall where she had
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pretended to call Leti for school information but really whispered to one of her brother’s friends
and arranged where they would meet the next night. “Sure,” she lies.
“Shit, girl! You’re a freak!” Tiffany slaps Graciela’s arm. “I could never do that.”
When the bathroom door opens, Tiffany tries to follow Graciela inside, but Graciela goes
in alone and locks the door. The new, louder song muffles Tiffany’s protests.
Graciela is dizzy when she stands up, but her almost-blonde reflection makes her smile.
Later, they detour through the kitchen where a wide, white guy with spiky red hair hands
out tequila shots. “For the birthday toast!” he tells them.
The giant, empty jugs of tequila from a warehouse store remind Graciela of the time she
and Jorge stole one from the restaurant and tried to make margaritas.
“I can’t drink this.” Tiffany hands it to Graciela and grabs a beer.
“You drank the other ones.”
“They had jello and vodka. Tequila makes me sick.”
Graciela isn’t sure if that’s a cultural insult, but she takes both shots and sucks on a lemon
before they head back to the dance floor. The music is turned down and the frat leader is trying
to gather his brothers but can barely stand himself.
“Before we sing happy burp day to my boy here, everyone needs a drink.”
Tiffany raises her Corona bottle and screams, “Whoooooo.”
Spiky red-haired guy hands Graciela another shot. No lemon.
They toast the birthday boy and the eight guys arm in arm sing a song, unintelligibly at
first. Then louder and Graciela hears, “Cocksucking Mexican whore.” She gasps, choking on the
beer she used to chase her last shot. No one pays attention to her. The song continues for a few
more verses about Lupe who, it seems, dies at the end.
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A blonde girl approaches them after the guys finish. “Hey,” she says in the lull before the
DJ plays a new song. “Are you a Mexican?”
Another girl steps closer, nods in agreement. “She looks like a Mexican.” She hiccups,
and Graciela can smell tequila remnants like the ones in her own stomach.
“Look!” the first one screams. “A real Mexican!”
At least she didn’t call Graciela a whore.
On cue, the DJ plays a familiar song.
Why does he have Mariachi Loco? He waves the album cover at her and she frowns.
Guess he was prepared for the Viva Mexico theme. This party probably happens every year.
But instead of standing there for everyone gawk at her, Graciela dances and soon they all
imitate her in a drunken line dance, punctuated by “loco” and “bailar,” which some of them must
have learned in high school Spanish class.
After a while, someone puts a sombrero on her head and gives her another shot.
She imagines her hands holding a giant flared skirt and separates herself from the lines to
spin and twirl until she runs into a not-dancing guy.
He smiles and takes the sombrero off her head. “So, you’re a real Mexican?”
Graciela doesn’t answer.
“She’s Hispanic,” Tiffany says, “from New Mexico.”
“That so?” he says. “You’re a long way from home señorita.”
“She’s not like the others,” Tiffany adds.
Graciela wonders what others, thinks about her parents and brother working their asses
off at the restaurant so she and Jorge can go to college. She pictures Leti’s head bent over books
every night, studying hard so she can stay in college. But tequila clouds her brain.
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The DJ finally gets his shit together and plays his regular head-banging music.
Graciela wakes up the next day with the sound still echoing in her skull, and she feels like
she is still banging on a wall. But she remembers kissing Brad and smiles. She doesn’t remember
walking back up the hill to her room. And she’s still in her dress, vomit all over the front of it
and chunks in her hair. She looks over at Tiffany’s empty bed. Should she be worried?
~~~
Leti orders a two-item combo, half noodles for her and half steamed rice for Graciela.
Their Spanish midterm next week is going to be grueling. Leti managed Bs on both quizzes, but
the TA has yet to grade the first half of her project. Her tutor had recommended she combine
assignments and maximize her time, so she opted to write the letters to her mom in Spanish. This
way she gets a grade and takes Dr. Alas’s advice. Sort of.
Graciela arrives, out of breath. “Almost didn’t make it. My history paper was due today
and the computer lab printers kept jamming.” She reaches over to sip Leti’s soda. “Too sweet.”
“When is your film paper due?”
“Next week. And it has to be time stamped in the office too. Can you believe that?”
Leti nibbles the flower part of the broccoli, leaves Graciela each stem. They’ve been
eating it this way since they were kids and their moms first learned of its brain benefits. Graciela
doesn’t like the leaves, like little crumbs in her mouth. Leti doesn’t like the coarse, dense stems.
“I got another letter from my dad.”
Graciela stops paying attention to her soy sauce drizzle and waits for Leti to continue.
“He needs money to buy soap and cigarettes.”
“You have extra money?” Graciela looks at the meal in front of them then up at Leti.
“I have a loan for housing and a work-study job so I can pay for books and food.” She
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looks at her plate. “This is my weekly treat.”
“Not money for your dad.” Graciela digs into her purse for a ten, her smallest bill.
“That’s more than your half,” Leti eyes Graciela, “and not enough for my dad.” She
smiles at her cousin. “I didn’t tell you for pity.”
“I’m going to buy my own soda,” Graciela says, “then give you the change.”
Leti pushes half of the spicy chicken and the broccoli stems onto Graciela’s now black-
spotted rice. She mumbles the dialogue from their textbook out loud, closes her eyes to repeat
again without looking. She feels Graciela standing over her, staring at her. She opens her eyes.
“People were watching you. It’s like you were in a trance.” Graciela sips. “It’s diet.”
Leti slurps the last of her soda in response. “I was trying to conjure a not-jailbird dad.”
She stands. “Your rice is getting cold.” She knows Graciela hates her food cold. “I’ll zap it in the
microwave while I refill.” She slides her book toward Graciela. “Read 30-35 and make some of
those weird questions profesora likes to ask. The tricky ones.”
Graciela complies. From the soda machine, Leti watches several guys try to distract
Graciela. She ignores them. She must know Leti is watching.
“Don’t look at the book.” Graciela accepts the steaming bowl, stirs the chicken and
broccoli into the rice before asking her first question.
After an hour, the eatery is crowded. Leti calls it quits. “I feel ready enough, and I still
have to finish the draft of my first piece for the newsmagazine.”
“You’re writing for The Daily?”
“Third Wave. It’s one of the six student-run publications. The feminist one. It’s for my
Sociology class.”
“I have a rush event later anyway.” She leans forward to say more quietly, “My
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roommate Tiffany and I plan to pledge the best sorority house on campus.”
“Why?” Leti is distracted by her skimpy story ideas.
“Connections.” Graciela waves a dismissive hand. “And the rooms are much nicer than
the suites. No one in there is playing loud music like the guys next door to us.”
“Good luck?” Leti’s not sure what to say in this situation. “Have fun?”
“See you in class.”
After Graciela leaves, Leti wonders if she can write about her mom for both her
Sociology paper and her Third Wave article without everyone knowing it’s her fucked up life.

Leti shows Talia the letter from her dad.
“Sending him money is not your job,” Talia says. They sit on their beds and count spare
change to see if they have enough for pizza. They both got back from their last midterm too late
for dinner in the cafeteria. “He’s the parent. You should be asking him for financial support.”
She moves over next to Leti. “But neither of us have that option.” She leans her head on Leti’s
shoulder. “Where’s Jocelyn with those meal vouchers when we need her?”
“Ever wonder how she saved so many?”
Talia raises her eyebrows. “I don’t want to seem all gossipy, but since we’re all friends,
you should know to watch for warning signs. In case they ever come back.”
“Warning of what?”
“In summer, Yanaha was too busy with gymnastics team and kind of shunned Jocelyn at
first. So Jocelyn got kind of depressed and was only eating dried fruit.”
“That’s why Yanaha got permission to have a roommate not on the team?”
“And why Jocelyn needs more scholarship money. Those suites cost a grip.”
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“My cousin lives there.” Leti empties her four dollars in loose change onto Talia’s pile.
“She doesn’t have a parent to support.”
“She can’t be slummin’ it down here with us from what you’ve told me.”
“Her dad spoils her. Still believes she’ll return to Hatch and run the family restaurant with her
business degree.” Leti feels guilty for sharing all her cousin’s secrets. “But she wants to be a film
maker.”
“Make movies? She’s in the right place.”
“But she seems more focused on getting into some sorority than she is on her classes.”
“You ask her for math help?”
“No.” Leti groans. “After we finished Spanish, I had to go to Third Wave. I probably
failed my statistics midterm.”
“But after that?”
“She’s always busy with her roommate and sorority activities she can’t talk about.”
“I’m sure we can find someone to tutor you at the Academic Support Center.”
“But first can we find something to eat?” Leti lies back on her bed, thinks about ways to
earn more money without jeopardizing the delicate balance of her classes and work.
“Vending machine?”
“What about the sandwich place in the village?” She doesn’t want to walk there this late,
but if they’re together, no one should bother them.
“We have enough money for Subbies, I think.” Talia calls the front desk to see if they
have a menu and ask how late they’re open. “We can share a big sandwich and still have enough
for soda and chips.”
“No more soda.” Leti holds her stomach. “I’ll save us a dollar.”
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“But that dollar’s not going to your dad fund.” Talia could almost read her mind.
“I thought about that. Like the tip jar I had at the bar.”
“But you earned those tips. He did not earn any of this.” Talia lets the coins fall between
her fingers into the cup that had been holding her pencils on her desk. “We did.”
Leti follows her out of their room and gently touches the mark below her eye. “I earned it
alright. All of it.”
~~~
In the week before finals, Graciela watches Leti and her friends across the Burgers ‘n’
Brew patio. They study intensely at a table in full sunlight. Books and notebooks are strewn all
over. Graciela recognizes one girl from summer program. She’s shorter than Leti and Black with
stylish clothes that make Leti look even more shabby. The other girls are not Black, but browner
than Leti, different from tanned white girls. One looks like someone Graciela and Leti went to
high school with, an Indian bussed from the nearby reservation with some of her cousins. The
other one wears a shirt and jeans flecked and smeared with paint like Jorge’s clothes often are,
but her long brown hair is pulled back in two braids, not a strand out of place.
Graciela reaches up to her own layers, now damaged by repeated bleachings, dry as the
desert roads back home. Not how Graciela imagined being blonde at all. She selects a table in the
shady corner farthest from them to wait for Brad. The tall guys with Leti have on track pants and
one wears a sweatshirt with Greek letters Graciela doesn’t recognize. It must be knock-off
fraternity gear from a discount store. Leti’s forehead is tight with concentration. She shouldn’t
have trouble in school with her academic habits. Graciela opens her own eyes wide, purposefully
relaxing her facial skin so she doesn’t create unnecessary wrinkles.
“You looking for me, babe?” Brad approaches, the burger on his tray overpowers
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everything with its charcoal aroma. Only a slight hint of his sweet, spicy cologne lingers. His
hair is unkempt and his shirt unusually wrinkled.
Disheveled is not a look Graciela approves of. Despite that, she kisses his neck
passionately and straightens his collar.
Brad chuckles and looks around to see if anyone notices. He talks about his
communication law class, and Graciela zones out, but rubs his leg under the table. She nods
rhythmically, keeps a supportive smile plastered on her face.
She’s still mesmerized by Leti’s group of mismatched friends. They talk loudly about
history and social theory with comments about sexism, classism, and racism thrown in. The
Black girl points at something in Leti’s open book without speaking and Leti nods, furiously
scribbling notes. They sit close together, their circle lopsided.
A large, sunburned guy in a shiny track warm-up suit joins them for a minute, laughs in
high, squeaky short notes, like a feeble attempt at trumpet playing. He looks like the guy who
handed out jello shots at the last frat party. Her stomach dances at the memory of too many shots.
He walks away to refill a few sodas, doesn’t seem serious about studying.
Graciela re-focuses her attention on Brad. He launches into the description of his
upcoming vacation. It doesn’t take long for her to realize his ski weekend does not include her.
“Guys only.” He looks puzzled at her pout. “I told you that when I booked the cabin.” He
kisses her and grazes her nipples discreetly. “I didn’t think you’d know how to ski.”
Graciela pulls her body away from his and scrapes the chair across the concrete. “Why
wouldn’t I?” Her voice echoes off the adjacent wall and the group in the opposite corner booth
stops talking to look at them. Graciela smiles and leans in closer to Brad, deliberately changes
her tone. “Wouldn’t you like to teach me?” Her hand returns to his knee, and she reaches for his
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earlobe with her lips. She’d seen that done in a movie once.
The fabric of his pants tightens, his face relaxes, and he turns toward her. “Next time,
babe,” he says softly. “Next time.” He kisses her quickly and turns to finish his last bite of lunch.
Graciela’s desire to devour him dissipates, and she sips the too-sweet soda he bought.
While he yammers on about a different ski trip, with his friends in high school, Bethany
wanders onto the patio.
The afternoon sun filters through the leaves of the eucalyptus tree and sprinkles dots of
light on her face. It’s as stressed as Leti’s, and Graciela wants to smooth away her concentration.
Bethany pauses a moment, looks for someone or an empty table. Brad touches Graciela’s
arm, stands to leave, but Graciela can’t take her eyes off Bethany. Graciela waves at her.
“Who’s that?” Brad asks quietly in Graciela’s ear.
“My soon-to be sister,” she says.
Bethany barely waves back and heads toward a group of women Graciela doesn’t
recognize, already assembled in a study circle.
“She’s hot,” Brad whispers in Graciela’s ear.
She looks at him with disdain but doesn’t disagree.

139

Winter Break

Leti swallows the lump in her throat and avoids looking at Yiska who stands a few yards
away with three duffle bags.
“You sure you don’t want to come home with us?” Jocelyn stands on one side of Leti,
hand on her shoulder, the other holding her hand. Yanaha’s on the other side, same pose. Their
pity is overwhelming.
“I’m sure.” Leti forces her whole face to smile. Not like the look of confusion she gave
Graciela who asked if Leti was flying home for Christmas in Hatch. How could she afford to? Is
it still her home? “Christmas has never really been a big deal in my family.” She lies, thinks
about the huge meals consumed with the Gonzalez’s extended kin folk, a few Morales family
members who had made the journey north, the mariachis, and the piles of gifts. “I’m going to
hop on a bus and explore the city.”
“Be careful,” Yanaha says. And they both hug her at the same time.
Yiska walks over to half-hug Leti and presses a phone card into her hand. “Only a little
left on it. But if you need to call. Number’s on the back.”
She looks up slowly, from his jawline scar to his long black lashes. “Gracias.”
“You’re welcome,” he says softly. To the other girls, he says louder, “Time to go.” They
walk away and Leti stands alone in front of the dorm.
She watches them head toward the RTD stop at the bottom of the hill. They’ll take the
Greyhound to a town called Blythe, the end of California. An uncle who works in Wickenberg
will detour across the Colorado River to pick them up. There wouldn’t be room in his truck for
Leti anyway.
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She thinks about Yiska’s smile long after his broad back is out of view. Maybe he does
think of her as more than a friend. Too bad she isn’t capable of anything else.
She dreads going inside the almost empty building behind her. Its drab paint and dingy
windows match her insides. Most people without family, or families far away, spend the holiday
with friends. She had declined Talia’s half-hearted invitation to Oakland where Marv has distant
cousins. Keysha didn’t want to return to Sacramento and offered to stay with Leti, but the
athletes’ buildings are completely off-limits during winter break. Only Leti’s building stays
open. Keysha promised to be back as soon as she had eaten enough home cooking.
Leti imagines the bus, the train, the plane that carry her new friends away, takes them to
their homes, families, holiday traditions. She has none now. She sits on the curb; the cold
concrete quickly penetrates her jeans, chills her bones. The December breeze tosses trash toward
her feet and makes her nose run.
She could have left. The route north would have allowed her to explore more of
California. She could have embraced her roommate’s Oakland kinfolk as her own, made new
Tios y Tias from aunties and uncles. The route east would have been in the right direction for a
return home, but she’d stop short in Arizona, a full state away from her origins. There she
could’ve embrace familiar food, the chile and frybread her Southwest tongue longs for. But so
close to her former home might hurt more.
She could have taken out an emergency loan and headed south, sola, toward her
ancestors. If she searches for her mom, maybe she’ll locate the love she left behind in Hatch. But
the fear of not finding, of knowing the truth, scares her more than spending Christmas alone.
Why didn’t she borrow money to fly back to Hatch with Graciela? She groans, drops her
face into her hands, and holds in her tears. The Gonzalez family would’ve welcomed her, but
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they would’ve made her feel her loss more profoundly.
“Leti?”
She sits up and wonders if she hallucinated a voice calling her name.
“Leti! It is you. Waiting for your ride home?”
She stands to face Thomas, the X editor and Marv’s fraternity brother. “No. I’m staying
here for break.” She swallows hard.
“Hey! Me too. I’ve got to work. Boss only gave me Christmas Day off. Not enough time
to fly to DC and back. I’m not Santa Claus.” He laughs at his own joke.
Leti doesn’t. “Thomas.” She blinks in disbelief. “Thomas,” she says again softly with a
vague recollection of Stefán’s warning.
“You hungry?” He smiles crookedly at her, a deep dimple in his right cheek. “I don’t go
in until one today.”
She hesitates, looks back at the cafeteria she knows is closed and calculates what’s left of
her limited funds.
“It’ll be my treat. An early Christmas gift.”
Leti smiles. The meal and the used phone card in her pocket will be her only ones.
~~~
“Ay niña,” Graciela’s mother tugs on loose strands of hair, “con tu pelo rubio.”
At least her mother didn’t call her hair red. Not all of it is totally blonde yet. The stylist in
the village had trouble getting it right. It’s streaky and uneven, but a few more treatments should
do it. Graciela slicks it all back in a tight ponytail.
“Y su prima?” Graciela’s father asks. He sets her suitcases on the ground.
She looks at her mother. “Have you heard from Tia Martina?”
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“You must be tired after finals and traveling, mi’ja.” Mother glances sideways at Father.
“Why don’t you stay home tonight? Rest.”
Graciela doesn’t argue. She kisses them both goodbye.
In her childhood bedroom, she stares at snapshots of herself from high school. Life was
so much easier, but she was bored. She wonders how Leti is doing, alone, and wishes she’d
insisted they return together. In the kitchen, she gets a beer from the fridge and leaves a message
at the dorm front desk, not sure anyone will pass it on to her prima, but she tries.
After her second beer and an hour of watching the overly dramatic television movie, she
thinks about Brad who avoided her after his ski trip. He left for break without seeing her at all.
She thought men in Los Angeles would be better. She contemplates calling old friends, but
they’d ask questions she doesn’t want to answer. She’s too tired to lie.
After another beer and a shower, she climbs onto her bed but can’t sleep because it’s so
damn quiet. And dark. She’s too lazy to get up and turn on the hall light like she did as a kid or
the clock radio across the room on her desk. She closes her eyes and pretends she’s still in the
hilltop suite she shares with Tiffany and the two other girls, all eager to do whatever the sorority
wants. She worries about how it affected her grades, grateful this semester’s report won’t arrive
until after she returns to Los Angeles.
Outside her window, critters scuttle on the ground, probably looking for food. Her
stomach responds. In the distance, a train passes by. She rests her hands on her abdomen, trying
to quiet its ache. The alcohol kicks in. She thinks about Tiffany and her nakedness parading
around their suite. Will all the girls in the sorority house do that? And she thinks about Stephanie
and Bethany who have become much closer during sorority rush activities. And in her old twin
bed, she finds the spot to pleasure herself and releases her worries.
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~~~
Leti can’t believe she’s alone on Christmas Eve. She calls the number Yiska gave her, but
a cousin answers and sounds too young to take a message. She returns Graciela’s call and Tio
Lalo’s voice on the answering machine instructs her to leave a message. She can barely squeak
out “Feliz Navidad” before she hangs up. She knows they’re all at the restaurant but doesn’t
want to call, doesn’t want to hear the mariachi playing and the laughter. She can almost taste the
chile rellenos.
She sits on her bed, hungry, and thinks about her mom who still hasn’t tried to contact
her, her dad who must be lonely too. She tries to sleep but hears a low moan, like the mournful
whistle of the train that runs through Hatch. It cuts the night into tiny fragments. The noise
comes from deep inside her. Tears slide past her temples and onto her pillow. She tries to ignore
them, chase away her sadness, and think about the past week with Thomas. His mom is a
feminist and he had great ideas for her next Third Wave article. She went to his office with him
this morning because they had free pastries and a little celebration.
Her tears flow faster.
~~~
After two weeks of working in the restaurant, Graciela’s pants are a little snug and the
aroma of chile has permeated her hair, her nails, her skin. Brad has not returned her calls.

144

Spring Semester 1991

Leti waits for Graciela on the east patio of the student union. Tall brick towers partially
shade Leti’s lunch break. In her drowsy state, she thinks about the unsent Christmas card for her
mom and the latest letter from her dad. In a short while, she has to return to Mrs. Carrillo in the
financial aid office. Her life depends on work-study dollars now.
Graciela waves from the edge of the patio, her highlighted hair framed by trees with
sausage-like pods. “You can’t be mad at me.” The breeze causes a slight ripple of the leaves and
Graciela pulls a strand of hair out her mouth. “I brought you a gift.” She wears the tightest jeans
Leti has ever seen. And perches on the edge of the opposite metal chair because her legs won’t
bend for her to sit comfortably. In a low voice, she says, “My mother worried about mailing
them because –”
“Tia Irene suspected the US Postal Service would steal them?” They both laugh at the
familia paranoia. Leti opens the box. A pair of emerald and diamond earrings, clearly not fake.
“Family heirloom from Mexico,” Graciela says and taps her own ruby version.
Leti whistles, long and low. “Thanks,” she murmurs. She could’ve pawned them for a
plane ticket to Hatch. But they are a gift from her Tia, her mom’s sister, the only possible
connection to the woman who abandoned her.
“My mother said they remind her of your eyes.”
Leti fights tears and repeats more enthusiastically, “Gracias.” She gives her cousin an
awkward, sideways hug.
Graciela looks in a tiny compact mirror, reapplies her bright pink lipstick, and removes
stray hairs from her own dangly earrings. “I’m getting more highlights later,” she shares.
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“How was Hatch?” Leti asks, unable to disguise her resentment. Graciela stops primping
and covers Leti’s hand with hers. “Awful.” She sniffs her fingers. “I still smell like green chile.”
Leti longs for the pungent spiciness on her own hands. “My dad wrote me another letter.”
She shakes her head and the ice in her soda cup. “Not even a Christmas card. Another letter
asking for money. In case his first one was lost in the mail.” She laughs with an ugly undertone.
“I started to write him back and tell him I spent the money buying myself a gift, but really, I paid
tuition.” Leti taps the scar on her cheek.
Graciela doesn’t respond. She avoids Leti’s eyes and fixates on the lint accumulated at
the end of her sweater sleeve. A sweater Leti knows is new.
“I have a boyfriend. Brad. He’s a finance major.”
Leti sees dollar signs in Graciela’s eyes as if she’s a cartoon character. “You think Brad
will finance your first film?” Leti teases Graciela, reminds her why they came to Los Angeles for
college instead of staying nearby in Las Cruces or joining Graciela’s brother, Jorge, at University
of Texas El Paso. Los Angeles University thought Graciela’s homemade film about a girl’s quest
for truth was a “valiant effort at amateur film making,” but she wasn’t admitted to the program.
Graciela waves off Leti’s comment. “Brad said there are more lucrative options here in
LA. He knows about investments.”
In the distance, Royce Hall’s bells announce the new hour. Leti gets up. “Your dad will
be proud.” He insisted Graciela major in business. It’s more practical. “I need to invest my time
in more work study hours or your new boyfriend will have to find me some lucrative options.”
She drops the earring box into the front pocket of her backpack with her mom’s goodbye letter
and her dad’s requests for money. Their combined weight hangs heavy on her shoulder.
~~~
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Graciela stares out the window of the suite, watches laughing students walk by. She
scowls at them and chews on her cuticles, a nasty childhood habit she thought she’d kicked.
Tiffany enters their room full of energy. “I met cool guys in bio class. Want to study with
us later?”
Graciela can’t deal with her, so she fakes a smile and grabs her books to leave. “I don’t
have biology, Tiffany. Plus, I’m waiting to hear from Brad.”
At the mention of his name, Tiffany makes a face.
“What?” Graciela frowns at her.
“Haven’t you talked to Stephanie?”
“Not recently. Why?” Graciela opens their mini-fridge for a diet Snapple.
Tiffany bites her lip and sits on her own bed. “She told me Derek told her some guys on
the ski weekend hooked up with random snow bunnies. One of those guys was Brad.”
“My Brad? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought you broke up before he left.”
“We broke up? I would have told you something like I broke up with my boyfriend,
Tiffany!” Graciela checks her increased volume. “Wouldn’t I have had some kind of reaction?”
“I thought you didn’t want to make a big deal about it. I thought that’s why you didn’t go
with them to the snow.”
“I didn’t go because it was a guys-only weekend.” Graciela takes long gulps from her
bottle, and the tart, artificially-sweet liquid cools her angry throat.
Tiffany barely whispers, “It was guys only on Friday. Stephanie went up Saturday with
Bethany and some other Beta Theta Chis for the party.”
“What party?” No one told her about any party. Or asked if she wanted to ride up there
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with them. Why would Brad lie? Graciela has to sit down.
“Derek’s birthday party,” Tiffany says quietly. “He and Steph got back together.”
Maybe Stephanie found out about Graciela and Derek. Maybe he told Brad.
Tiffany pouts. “I wasn’t invited because it was only couples and I’m a single.”
Graciela finishes the last of her beverage. “That explains why Brad needed a snow
bunny.” She can’t keep hurt out of her tone. She slams the empty bottle on the table. Its thud
startles Tiffany out of her semi-sadness.
“So, is it okay that when Stephanie told me about Brad, I told her you were over him?”
She claps her hands together in front of her face, grins hopefully.
At least she did something right. But Graciela still has the urge to punch her. She takes a
deep breath and says, “It’s fine.” She walks to the door with her overly heavy book bag. “I might
meet you to study later.”
Tiffany squeals and hugs Graciela goodbye.
~~~
“This,” Yiska says, “is California.” He smiles at Leti who can only hold his gaze for a
short time. He’s more distraction than she can handle.
The bright January sun reflects off the water’s surface and warms Leti’s face. She looks
past Yiska to Keysha who slathers sunscreen on Red’s shoulders, back, and arms. “Why the hell
did you wear a tank top? You’re gonna turn brighter than your hair.”
Red tugs on the giant sombrero tied tightly under his chin. “I got this.”
“Don’t forget the top of his feet,” Leti advises, even though it means she’ll have to buy
another bottle of lotion after this trip.
Marv complains to Talia about his ashy elbows. Her scarf comes undone and he helps her
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tie it tighter around her head. “You were right man,” he says to Yiska, “the Pacific Ocean is
beautiful.”
They are on their first field trip of the semester.
“My TA said this trip will make lecture come to life,” Talia says and holds on to Marv to
steady herself.
Keysha snaps a picture of them.
Leti takes a deep inhale and leans over the boat’s railing, closes her eyes against the salty
spray. It’s almost as relaxing as Dr. Alas’s lavender candle and rainforest music. But with the
addition of an adrenaline-inducing flight across the water.
Leti wipes the droplets from her face and hair and Keysha takes her picture, too. “I got
one of Red when he almost fell.” She giggles. “And one of your man all serious at the bow.”
“Not my man.” She looks Yiska’s direction. He explains something intently to Red,
gestures with his hands, but they are too far away to hear over the boat’s engine. “How’d you get
Red to take this class anyway?”
“He’s from Nebraska.” She snaps pictures of the two guys talking. “Never seen the
ocean. So, I convinced him his drunk would be gone by one o’clock when class starts.” She
snaps pictures of Talia and Marv staring out across the ocean with the boat’s wake behind them
like a foamy tail. “And I promised we’d all go to the frat party on his birthday.”
“Keysha, you didn’t.” Leti imagines stumbling into work Friday morning still reeking of
party. Mrs. Carrillo would not approve. And it’s not like Leti can afford a day off.
“What’d she do now?” Talia asks.
“Said we’d join Red at a frat party.”
“For his birthday.” Keysha shoots a close-up of Talia’s angry face.
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Marv laughs behind her.
The boat slows to dock at Catalina Island, and Yiska walks back to his spot near Leti.
The scar along his jaw darkened by the sun. “We don’t have to stay at the frat party all night.”
“We don’t?” Leti smiles at his assumption that she’d be there with him.
“We can go, dance a little, have one drink, then Marv and I can walk you all home.”
Marv chimes in, “After his third shot, Red won’t even know we’re there. So, if we
leave…” He shrugs.
Black out drunk. Her dad had done that. Claimed he didn’t remember hitting her mom.
Couldn’t recall what happened the night of the bar fire. Seems like a convenient excuse for
stupidity. Or criminal activity.
“But you’ve gotta do something about that hair first.” Red laughs and points at Leti. “It’s
too crunchy.”
She walks over to the boat’s cabin window. “Damn.” Apparently, the highest level of gel
from the village drugstore wasn’t strong enough. She turns to face her friends. “This is my Diana
Ross look. Keysha, take my picture.”
Keysha reluctantly complies. “Red,” she scolds, “why you gotta say shit about Leti’s
hair?” She snatches his sombrero off his sweaty head and snaps a photo of his shocked face.
“That mess ain’t no better.”
He hangs his head. They disembark and he bumps Leti’s shoulder, almost knocks her
down. “Sorry. Keysha said my drunk would be gone by now, but I think a little bit was left in me
back there.”
Blame the alcohol. She’s heard that all her life. “My giant pink friend,” Leti presses her
hand against his once translucent arm, “I have a feeling your pain after this trip will outweigh
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any hurt you’ve caused my hair.” And she steps out ahead of him. She doesn’t bother to wrangle
her wildness into some kind of style. Instead, she meets Yiska’s amused stare with a smile.
~~~
Graciela sits at The Coffeehouse, sips her Cappuccino Royale, can’t decide if she should
go to class. The tables around her fill up quickly. Students burdened with notebooks and bags,
heads bent over in study pose.
“Gracie, mind if I sit with you?” A tall, thin student Graciela vaguely recognizes leans
against the opposite chair.
“Sure,” Graciela flashes a fake smile.
“Katherine.” She sits and takes out a book. “I’m on the panhellenic service committee.
I’ve noticed you at sorority rush activities.” Her eyes turn down at the corners, her mouth too,
even when she tries to smile. Katherine wears her shiny black hair loose with only a small clip to
keep it out of her face. Graciela touches the dried out ends of her own processed hair, a bit
jealous. Katherine is the first Asian person Graciela has ever known. There were none in Hatch.
“Of course,” Graciela says. She smiles more genuinely, tries to encourage Katherine to
cheer up. “I’ve seen you.” She’d heard Katherine no longer lives in the house and some of the
rumors why are kind of mean.
Graciela stares at Katherine until she’s clearly uncomfortable and looks down at her giant
textbook. “I have to study for my psych final, so I won’t bother you.”
“That’s okay. I have class.” She points at her bag like it might be some indication of her
studious intent. “But can I ask you something first?” Graciela stalls because she doesn’t want to
leave Katherine alone with her sadness.
“Not about pledging,” she says, kind of sternly, before her smile reveals perfect teeth.
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“Not really. More about living in a house and still being academically responsible.”
Katherine’s face changes like Graciela has insulted her or intruded on her privacy. She
puts her hand over the top of Graciela’s. It’s warm and soft. “Gracie, I lived in the house for a
year. That was all. No one should live there longer.” She clears her throat. There might be more
to say but she answers the second part of the question. “Don’t forget why you’re here. To get an
education. Nothing is more important.” The end of her advice is whispered. She removes her
hand from on top of Graciela’s to wipe her eyes.
Graciela sits uncomfortably, sips her beverage, not sure what to say.
“There are great opportunities through the house, too.” Katherine says, more
enthusiastically. She unpacks her notecards. “There are scholarships.”
Graciela wrinkles her nose. “Because I’m Hispanic, you think I need financial help?”
Katherine doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she organizes six different colored pens.
“My focus is on service, which looks great on graduate school applications.” She looks up at
Graciela. “What’s your major?”
“Film,” Graciela fibs, not ready to offer a complete explanation. “I’m taking mostly GEs
right now though.” She sips. “What’s your major?”
“Psychology.” She lowers her eyes for a second then looks away, past Graciela to
something painful. “My first two years were difficult. The classes have been helpful to
understand me.”
Graciela thinks about her cousin’s difficulties. Maybe Katherine has similar dysfunctions.
Maybe that’s why she needs financial help too. “Enjoy studying.” She squeezes Katherine’s
shoulder goodbye.
~~~
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Keysha forces everyone to keep her promise to Red. On a warm Thursday night, Leti and
Talia, Marv and Yiska follow Keysha reluctantly down Gayley Avenue to the frat house where
one of Red’s teammates hosts him.
“Throwers stick together,” Yiska explains.
“So do white people,” Marv mutters.
Talia hugs her man closer. They walk more slowly, fall behind the others.
Leti walks between Keysha and Yiska and feels absurdly short, so she stands up
straighter and takes two steps for each of theirs. She doesn’t want to be left behind.
This close to Yiska, his Ivory soap smell fills Leti’s every breath. For a second, she
closes her eyes. Then she trips on a crack in the sidewalk.
Keysha and Yiska each grab an arm and keep her upright.
She giggles, thinks she could probably lift her legs and keep moving forward.
“Don’t do it, girl,” Keysha warns. “My arms are spaghetti. I’m a jumper, remember.”
Yiska slows them all down and whispers, “I’ll keep you up.”
Leti smiles back, still uncertain if he’s flirting with her or being friendly. Daydreaming
causes Leti to stumble once more.
“Damn, girl!” Marv hollers from behind them. “You drunk already?”
Talia scolds him.
Leti leans back toward Marv. “I don’t get drunk. Irish and Mexican genes.” And she
walks through the door more confident than before.
At the frat house, the smell of urine and beer nauseates her. The speakers blare, “You
gotta fight – for your right – to party” so loudly, Leti can’t even comment on the funk to Keysha
or Yiska even though they stand on either side of her again.
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From across the room, Red lumbers toward them with a collection of blue plastic cups in
his arms. His t-shirt is too small and the bottom of his translucent belly peeks out at the bottom.
“You came!” His giant grin is contagious.
Red belches after he hands everyone their drinks, and Leti’s eyes water.
“Damn, Red!” Keysha screams in his face. “You are too nasty!” She shoves him away
from the rest of the group toward what looks like the kitchen.
Yiska takes Leti’s hand, and they follow Marv and Talia to the next room where the
music is louder, and the stench includes sweat. Maybe a dog is hidden somewhere.
Memories surface, late nights helping Dad at the pub or driving him home when he had
indulged with his customers. These aren’t fond memories, so Leti tilts her head back to drink the
sugary punch all at once. “What?” she shouts at the accusing faces of Talia and Marv.
“If you barf on me, we will fight,” Talia shouts over a new song with screaming lyrics
about pouring sugar.
It’s another song Leti doesn’t recognize. “I don’t barf,” she shouts back.
“Can’t dance to this,” Yiska whispers in her ear. This time he leads the way out to the frat
house’s back patio.
Couples lean against the walls and each other or sit on the decrepit patio furniture and
each other. Leti doesn’t see anyone she knows or even recognizes from classes. Talia and Marv
are the only Black people in sight. She and Yiska must look odd too. “We should find Keysha.
Make sure she’s okay.”
Yiska nods and sets his drink on a shelf. He turns around to relay Leti’s concern to Marv
and Talia. He doesn’t see Leti slam his punch too. This time, the liquor warms her insides, and
she feels bravery all through her body. “This way,” she yells and stomps off toward the kitchen.
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Keysha helps Red make another vat of birthday punch. This time, it’s green. “Don’t
know what the hell he put in there, but he calls it Bullfrog. Says they love this shit in Nebraska.”
Leti smells it and shakes her head. “Burns my nose hair.”
“Breath smells like you already indulged.”
“Don’t tell Talia.”
“Won’t tell your man either.”
“Not my man.”
“He know?” Keysha turns Leti around. Yiska gathers her in a hug.
Grateful for the smell of his shirt, she hugs him back.
“I love this song,” Red yells. “Walk this Way” blares in the other room. They all follow
him to the dance floor.
Uncertain how to move to this kind of music, Leti watches Red and imitates his
gyrations, bangs her head in the air with the beat. After a minute, Yiska shrugs and joins them.
Keysha, Marv, and Talia have a little trouble but still join in, move to a completely
different beat. The song ends and they all laugh.
In the moment of silence before the next song starts, a girl yells, “Leave me the fuck
alone.” And somewhere down the hall, a door slams.
Leti grabs Keysha’s arm. “That was my cousin.”
After Leti opens a few doors, and sees people in various sexual positions, they find
Graciela on the bathroom floor. Her mascara is smeared down one cheek and her highlighted hair
is flattened against that side of her head. She has barfed, only partially in the toilet.
“They’re probably used to it around here, right?” Leti asks Keysha.
“Smells like it.” Keysha pokes around in cabinets until she finds a small towel. She wets
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it and hands it to Leti.
“Get off me!” Graciela screams at Leti.
Leti grabs her cousin’s face. “It’s me, mensa! You look like hell.” She helps her up.
“Prima!” Graciela hugs Leti’s leg. “I only had two cups of punch, Leti. I swear.”
Most people can’t hold their liquor the way Leti does. “Looks like you had more
tonight.” Leti gestures to the mess.
Graciela barfs again. “Brad’s not here,” she whines.
“I’m going to wait outside,” Keysha says.
Leti leans Graciela against the counter and wipes off her face. “Let’s get you out of here.
Party’s over.”
Graciela tries to protest but can barely get words out. All Leti understands is Brad.
They exit the bathroom, and Yiska is there. “Keysha went to say bye to Red. Marv and
Talia went home.”
Keysha reappears. “Red said take her out the back.” She points down the hallway to a
dark, narrow staircase where two other couples are so intently attached, they don’t notice the
motley crew dragging the drunk girl home.
“I have no idea where she lives,” Leti tells her friends once they’re outside. “I only know
some guys play loud music next door.” They walk slowly back up the street toward campus,
Graciela between Leti and Yiska.
Keysha walks a few strides ahead of them. “That could be a lot of places.”
“It’s brown with the blue doors.” Graciela mumbles incoherently, “Number…”
“This place is like a maze. All the suites look the same.”
Fortunately, Yiska and Keysha figure out which section Graciela lives in by eliminating
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where athlete friends are.
“Walking up this damn hill is more exercise than I needed tonight, Graciela.” Leti tries to
annoy her cousin into coherence. “Can you at least point at which one might be yours?”
Keysha tries Graciela’s key in three different blue doors before they find the right one.
“Thanks for your help,” Leti tells Keysha and Yiska. “Not the night we planned, huh?”
Keysha walks across the grass to her own suite, mutters about Red and drunk girls.
Yiska squeezes Leti’s hand. “You gonna be okay? I can wait for you.”
“I’ll be fine.” Leti gulps, unsure what he means. “I’ll stay with her tonight. Make sure she
wakes up tomorrow.” She hugs him, inhales his soapy scent with only a hint of sweat.
There are several stains on Graciela’s dress and what looks like it might have been
guacamole in her hair. Leti knows Graciela won’t want any grossness on her sheets, but she
doesn’t have the energy for a drunk shower. Leti takes off her cousin’s dress. She doesn’t have
on underwear. “Dammit, Graciela! I hope you regret all this in the morning.” She thinks about
the campus rape article Third Wave recently published. “At least enough not to do it again.” She
helps Graciela into the first shirt she finds and writes the phone number for the student health
clinic on Graciela’s notebook.
Graciela giggles and mutters about Brad.
“Drink this!” Leti hands Graciela two aspirin and a glass of water and covers her with a
blanket, like she had done for her dad after all the times she had driven them home. Leti curls up
on top of the roommate’s bed and tries to get a few hours of sleep before she has to report to
work. But she can’t block out drunken dad memories. Every time she dozes off, she sees him hit
her mom or hears the bottle of whisky crash into the bar wall or smells the burning tables or feels
the glass pierce the skin under her eye. She wishes she’d had a few more cups of punch.
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Still exhausted in the morning, Leti pulls her aching body up from the bed. Graciela
breathes normally. Leti doesn’t have much time, so she hustles down the hill for a shower and
clean clothes. She can’t be late for work.
~~~
Graciela walks into the lecture hall and a curly-haired student in the front row reminds
her of Leti. Was her prima at the party last night? She should call her for lunch. But not today.
Not when she feels like shit.
From the bottom of the graduated theater seats, she scans the room through her dark
glasses. People are staring, but she looks over their heads and tries unsuccessfully to focus on a
single face. Instead, she shifts her attention to the people who walk in from the top and heads
their direction, hopes to find an empty seat near someone she recognizes, someone who takes
better notes than she does in case she’s unable to stay awake. With her head throbbing, it’s
unlikely her giant coffee concoction will be effective anytime soon.
Graciela climbs over four people, bangs the heads in front of her with her bag. “Sorry,”
she mutters each time. She doesn’t sound sincere.
One girl says “Ow!” loudly, like Graciela clubbed her intentionally. People around them
snicker. Better than spilling coffee on her.
By the time Graciela plops into a seat, her brain is on fire. She’s afraid to remove her
glasses because the fluorescent lights overhead may cause more damage than last night’s alcohol.
A TA hands her an instruction sheet for the research paper assignment. “Thanks,” she
says, and gulps what is now a lukewarm beverage.
“Whiskey?” the Anthony Michael Hall look-alike next to her asks, points at her cup.
She glares at him. “Coffee.” And shifts in her seat so her back is more toward him. It
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looks like she’s paying attention to professor’s lecture.
Creepy dude leans forward and whispers in her ear, “Last night was whiskey though,
huh?” He sniffs in her direction like a bloodhound. “I can smell it.” And he smacks his gum in
his saliva, its sweetness lingers near her earlobe.
Graciela refuses to respond, pretends to concentrate on the lecture, and looks at the
handout as if she has a clue what’s going on. He shifts so he overlaps into her seat, one that’s
already too small. Graciela turns, raises her sunglasses to the top of her head so he can see her
dark brown eyes ringed with smeared mascara and eyeliner too stubborn to be removed. And she
growls, “Leave me alone.” The alcohol-infused juices in her stomach churn and the smell
emanates out her mouth.
He backs off.
Graciela feels less hung-over and can pay attention. Once she finishes her coffee, she
situates her notebook and attempts to take notes. Her handwriting is so haphazard, she barely
recognizes it. Nothing she writes makes sense.
By the time ninety minutes of class are over, Graciela’s head is in agony. She mumbles,
“I should’ve stayed home.” She stands to put her notebook away and kicks the empty coffee cup
under the seat. It rolls down to the front of the auditorium. “Crap!” She climbs over the people
still in her row to escape creepy dude.
There’s a tap on her shoulder. “You dropped this.” Slender brown fingers, tinged with
paint, smell faintly of turpentine. She hands Graciela the research paper instructions.
“Apparently dropping is what I do today.” Graciela picks up her wayward cup. “Thanks.”
“No problema. I’m Jocelyn. From Summer Program. You lived with Leticia.”
“I’m her cousin. You a film major?”
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“Art. Like your brother in Texas.”
“You know my brother?” Graciela feels her stomach and head competing for most
tortured body part. “Why are you in this class?”
Jocelyn guides Graciela toward the exit. “I like old television shows, and this meets my
out-of-major art requirement.” She shakes her head. “LAU likes to complicate my life.”
Graciela flinches in the bright sunlight. She nods her agreement. She wishes the film
school application was less complicated.
“Leticia showed me your brother’s painting of her house in Hatch. I like his style.”
Graciela hasn’t told anyone where she’s from and her cousin tells the world. Great.
Professor and TA walk past them and Graciela remembers she needs a copy of the
syllabus. “Professor – damn what’s his name?”
“Syd.”
“I’m not sick.”
“The professor hates to be called professor. Call him Syd.”
Graciela leaves Jocelyn behind to chase after Syd and TA. She has to move extra fast to
keep up with them. The trek to Syd’s office in the almost noon sunshine on an empty stomach is
excruciating. Her head doesn’t feel too bad anymore, but her arms and legs protest the exertion,
like she’d given folklórico lessons all night again instead of standing around slamming liquor
with Tiffany and her friends.
Syd extends a thick stapled packet toward Graciela and says, “I’d advise you to lay off
the booze. At least during the week.” He smiles wide, like he’s mocking her.
The TA stifles a giggle.
Graciela’s eyes involuntarily open to their largest diameter before she can blink and
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stumble over a non-response. She frowns at her own stupidity, and he releases the paper.
“Only offering the same advice I’d give my own daughter. You’re here to get an
education, remember that.”
“Thanks,” Graciela manages to say through gritted teeth, glad she didn’t offer them her
name. It’s better if they don’t know when they grade her research paper. She should’ve asked
Jocelyn for a peek at her syllabus instead.

Graciela stumbles into the North Campus eatery and finds a table close to the door, not
too cold but some fresh air. She plops herself down. “I need bread.”
“You need water.” Jocelyn stands next to the table, a tray of food in her hand. “I’m on
my way to a study group or I’d join you. But seriously, re-hydrate.” She lifts her elbow toward
the ice and water dispenser. “It’s free. You’ll thank me later.”
Graciela sits for a few minutes, looks around for familiar faces. Gratefully there are none.
She gulps several cups of water before she buys pasta and garlic bread.
“Tiffany’s friend!” A loud voice echoes against the wall behind her.
Glad she left her glasses on inside, Graciela smiles and tries to ignore the two guys.
“Leave her alone, man,” a third one says. He turns a chair around, straddles it, and sits
next to her. “Feeling okay today?”
His blonde hair and tan face are vaguely familiar. He sucks in his lower lip, bites it for a
second, and she remembers. “Feeling like I partied all night with you, Chris.”
“You can definitely take tequila shots better than those two.” He points at his friends who
have wandered to the cashier and pretend to order everything on the menu.
Graciela opens her book, irritated her pasta and bread are getting cold. “I’ve had a lot of
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practice.” Her stomach reminds her of the last time with Jorge and friends. And here, Eddie isn’t
around to rescue her.
“Being a real Mexican, I’d expect that.”
She frowns then remembers her dance lessons have become expected at every frat party,
even the not-Mexican-themed ones.
He stands when his obnoxious friends return with sodas. “See you next Thursday.”
The thought of next Thursday makes Graciela throw up in her mouth a little.
~~~
Leti drags herself out of the financial aid office at one and follows her hunger to The
Coffeehouse. With her dorm coupon, she can get a sandwich and some caffeine.
“We’re never doing that again,” Talia says. She approaches Leti’s table with her books
and a sack lunch from the dorm. She hands Leti one of her apples.
“Your sandwich is twice mine’s size.” Leti holds up her tiny ham and cheese croissant.
“For the same price.” Talia takes Leti’s coffee cup to the counter for a refill.
“But here I get unlimited refreshment.”
“After last night, we need it. I almost didn’t get up for class. Where were you?” She asks
with her lovey-dovey eyes.
“Not with Yiska. I’m sure you were hoping.”
Talia frowns.
“I stayed at Graciela’s.” Leti rolls her eyes. “Their place is huge. Like three of ours.”
“For ten times the price.” Talia unwraps her brownie and breaks it in half. “And it smells
disgusting in there. Like they can never get old barf out the carpet.”
“Glad we have concrete floors.” Leti’s feet cringe at cold morning memories. “We need
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to buy a rug.”
“They don’t let us dorm kids have those kinds of parties. Only athletes and rich folks.”
“The guy at the end of our hallway has a keg in his closet. Is it for personal use?”
Talia gives her the side eye. “He was kicked out after new year’s. Lives on someone’s
couch I heard. Probably got beer tapped into a vein by now.”
“Who told you that?”
“Some of the athletes used to have parties in the suites like the frats until one of the
security guards got shot.”
“Shot?”
“Some dumb ass friend of someone had a gun, showed it off and it accidentally fired.”
Talia waves her hand dismissively. “No one in college actually carries guns.” She looks at Leti
with relief. “This ain’t Texas.”
Or New Mexico. “My dad had guns.” Leti blows on her coffee. “A rack in his pick-up
window until he had to sell them,” she pauses to sip, “after he gambled my college fund away.”
She fills her mouth with hot liquid, surprised she’s shared so much. Maybe she should ask Dr.
Alas about her attachment issues.
“Your cousin okay this morning?”
“Asleep but alive. Her roommate never came home though.”
“Maybe she ran into Yiska on her way.” Talia reaches over for a drink of Leti’s beverage.
But Leti holds it tight and glares. “She’s probably not his type.” She tries to recall what
she knows about Tiffany. “Red head. From Mission Viejo. Another sorority freak.”
“Would it bother you?”
“Joining a sorority?”
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“Yiska with someone else.”
Leti thinks for a minute, holds her sandwich mid-air for her final bite. “He can do
whatever he wants.” But she hears the edge in her voice, knows Talia does too.
“Not the question.”
She finishes chewing. “I’m not good at relationships. I can’t afford distractions from
school. And I don’t have time with work and Third Wave and my new research.”
Talia puts her bright orange tipped hand on Leti’s. “Think about your other options.”
Leti thinks about her mom, her Tia, and her miserable high school relationship. “We’re
good like we are.” She takes her cup from Talia. “I hate to leave you here without my coffee, but
I have a deadline and need to help layout the X issue for next week.”
“I’m gonna have a chat with your shrink. Doesn’t she know all this work is unhealthy for
you? You need a man.”
“I don’t. It’s not.” Leti gets up to leave. “But her number is on my desk if you need some
counseling.” She laughs all the way to the Ethnic Publications office.

“What if I like Yiska as more than a friend?” Leti sits in Dr. Alas’s office for her regular
appointment. “But I don’t have time, or the energy, for all that.” She tells Dr. Alas about her
week of winter break meals with Thomas, who eventually admitted he has a girlfriend in
Riverside and drove out to see her on Christmas Day. “I blurted out something about Yiska. I
should probably tell him before Thomas says anything that makes me look stupid.”
“Have you shared your ambivalence about Yiska with anyone?”
“Like who?” Leti frowns. “Talia is blinded by her devotion to Marv and wants me to be
in love with him. Graciela wouldn’t understand. Yiska isn’t all rich and fancy like her frat boys.”
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“Is it something you would have shared with your mother if she was around?”
Leti thinks about the boy she thought she loved in high school. “We never talked about
such things.” She had hidden her blood-stained underwear after she had sex the first time, that
time he laughed at her. “It’s not considered proper.” She looks up at Dr. Alas. “Si sabes.”
Dr. Alas nods. “How was your first Christmas without parents?”
“On the twenty-seventh I got a letter from my dad. Not a Christmas card. Another short
note asking if I could send him money. He needs to buy essentials like soap and cigarettes. This
time he included a form to fill out and send back.” She reaches in her backpack for the envelope.
“I wrote a response.” From the back of it, she reads: “Dearest Daddy, I had a wonderful
Christmas, thank you for asking. I ate a bag of Funyuns from the vending machine and washed it
down with warm water from the drinking fountain. I sat downstairs in the empty lounge where I
didn’t have to stare at the same four walls of my tiny room and occasionally, I could hear a car
drive by on a distant street. When my ass hurt from sitting so long, I walked up to the top floor–
you can see all the way to the ocean from there–and back down the other staircase. By then I was
tired, so I went to bed. I didn’t bother to shower.”
Dr. Alas asks, “How did you feel after writing that?”
Leti shrugs and tosses the letter onto the table between them. “I didn’t really do all those
things. I was trying to think of something ridiculous, but I’m not very creative.”
“Did you send him money?”
Leti looks stunned. “I don’t have money to send him. If it wasn’t for several free meals,
courtesy of Thomas’s friends and his job, I might have starved over winter break.” She looks
down at herself. “Not starved, but I would’ve been weak and grumpy. When Talia got back, she
reminded me how hard I work to earn every penny. She said he’s not my responsibility.”
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Dr. Alas makes a note on her tablet. “She is correct. And you have a right to be,” Dr. Alas
pauses, “grumpy. Are you planning to write him a real response? Have you composed any more
letters to your mother?”
“I made them Christmas cards while I sat around feeling sorry for myself. But didn’t mail
them in time, so I threw them away. I wouldn’t know where to mail Mom’s. Dad’s would go to,”
she picks up the envelope, “New Mexico State Penitentiary, PO Box 639, Las Cruces, New
Mexico 88004.”
“In those cards, did you mention your ambivalence about Yiska?”
Leti blinks, the numerals she’d recited echoed in her brain. “Yiska? Why would I
mention him? To either of them?” She stands up and walks to the window where the lavender
candle isn’t lit. “I wrote about my job, my scholarships, my roommate. Focused on the good
stuff. No use making them feel worse about it all. I even lied about how great Graciela and I are,
like pretended we’re together so they wouldn’t worry.” She chuckles. “I guess part of me hoped I
would find a way to send them.”
“Have you always been dishonest with your parents to protect them?”
Leti walks back over to the couch and perches on its edge. “Not exactly. I mean, I did
protect my dad. From himself when he was drunk.” Leti leans back and covers her face with her
hands. “I didn’t protect my mom from him though.”
“Why do you feel the need to lie to them now?”
Leti sits forward, elbows on knees and chin cradled in her palms. “The letters aren’t real.
I already know my life is fucked up, why write it all out? If I’m not sending the letter, and I’m
the only one who’s gonna read it, I’d like to imagine I live a more pleasant life.”
“How do you think you can obtain a more pleasant life?”
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Leti thinks about Hatch, the moments that weren’t terrible. “I have to keep working for it.
Differently than my dad did with his money obsession. Differently than my mom whose focus
was to please and serve him.” She sits up straighter. “I think I can be happy here. I need to figure
out what that looks like. For me.”
Dr. Alas hands Leti a copy of The Psychology Journal, a professional journal published
on campus. “There’s an article I’d like you to read.”
“Now you’re giving me homework?”
“Don’t you have to write at least three journal responses for your Introduction to
Psychology course?”
Leti narrows her eyes. “How’d you know that?”
Dr. Alas leans forward and whispers loudly, “You’re not my first client.”
Leti looks at the plain blue cover with unassuming yellow and white letters. At the dog-
eared page, there’s an article titled, “Adult Orphans.”
“I found it interesting and there’s a section that reminds me of the research paper you
wrote for your Sociology class.”
Leti frowns. “I got a B on the paper. The TA said it needed to be more personal.”
“If you decide you want to continue scholarly writing, you should talk to my partner.
She’s the editor of this publication. She’s in El Salvador right now doing research, but she’ll be
back in the fall.”
“Maybe if my mom had someone to talk to about her problems, she wouldn’t have left.”
~~~
Graciela sits on the edge of the school’s famous inverted fountain. It looks more like a
rock-filled toilet bowl. She has brown and yellow crepe flower-covered wings along her arms.
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“Graciela?” A familiar voice calls a now unfamiliar name. “Graciela, what the hell are
you doing? Why are you dressed like that?”
Across from her, Tiffany perches like a bird about to take flight and shushes them.
“Gracie, your friend is going to get us in trouble.”
Graciela can’t tell her cousin this is part of her rush week obligations. “The better
question, Leticia, is why were you in the psycho ward just now?” Graciela gestures with her chin
to the building that forms the toilet’s tank. “You aren’t a psychology major. Are you?” They
were both business majors with a minor in Spanish when they started, but a lot has changed since
the beginning of the year.
Leti says quietly, “I was at my therapy appointment.”
“Your what?” Graciela shrieks, practices her bird performance in case some of the Beta
Theta Chi members approach or witness the exchange.
“I told you I have mandatory counseling for my scholarships.” She scowls. “It’s what
homeless orphans have to do.” She bites her lip and looks away.
Graciela knows that look. Leti hates confrontations. She isn’t sure what to say, so she
adjusts her feet on her perch, makes sure to stay within the chalk lines designated for her pose.
“It’s not a big deal,” Leti continues. “Dr. Alas listens to my family problems.”
Graciela starts to say, what problems, but catches herself.
“And she’s going to help me publish my research next fall.”
“So now you’re a writer too?” She doesn’t want to seem insensitive, but she needs her
cousin to go away. “Great. Good for you.”
“For Third Wave, the feminist newsmagazine. I told you that, too.” Leti walks around the
fountain past Tiffany. “So, are you two some kind of store promotion like the bear who sells
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university shirts?”
“No!” Graciela hisses. “Now go.” She tries to wave her cousin away but almost falls into
the swirling water.
Leti grabs Graciela’s arm, loosens a few flowers. She quickly picks them up and looks
concerned. “Maybe you need therapy too.”
Graciela looks past her cousin and sees her potential sorority sisters in the distance.
“Maybe I do but not now. Shoo!” Graciela kicks a leg out, loses her balance again.
This time Leti doesn’t try to help her stay upright. Instead, she frowns and says, “You’re
a weirdo!” She hurries off toward whatever other class or work obligation she must have next.
Graciela looks at her outstretched arms, forms the appropriate shadow outlined on the
ground in front of her. She shifts a little to match the changing angle of the sun. This is weird,
but if it gets her into the best sorority on campus, it’s totally worth it.
The sisters arrive and Gracie is in perfect form. Her cramped legs resist a little when she
jumps off the fountain’s edge, but she ignores the pain and flaps her wings, imitates a bird in
flight all the way down the hill to the yard of the Beta Theta Chi house. Tiffany follows her, and
they caw back and forth every ten steps per their directive. Three other bird-clad girls wait in
cardboard nests. Gracie and Tiffany join them and hope to be chosen by Beta Theta Chi.

She complains to Chris, but he doesn’t understand. “Your cousin sounds like an asshole.”
“She’s not.”
He kisses her neck.
“But she doesn’t understand sorority demands, how important it is to me. To my career.”
Eventually, they are half-naked on his apartment balcony. She straddles his lap, faces
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away from him and watches the distant lights she imagines are Hollywood.
He moans, “Ay mami” and “Mucho caliente,” into her back.
She thinks about the paper she needs to write and the project she hasn’t started. She
barely notices when he’s finished.
~~~
“Damn, Leti,” Jocelyn says, “What happened to you?”
Leti looks at her reflection in a nearby window. Curls stick up on top of her head, pieces
escape from barrettes. And her gray windbreaker is inside out. “Life happened,” she mutters, and
takes off the still-damp jacket to hang it on a chair. “I left work in a hurry and it was drizzling.
My jacket only covered my backpack not my head.” She pats her hair down, tries to smooth the
strays into place. “It’s hopeless.”
“You’re gonna be fine,” Talia says. She pulls Leti away from the glass and guides her
into a chair. “Nothing a little hair grease won’t fix.” Talia reaches into her humongous purse and
pulls out a package of rubber bands, a long-tailed comb, and a jar of ultrasheen.
“What don’t you have in there?” Yanaha asks. She pokes around inside the open purse.
Talia hip-checks her. “Don’t worry about what I don’t have. What you need?” She rubs
some hair product on her hands and tries to organize Leti’s mess into a few manageable chunks.
“I need a vacation,” Leti answers. “But I can’t afford it.”
Talia swiftly tames the pile of curls into a tight braid. “Now it won’t escape for hours.”
“Thanks, momma,” Leti says.
Talia packs her things before she goes to the bathroom to wash her hands.
“She really is the mom of us, isn’t she?” Yanaha says to their friend’s back. “She kept me
from failing my Anthro class during gymnastics season.”
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Leti looks at her friends and nods. “She takes better care of me than I take of myself.”
She stands up and turns back to inspect her more composed reflection. “She’s the best.”
“Who’s the best?” Marv asks. He plops down on an empty chair.
“Your girlfriend,” Yanaha says. “We’re all grateful you brought her to LA.”
Yiska hugs his twin sister hello. “Not sure I can say the same about this guy.” He stands
next to Marv, taller, leaner, and winks across the table at Leti.
“I told you my foot hurt.” Marv takes off his shoe and sock. “I stubbed my pinky toe on
the bed this morning.” He lifts his foot in the air as proof. “It might be broken.”
Yiska shakes his head. “He made our relay time the slowest ever. Coach was pissed.”
“Marvin William Foster, put that back on your nasty foot and go wash your hands before
you touch anything. Especially me.” Talia walks around him to hug Yiska hello.
Marv obeys. Like they all do when Talia gives orders.
Leti watches Yiska bend down to whisper something in Talia’s ear.
“He’ll get over it,” she says. “His toe isn’t as hurt as his ego.” She nudges Yiska away
from her. “Sit over there.” She points at the chair near Leti. “I got all my stuff here already. After
we eat, some of us have to study for midterms while you and stank shoe,” she gestures to her
returning boyfriend, “watch the game.”
Yiska takes the empty chair. He leans over to peck Leti on the cheek and hugs her close
to him. His blue and gold track warm up is cool on her skin.
Leti pauses a second before hugging him back and inhales his Ivory soap scent.

Right after their pizza and pitchers arrive, the basketball highlights are interrupted by a
special bulletin: home video footage of four police officers beating a helpless Black man while
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he cowers on the ground. Other officers watched. The noise from the helicopter overhead
muffled what the person holding the camera said.
Leti flinches and looks away.
Yiska watches the TV. His arm next to Leti tenses. “That’s some bullshit,” he grumbles.
He grips the hard-plastic cup and taps it on the table, the ice rattles in an unnatural rhythm.
Leti reaches out and puts her hand lightly on his arm. His body is rigid. He’s not the same
guy who hugged her earlier.
He leans away, shakes his head. The scar along his jaw is more visible when he clenches
his teeth.
Leti lifts fingers to her own moon-shaped mark. The one dangerously close to her eye.
Yanaha’s warning comes from across the table. “Brother?”
Tears stream down Jocelyn’s cheeks, and she leans her head on Yanaha’s shoulder.
Leti looks at Talia who usually knows what to do, what to say.
She stands up and hugs Marv close to her, looks away from the television. She can’t
watch the horror. It happened to her brother. Leti knows her uncle and father had been threatened
with similar violence. And with Marv’s smart mouth, she always worries he will be next.
But that was Texas. This is Los Angeles. Shit like this isn’t supposed to happen here.
The footage plays over and over. Their pepperoni and sausage turn cold, their sodas
become watery. After a while, Leti feels each blow and her stomach twists inside itself.
Other students in the Cucina watch. Silent.
Leti longs to turn it off.
A group of sweaty white fraternity guys enters loudly. They’re here for their team beer, a
victory celebration. Halfway to the bar, one of them stops his friends, notices the crowd of silent,
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mostly Black and Latino students. Another whispers a question. One laughs.
Leti glares at him.
He muffles his mockery. She knows him from his frequent visits to the financial aid
office. Ricardo. The only Latino in his fraternity. He told her to call him Rick.
The guy who stopped the group gestures to the television and they all look up.
Leti rests her hand more firmly on Yiska. He breathes heavily while the news repeats the
footage of the police assaulting the Black man.
The frat boys lose interest and walk up to order beers, Rick hangs back from his group.
His gaze lingers on the television. He’s clearly uncomfortable.
Shortly, girls in matching T-shirts join them. They, too, pay minimal attention to the
repeated horror unfolding on the television news. One of them is Graciela. Like Rick, she has a
different identity in that world. Gracie, they call her.
Leti stares at her cousin until Graciela returns the look of recognition. But Gracie doesn’t
stray from her flock. She has become one of them.

At the Ethnic Publications office the next day, a roar escapes the closed door. Thomas,
and a few X staff discuss something intently with Carmen and La Raza staff at the center table.
Leti wants to drop off her latest attempt at a story and try to get an appointment with Dr. Alas,
but Stefán waves her over to the table where he watches a portable television with the volume
turned all the way down. He has cut down his fade, and half of it, at the roots, is his natural color
again.
Stefán offers details. “They plan to create a police brutality issue together. As you can
probably guess, someone wants the whole issue to be focused on incarcerated youth.”
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“You have to admire Carmen’s persistence.” Leti is genuinely impressed. “And this time,
she brought reinforcements.”
Stefán leans in closer. “I told them I could pitch in on layout, but with midterms
approaching, it might be a challenge for others.”
Leti agrees. “I should be studying. If I don’t keep my GPA up, I lose my scholarship.”
But she thinks about Yiska’s agony. Last night, Marv told Talia they might need to leave the city
because they can’t go across town without being treated like criminals. Leti wants her friends to
feel safe again. “But I’ll come in and help tomorrow.”
Stefán hugs Leti, envelops her in his muskiness. Before she can escape, Marv and Yiska
walk in and head toward Thomas. Leti stays hidden in Stefán’s shadow but isn’t sure why.
“He is fine!” Stefán hisses in her ear.
“He is mine!” Leti hisses back a half-truth, startled by her own reaction.
He turns and high fives her. “Wait. Which one? Light meat or dark?”
She frowns at him, explains the one with the sweatshirt is Marv, Talia’s boyfriend and
the one in the university track jacket is Yiska, her not-boyfriend, friend-person.
He nods, understands.
Marv tells Carmen and Thomas about Talia’s unarmed brother in Dallas who was
brutalized by the police and the frequent interactions he had to avoid.
Leti watches Yiska finger the scar along his jaw and touches her own cheek in sympathy.
Yiska shares, his voice shaky, “On the reservation, it’s different. Sure, some officers are
corrupt, but there’s an unspoken agreement. Hurting your own people isn’t tolerated. We’ve been
hurt enough by outsiders.”
He talks like he’s from another planet.
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Marv puts a supportive hand on Yiska’s shoulder and he continues, “Back then, my
friends and I drank a lot. Everyone did. And walking around town, not usually a problem.”
Leti thinks about Hatch and how easy it was to avoid most problems in a small town. Or
at least pretend you could.
“But one night, friends want to cross river, California side, see a rodeo.” He pauses, puts
pressure on his eyes with his fingers. “Sister warned me and cousin. ‘Bad idea,’ she said.
‘Cowgirls not worth the trouble.’” His voice breaks, and he can’t continue for a moment.
The editor waits, patiently, pen poised over steno pad.
Yiska’s voice is slower, sounds thicker. “Sheriff picked us up walking home. Not drunk
anymore. Goofing around but not bothering anyone.” He clenches his jaw, his scar deeper and
darker than normal. “Almost on tribal land.” Yiska closes his eyes.
Marv continues for him. “At the rodeo, one of his friends had tried to get this girl’s phone
number. Turns out, her dad was a sheriff and,” he pauses, “by the time they made it to the
reservation hospital, his cousin was dead.”
Yiska shakes his head. “I had a concussion. Stayed in the hospital for weeks with my jaw
wired shut.” He says it like his jaw can’t open now. His rage. His helplessness.
Now, his pain is Leti’s, too.
~~~
“Well, if it isn’t my long-lost student, Graciela Morales Gonzalez.”
“Gracie.” She already regrets the decision to visit her counselor again.
Dolores shakes her head. “Graciela, I have developed quite a rapport with your
roommate, Tiffany. Might add her to my Christmas card list.” She leans forward. “She’s dumb.
After my first three calls, she repeated the same lies.”
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“How do you know they’re lies?”
“Because you don’t have a sick grandmother you have to visit in Ventura once a week or
parents you meet for dinner when they have a layover at LAX.”
Tiffany has both of those. She isn’t even clever. Graciela offers Dolores a half-truth. “She
never gave me the messages, or I would’ve called you back.”
Dolores snorts and slurps her coffee. “Leticia and I had a good laugh about her.”
Graciela scowls at her. “Aren’t counselors supposed to keep things confidential?”
“Look, Princess,” she continues, “my job isn’t to lie to you about how your mistakes are
okay because they aren’t. Right now, you are hovering on a disaster of a life with one of two
endings: You return to the green chile highway or end up strutting your stuff on Hollywood
Blvd. instead of premiering your film there. Either way, not your dream life, is it? The only way
you’ll get that life is to play the game even if you don’t like the rules.” She sits back and crosses
her arms over her large mid-section.
Graciela doesn’t appreciate the options Dolores has presented as her only ones. Her voice
is quiet and barely sounds like her usual confident self. “Can I see my schedule, so I can decide
which class to drop?” Now, more than ever, she’s determined to prove Dolores wrong. She’s
determined to be accepted into film school next year. If she double majors in business and film,
her father can’t object.
“While you do that, I’ll give you potential classes for fall. You did well when you took
Spanish with Leticia.”
She never did call her prima about lunch after that frat party. Hasn’t seen Leti since that
night in the Cucina. “Good idea.”
Dolores adds, “And in case you weren’t paying attention at the last pajama party, your
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sorority can kick you out for being on academic probation.”

Katherine agrees to meet Graciela at a café in the village after her panhellenic council
meeting. Now that Graciela’s academic reality is threatened, she needs a plan and Katherine is
the only person she knows besides Leti who is serious about school.
Once they find a table, Graciela asks, “Can they really kick me out because of grades?”
“Gracie, I warned you about letting all that,” she gestures back, “take over your life.”
Graciela agrees, but doesn’t say the sorority was only one of many distractions. Men also
distract her from her goals and the business classes are boring. She doesn’t want to end up back
in Hatch. Or worse. She shudders, recalls Dolores’s prediction of prostitution on LA streets.
Katherine says, “It’s easy to get trapped into the web of sisterhood. And it’s worse when
you live in the house. You wake up surrounded by sisters, eating with sisters, sleeping with the
sound of a sister snoring in the nearby bed.” She stops and lowers her volume. “I was a mess the
whole time.” She sips her coffee. Katherine’s pale skin is lighter than her milk-infused beverage.
The opposite of Graciela’s brown skin.
Graciela tries to listen thoughtfully but is enthralled by Katherine’s bright black eyes and
straight black hair that falls across the edge of her eyebrow. Graciela wants to reach across the
table and push the stray hair out of Katherine’s face, but she’s afraid it’ll break her concentration.
And she wants to keep hearing her voice.
Katherine leans across the tiny, round, mosaic-topped table and whispers, “And they
never really treat me like I’m one of them.” She looks away. After a few hard exhalations, she
confides in Graciela. “Like you, I graduated valedictorian of my class. They expected me to have
straight As here, too. They want to get their affirmative action points with the national
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panhellenic council. They use us to make their statistics look good.”
“Their what?” Graciela leans back, not comfortable with what Katherine has implied.
There’s supposed to be a loyalty. A sisterhood code. Her criticisms clearly fall outside the realm
of that covenant.
Katherine sits up. “The year I joined, there was one other Korean girl and two Japanese
girls. One’s in a Christian sorority. She’s only focused on fitting in with her white sisters.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Katherine avoids the question. “There were a few Latinos like you. The girl I remember
quit after a few months. She was in a house that threw a lot of parties, rivaled Thursday at
fraternities. She was more studious. The guys were mixed, two with white and the other with
black. I’m not sure what happened to them.”
“Was one Ricardo, I mean Rick Diaz? Econ major.”
Katherine shrugs and adds more sugar and cream to her now warm coffee.
“I have class with him.” Graciela remembers him at the Cucina when that horrible news
report played repeatedly. “He tags along with the other guys, but doesn’t really fit in.”
Katherine looks up over the rim of her cup and raises her eyebrows as if to say, exactly.
~~~
The next week, Leti is finally able to schedule an appointment to see Dr. Alas.
“My apologies, Leticia. Since the Rodney King incident, I’ve had a dozen more students
added to my case load. How are you doing?”
Leti paces the room instead of sitting in her usual chair. “I’m not sleeping well.” She
wonders if Yiska has come in to see Dr. Alas or if the athletic department has therapists for
students or if other people see a therapist without it being mandated. “I’m really worried about
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my friend.” She doesn’t mention Yiska’s name. Dr. Alas might think they’re more serious than
Leti is ready to be. “He has been distant, not his usual self.” She taps the scar under her eye,
thinks about Yiska’s jaw.
“Are you worried your friend will hurt himself or someone else?” Dr. Alas asks.
“He’s not a violent person.” Leti stops pacing. “But the news brought up all his anger
about the police beating him and killing his cousin.” She sits in the chair across from Dr. Alas.
“He still holds so much pain.”
“Did this happen recently?” Dr. Alas sits up taller in her chair, reacts more than usual.
“No. When he was in high school. But he told the story at the newsmagazine last week. I
overheard it and now, I can’t stop thinking about it. My dreams are him and the television news.
Sometimes my dad is there, laughing like he did after he set his bar on fire.” Leti sits down and
watches Dr. Alas scribble furiously on her tablet. Leti wants answers, solutions to her problems.
“Leticia, you are clearly preoccupied with the recent violence. How do you feel it relates
to you?”
Leti feels her confused face form. “I’ve never been victimized by the police.”
“But who was responsible for protecting you, like the police are?”
“My dad. And he didn’t.” She points to her eye. “He gave me this. Same way the police
gave Yiska his injuries.”
“Is Yiska your boyfriend now?”
“We hang out more now. Other people think we’re together. My friends, his teammates.
We sometimes study together, but we’re just friends.” Leti jumps up to punctuate her denial and
paces the room again.
“Do you want a more serious relationship?” Dr. Alas asks.
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“Not an option.” Leti stops to inhale the lavender emitted from the nearby candle. “I’m
not good at –” Leti hesitates. “My only boyfriend in high school was controlling and – I’m not
sure how to say it.”
“You don’t have to identify what he is, but if you can, tell me what he did.”
“He said mean things about my body. Said if I loved him then we should have sex.”
Leti stares at the colorful painting on the wall. Its rows of green like the fields she passed
on her way to high school. The bright sun setting like it did behind the Tonuco Mountains along
Interstate 25. She stares at the picture and says quietly, “I thought it would be beautiful because
he said he loved me.” Tears fill her eyes and bile rises in her throat. “I wanted to have sex with
him. I was curious about it and my mom never talked about sex. Graciela was waiting for
someone special, and I thought he was my someone special.” She draws a circle on her right
palm with her left finger. She presses hard, makes lines radiate out from the circle like sun rays.
“Afterwards, he laughed and made fun of my clothes. It was easy to forget about any possibility
of special and concentrate on getting out of Hatch.”
Dr. Alas doesn’t bother with tissues.
Leti sits down again, wipes her tears away with her sleeve.
Dr. Alas asks, “When you think about your future, do you see a husband or children?”
“Married?” Leti hears the ugly in her tone. “No thank you. I watched what married did to
my mom. She devoted herself to my dad. I’ve seen how mi Tio Lalo treats Tia Irene, like she’s a
servant. His restaurant couldn’t function without her, yet he reaps all the benefits. I can’t see any
reason to be married.” Leti sits up a little taller, realizes how much she’d needs to address her
animosity toward her parents. It was not an issue she wrote about in any of her letters to them or
her research paper.
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“Do you think any intimate relationship is destined to be like your parents’?”
“Do I think Yiska will get drunk, hit me, lose all our money gambling, burn down his bar,
and go to jail?” She shifts in the chair. “I doubt it. But I can’t know for certain what anyone will
do. And I sure don’t want to find out.”
Dr. Alas makes a note on her tablet. “Even though your parents supported you until you
were almost an adult, their abrupt and unexpected abandonment has caused you to have a self-
protective impulse. Whereas most people would seek a new relationship to replace the failed
ones, you avoid any close emotional connections.”
“Life doesn’t come with any kind of assurance a commitment will work. I’d rather
depend on myself. Then no one else can disappoint me.”
Leti leaves and she’s less worried about Yiska. She has her own healing to do.

181

Summer 1991

Graciela’s parents pick her up at the El Paso airport because her brothers were both busy.
Her father puts her suitcases in the trunk.
Her mother whispers, “You should have done that.” She fakes a smile at Father.
“He wouldn’t let me.” Graciela isn’t going to argue with him. He already seems angry
about something. She watches him wince and move slowly into the driver’s door.
“Want me to drive?” Graciela offers event though she knows the answer.
He says nothing, glares at her mother as if she suggested Graciela offer.
“Have you heard from Tia?” Graciela asks.
Her parents exchange a different kind of glance.
She waited to fly in on Monday since Casa Gonzalez is closed in Hatch, her father’s only
day off. “Are we stopping at Eddie’s for lunch?” Her brother’s Las Cruces restaurant is open.
Again, the glances, and her father mutters an answer she can’t understand before he turns
up the staticky am radio.
Their reticence makes Graciela even more uncomfortable and after a while, she dozes off,
dreams about the giant white sorority house and runs on the beach with Tiffany, Stephanie, and
Bethany. Katherine watches them from the front steps.
The car stops in front of Casa Gonzalez in Hatch, and there are several trucks in the
parking lot. Her father turns around, “Big party this weekend. Lots to do.”
She’d asked her mother for money to pay the deposit on her sorority room, and her father
had taken the phone to inform her she’d have to earn that amount at the restaurant this summer.
But she can only stay until the end of July. She has to make up the economics class she failed
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and it’s offered in LAU’s last summer session.
Before Graciela joins her mother in the kitchen, she hurries to the bathroom. On the way
back, she passes through the dining area and stops to watch her father point and mutter at the
young guys who move the tables back onto the newly tiled floor. They must have worked all
night. The terracotta makes the room warmer and cozier, a sharp contrast to the black and white
linoleum with the errant red accent squares.
One guy stops, holds two chairs in each hand, a few feet off the floor. He smiles at
Graciela and instinctively, she smiles back. He is dark and short, but his eyes smile too. Graciela
scowls and walks away, now eager to be ensconced in kitchen torture with her mother.
That night, she doesn’t bother to shower the chile smell out of her hair or scrub under her
nails with lemon. She simply collapses on her twin bed fully clothed. And her dreams are filled
with dark-skinned men, chiles, and her father who glares angrily from the car window.

In the morning, Jorge and Eduardo sit at the kitchen table and drink café con leche. She
pours herself half a cup from the bottom of the pot and scowls at them. “Inconsiderate asses.”
Jorge gulps his faster and moves away from her swinging fist.
“You bring all your stuff home?” Eduardo asks.
“Why would I do that?” She snaps at them, not ready to be awake and disgusted by her
own unpleasant odor. “I should’ve showered.”
“We figured my mom wouldn’t let you go back after what happened,” Jorge says. “She’s
been worried ever since.”
“She goes to mass every morning,” Eduardo adds.
Graciela shakes her head. “Why are you two here?”
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Eduardo looks at Jorge who scoots back from the table and lifts his hands in surrender.
She points at Jorge, “You said you couldn’t pick me up because you were helping Eddie
at his restaurant.”
“He was helping me pack up everything.” Eduardo exhales long and hard. “I sold it to a
burger chain and a guy in Albuquerque bought the furniture, artwork, and some of the kitchen
stuff for his new café.”
“The rest we brought here this morning.” Jorge drinks the last of his café.
“Waiting for your father to get up so we can unload at Casa,” Eduardo says.
“You don’t have keys?” Graciela asks.
Both brothers shake their heads.
Graciela grins. “I thought he didn’t trust me because I’m a girl.”
Eduardo finishes his coffee. “He trusts no one.”
“Then good for me I don’t plan to work for him after college.”
~~~
Ricardo Diaz walks into the financial aid office and looks around behind himself. He
approaches Leti and asks quietly. “You the only person who can help me?”
Leti understands his shame. “You need another loan?” Rick seems exhausted and this is
not his first emergency loan application.
He avoids eye contact, concentrates on the new brochures on the counter. “The deposit
for a frat house room is a lot.” He looks up and smiles. “But a spot finally opened up, so I can
move out of the dorms.”
Leti thinks about Graciela’s sorority plans and wonders if she will live in one of the big
white houses or stay in the suites next year. She’s certain they will never room together again.
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She inspects Rick’s form and sees he works at the student store at a slightly higher hourly rate
than hers. “Mrs. Carrillo will call you after she processes the form.”
After Rick leaves, Leti asks Mrs. Carrillo, “Am I eligible for one of these?”
“Everything okay?”
“My roommates want an apartment off campus, and I don’t have enough for the deposit.”
She hands Leti a form. “In the village?”
“Can’t afford.” She frowns and signs the loan request. “Unless three of us share a studio.”
“Have you thought about looking for a job that pays more than work study?” Mrs.
Carrillo puts one supportive hand on Leti’s shoulder and takes the form with her other.
“Stefán and Thomas suggested I look at advertising and public relations firms since I
have such strong writing skills. My editor wrote me a letter of reference.”
“Then I will too,” Mrs. Carrillo says, her eyes slightly teary.

Leti enters the Wilshire Blvd. high-rise office building and is greeted by a tall, thin
blonde woman who isn’t much older than her. The woman says “Welcome” in an almost
seductive voice, smooths her short skirt, and presses her red lips together.
Leti feels self-conscious in her plain white shirt buttoned to the neck and her dark gray
slacks, which are a little short for her low-heeled sensible shoes. She pats the folder with her
writing samples and reference letters to rejuvenate her confidence. Before she responds, she
looks down at the address on the job notice again to make sure she’s in the right place. “I’m here
for the assistant editor interview.” She extends her hand. “Leticia Morales Murphy.”
“Jessica.” Her soft, weak grip is a sharp contrast to Leti’s well-practiced, firm handshake.
Leti follows Jessica to the huge corner office.
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“Sit down, honey.” A large, sweaty white man directs Leti to the tall chair across the desk
from him. “Résumé says you write for Third Wave. What’s that, a surfing magazine?”
“It’s the campus’s feminist newspaper. Right now, I’m a columnist, but –”
He interrupts her. “So, you’re one of them? How long you been into chicks?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just curious. When did you stop liking boys?”
Leti’s confusion distorts her face and her eyeballs feel twisted. Is this guy asking about
her sexual orientation? She continues the explanation of her work. “For my most recent column,
not only did I apply the research from my psychology class, I also conducted over 100 student
interviews. According to your job description, my skills could be beneficial.”
The man stays stone-faced for a second then lets out a loud, hearty laugh like Leti has
told the best joke ever. Serious again, he says, “That’s great. Good to know you have some of the
skills we’re looking for. But do you ever wear makeup? Let your hair down?”
Leti touches her tight bun, too stunned to answer. Not only are his questions illegal, they
are completely irrelevant. But she tries to remain professional. “I’m not sure what that has to do
with me performing the duties of the position such as–”
“I know what the damn duties are!” He slams his fist on the desk. “I wrote the job
description. I believe you can do all those things, or I wouldn’t have asked you in here for an
interview. They are secretary things all women should be able to do. What I care about is how
you look doing them.” He sits back, crosses his arms over his chest, and pouts like a baby.
Jessica offers, “What Mr. Miller is trying to say–”
Leti stands up and accidentally knocks the pencil cup off the edge of his desk with her
folder of unneeded clippings. “I know exactly what he’s trying to say.” She leaves the mess she
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made and walks out the door.
~~~
Graciela’s grade report arrives. She couldn’t intercept it like she did last summer because
her parents now use a post office box, and no one told her. They’d never mentioned fall semester
grades, so she’d hoped this one, too, would get lost in the mail.
Her father’s growl could be heard across the Rio Grande. “Que es éste basura?”
Graciela stands at the kitchen counter and blinks hard. She watched the vein on his neck
throb as he shook the paper in her face.
“Que estás haciendo? Porque no estudias?”
Her mother stands behind him, murmurs something Graciela cannot hear, but he
unclenches his jaw and smooths the paper out on the counter in front of her.
It’s worse than she thought. “I did study, pero es difícil,” Graciela squeaks out. “Hay
muchas distracciones.” She doesn’t want to blame half-naked roommates or fraternity parties. So
instead she offers, “I’ll do better away from campus and with my sorority sisters. Lo prometo.”
Her mother agrees, assures him. “But if you don’t,” she tells Graciela in Spanish, “I will
drive to Los Angeles myself and drag you back home by your hair.”
The thought of her mother driving anywhere besides New (or Old) Mexico, is almost
humorous. Out the corner of her eye, Graciela sees Jorge grinning in the hallway.
After dinner, Graciela calls the sorority house to check on her room’s progress. Usually
new sisters only get a fresh coat of paint and the carpet shampooed, but Graciela convinced the
house mother it had been shampooed enough and should be replaced.
Tiffany answers the phone and is clearly not happy. “Thanks to your renovation requests,
I’m sleeping on the living room couch surrounded by boxes all summer.”
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“Why? How long can it take to change the floor and paint?”
“Apparently, there was mold under the old carpet pad, and it may be toxic, so it has to be
inspected. It could take weeks.”
“Why don’t you sleep in someone else’s room? Aren’t several girls home for summer
break?” She recalled the announcement from a previous meeting.
“Sure, Gracie. Great idea! But since we have mold, the other rooms on our floor have to
be checked for mold too.” Tiffany’s volume increases and Graciela has to hold the phone away
from her ear. “And those girls moved to the second-floor rooms. There are no beds left, and I
can’t go home because my parents sold their house to travel.”
Her hysteria is punctuated by sobs. Graciela is annoyed and not sure what to do. “Nobody
else will let you crash their place?”
“Everyone is sharing on the second floor. I left messages with some other friends this
morning. At least you can stay with your parents until it’s ready in August.”
“August? I cannot stay here until August!” Graciela feels herself suffocate on the thought
of an extra month playing servant to her angry parents. “Tiffany, I’ll still return at the end of July
like I planned. We’ll figure this out.”
Graciela leaves a message for Leti with the dorm’s front desk clerk: “In big trouble here.
Need your help. Call collect.”
In Hatch, Graciela’s father could’ve influenced whoever inspects mold and the person
who installs carpet. The work would’ve been done faster. In this village, they are important.
Graciela realizes in Los Angeles, she’s not. Only money can manipulate people. And while the
Gonzalez family has a lot by Hatch standards, it doesn’t count so much in LA.
~~~
188

Red pulls his van into the dorm driveway, helps Keysha and Leti take their suitcase and
boxes down the stairs. Talia’s boxes are neatly piled by the door.
“We taking those too?” Keysha asks.
Leti shrugs.
“Why aren’t they here yet?”
Leti shrugs again and follows Keysha out the back staircase, barely awake.
Yiska is there too.
“Where’s Marv?” Keysha asks.
Yiska’s turn to shrug.
Red hollers, “We thought he was here helping y’all. I’m not moving his woman’s stuff if
he can’t be here.”
“Too early for all that, big guy,” Yiska says. “We’ll move them. He’ll pay later.” He
winks at Leti. “How was the interview?”
“At the bookstore? Great. I start Monday. It pays a little more than financial aid, but I’ll
still need a second job on weekends to cover food and utilities.” Talia had not included such
things in their conversation about budget for the upcoming year.
“What happened to the PR firm?”
Leti rolls her eyes. “Disastrous. Some men…” She doesn’t mean him and from the grin
on his face, he knows it. “Your sister and Jocelyn?”
“Some artist guy with a pick-up will help them move J’s canvases and paint today. We’ll
help them after we move our stuff tomorrow.”
They all crowd into the van and Red is still hollering, “And we’ve got to do all this again
tomorrow? I hope you women plan to feed me good.”
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Keysha flicks him in the neck. “Don’t ‘you women’ us. It’s sexist. Right, Leti?”
Leti nods her agreement. “Red, we can show our appreciation for your help in a variety of
ways. It doesn’t have to be in the kitchen.” She thinks about the food she made regularly for
herself in Hatch: quesadillas, mashed potatoes, and scrambled eggs. She’s watched her mom
cook real meals but hasn’t ever done it on her own.
Red chuckles.
Keysha flicks him again. “She doesn’t mean sex.”
Yiska’s eyes open wide at Leti.
“I – I didn’t!” Her throat tightens and her empty stomach rumbles in protest. “I meant
tomorrow we’ll go back to campus and help you load up your boxes. Right Keysha? Isn’t your
apartment down the street from ours?”
They arrive at the girls’ apartment on Shenandoah Avenue where Talia and Marv are
already lining the cabinet shelves with pretty paper and wiping down the kitchen surfaces.
“Why are you being all domesticated? We don’t even own kitchen crap.” Keysha drops
one of Talia’s boxes near Marv’s toe on purpose.
Marv glares at her. He hands Talia some dishes from the box on the floor.
“Where’d all this come from?” Keysha asks.
He unpacks another bag with cups. “Thrift store. My anniversary gift to Talia.”
“I got him a cute little lamp for his new room.”
Only Leti and Yiska see Marv roll his eyes.
“Why weren’t you two helping pack up the van?” Red asks. He carries Keysha’s bags
into her room. “Should make you empty it by yourselves.”
“I left you all a note. Marv and I went to this cute little diner for breakfast. Café 50s. You
190

should try it. Delicious food and not too expensive.”
“I didn’t see a note. You could’ve invited us. Brought leftovers. Something.” Keysha
yells from the room. “You know we’re missing cafeteria breakfast, and all I had left in my food
stash was stale crackers and a giant cookie too hard to eat.”
Talia smiles. “It was our anniversary breakfast. None of you crazies were invited because
anniversaries are private celebrations.” She tiptoes to kiss Marv.
He reaches down to rub her butt.
“Stop that!” Keysha yells. “We’re gonna have to eat in there, even if it is take out.”
Leti feels her stomach lurch. “I can’t afford to eat at a restaurant. I probably won’t be
able to afford take out.” She tries to remember if they passed a grocery store on their drive here.
“I’ve got to buy a bed, maybe a desk.” She drags her suitcase into her bedroom and Yiska
follows with her with boxes of books. “I’ve gotta save for my expenses in fall.”
“They’re hiring,” Marv yells from the kitchen.
Yiska looks at her, eyebrows raised.
She buries her face in the towels she’s unpacking. Waiting tables again? “Guess the diner
can’t be as bad as serving the drunks at my dad’s bar.” She presses her scar and wonders if her
dad’s letters will find her in her new place. Not sure if she wants them to.

191

Fall Semester 1991

Graciela sits in the first row of the lecture hall, plans to pay attention better in this Art
History class than she did in British History last year. Another F and she’s on academic
probation. After the first half hour of professor droning-on, Graciela’s neck aches, her eyes fight
to stay open. But this close to the stage, if she sleeps, it will likely result in total humiliation.
She tries to be more studious, take actual notes, hopes to learn something. She sneaks a
glance at the familiar girl a few seats away with two long braids who only writes a word here and
there. The margins of her page are filled with drawings.
She must not be part of the struggling, at-risk students Dolores helps like Graciela is.
At the break, the TA asks the professor how something she lectured about connects to the
chapter in the text. He points at the thick book open on his arm.
Graciela scribbles what she hears on the back of her notebook. Shit! She doesn’t have her
textbooks yet. She adds a reminder to visit the bookstore after class.
The artist returns to her seat before the break is over and silently offers Graciela some
dried fruit. Graciela politely declines, but the other student sets a can of Dr. Pepper on a desk
between them. “The machine gave me two.” Even though Graciela usually drinks diet soda, she
smiles and opens it for a sip. The sweet bubbles tickle her nose, soothe her throat, and
immediately make her feel more awake. The rest of her notes are distinctly better.
At the end of class, the artist stands and stretches, her long black braids swing behind her.
“You’re Jocelyn.” Graciela finally remembers. “From Broadcasting.”
“You’re Leticia’s cousin. Didn’t recognize you. Different hair? Did you drop that class?”
“Something like that,” Graciela mumbles. She had managed to pass because she had lied
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about her family problems so she could turn in her research paper and take her final exam late.
“Leticia and I are neighbors now. Where do you live?”
Graciela hesitates to answer, recalls Jocelyn and Leti’s other friends at Burgers ‘n’ Brew
last year. She was probably with her prima at Cucina during the repeated horrible news report.
“In the Beta Theta Chi house.”
Jocelyn narrows her eyes at Graciela.
Someone opens the classroom door. Graciela feels her dry blonde hair shift in the slight
breeze. She adjusts her shirt and backpack. “Thanks for the soda. Helped me focus on my notes.”
She laughs, hears her own nervousness.
Jocelyn smiles slightly. “We have a MEChA study group next week for this class if
you’re interested.” And she writes the room number on the empty dried fruit wrapper.
Graciela doubts she’ll have time for something called MEChA.
~~~
Leti finishes work and limps to the bus stop. Her big toe throbs from a box of Biology
textbooks that had slipped off the pile. Her nail’s probably gonna fall off.
“What happened to you, girl?” Talia approaches from the direction of the library where
she was busy becoming more brilliant.
Leti is relieved she won’t have to take the long ride home on the Blue Bus alone. “Hurt
my foot at work.” She sits on the bench and starts to remove her shoe.
“Uh uh! Don’t do that here. Wait ‘til we get home.” Talia pats Leti on the back. “And
hurt foot does not explain that mess up there.” She points at Leti’s curly hair. Sweating amid the
cardboard causes it to frame her face in frizz. “Why don’t you use the product I gave you? And
invest in some heavy-duty hair bands.” Like Graciela, Talia always leaves the house ready for a
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photo shoot. Her hair, makeup, and clothes are stylish, flawless, and perfectly tailored. No one
would guess Talia shopped at thrift stores for her fabulous wardrobe.
“I ran out.” Leti reaches up to smooth her hair back, but there’s no point. “And I don’t get
paid until next week.” It looks as tortured as it did on their Oceanography field trip. Keysha has
already plastered the photographic evidence of it all over their new apartment. “Plus I can’t braid
it tight like you do.”
“You could wear your curls short, in a little ‘fro like mine.” Talia had given up pressing
and treating her hair. Her natural curls top her petite body and perky face perfectly.
“You going to Marv’s tonight?”
Talia deposits her token into the bus’s machine “I have a paper due next week and I still
have a lot to read for it.” She lifts her stack of books.
Leti follows Talia into the bus, holds the rail, and cringes with each step. They’re the first
ones to board and Talia always sits up front–her statement against historical injustices.
Leti wants to make the same kind of statement with her pages in Third Wave.
“What are you doing later?” Talia asks and yawns. The bus speeds up, leaves the campus
behind, and Talia rests her coconut-conditioned head on Leti’s shoulder. “You gonna study too?”
“Starting a new article for Third Wave. And math. Always math.”
“We’ll order pizza.”
It’s all they eat unless Leti brings home food from the diner. Can she call in sick if her toe
still hurts on Saturday? Not if she wants to pay rent. If she limps around the restaurant, maybe
she’ll earn more tips.
Leti watches immaculate lawns and huge homes pass by. She narrows her eyes at the
Greek letters above doorways, wondering if one of them is Graciela’s new home. She’d never
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returned her prima’s call to find out. Eventually, the high-rise buildings of the Wilshire corridor
disappear and smaller independent businesses line Westwood Blvd. “Why did I let you convince
me to move so far away?” With today’s traffic, it could take an hour to reach their stop on
Robertson and Cadillac.
“Cheaper than living near campus. And it was time we had our own rooms.”
She must have dozed off, because Talia yells, “Get up!” in Leti’s ear. Their surroundings
have been replaced by less glamorous buildings, dried up yards, piles of trash at the curbside,
and cars parked so tightly, she wonders how they drive away without hitting each other.
Unlike the bright, freshly-painted buildings on Gayley and Landfair near campus, theirs
on Shenandoah Avenue is a dingy brown, faded to almost the color of mustard. The darker trim
peels in places and the lone tree in front provides no shade. Even the guys’ building is newer
than theirs. And it has security.
Keysha gets a ride home with them after practice so she doesn’t have to take the bus.
While she regularly argues with Red about race and gender roles, his fraternity choice and its
sexist history, he takes special care of her. Even in the off season, they stay on campus late for
training, eating, and studying. All without having to pay a cent. By the time they leave campus,
it’ll only take them twenty minutes. “Think Keysha will bring home food?” Leti asks and limps
slowly down the block. “I’m tired of pizza and diner leftovers.”
“Maybe. But she might hibernate in her room as soon as she gets home,” Talia murmurs.
She pauses to wait for Leti and offers her an elbow of support.
Leti had also noticed Keysha’s distance lately. “Should we be worried about her?”
“We’ll make her some soup or something.”
~~~
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Graciela’s second attempt to be studious in the first week of classes is thwarted by an
accident of scheduling. In Econ 2, most of the faces are familiar: same students from last
semester, same professor, and Rick, who mumbles something about solidarity and points to the
seat next to him. Most of the other seats are taken. He’s nice enough but not a person she’d be
interested in if she was still looking for a boyfriend.
Right after the professor begins lecture, Derek walks in and takes the empty seat behind
them. He leans forward. “Lucky for me the other section didn’t fit in my schedule.” And he
sniffs Graciela’s hair.
Does he think he’s sexy? For a second, Graciela allows herself think about being with
him again. Then she turns around and scowls, leans forward in her seat like Rick and pretends to
take notes. But she can’t concentrate because Derek’s loud breath makes her face tingly.
At the end of class, Derek is gone. Graciela is physically relieved.
“Who was that guy?” Rick asks.
Not sure how to answer, she shrugs. “Want to study together?”
Rick writes his phone number on her syllabus, and Graciela thinks about the other section
Derek mentioned. Maybe it will fit in her schedule.

Half an hour later, Graciela waits in line at the bookstore and hears orders about
backpacks and book changes in a familiar voice.
“Next.” A young Asian guy waves her by.
“Here’s your number.”
“Leti?” She hands her purse to her cousin who is surrounded by student bags. “I thought
you worked in the financial aid office.”
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“I did. Now I have two jobs. This,” Leti exchanges the next backpack for a number and
the guy shoves past Graciela, “and a diner in Brentwood.”
“What time are you off work?” Graciela’s cheery voice sounds fake even in her own ears.
“I can buy you lunch.” Another student pushes past her.
“I have class,” Leti says like she’s programmed to answer that way. The same way she
says to the next person, “Here’s your number.”
“Tomorrow?” Graciela asks, hopeful. “We can catch up.”
“Class. Work then class. Every day but Friday.”
“Then let’s plan on Friday.”
“Not likely.” Leti hands another number to another student and flashes her fake customer
service smile at Graciela.
The last time Graciela had seen Leti was in the Cucina, where the horrible news report
played over and over. Is that why Leti didn’t return her call in the summer? Could she still be
upset about that now? She will show up Friday and wait for Leti to finish work so they can talk.
Graciela follows the crowd, wanders through book stacks. She bumps into the other
frantic students but can’t make sense of the shelf tags and maze of aisles. Clearly, she hasn’t
done this enough.
The other section of Econ, without Derek, is on different days, with a different professor,
but doesn’t conflict with her other classes. It requires the same book, so Graciela could still study
with Rick. She uses a nearby campus phone to call the registration line and see if there’s space
available. Plenty. She buys her books with time to spare before film editing at twelve-thirty.
She’s eager to be successful this semester, so the heavy bag doesn’t weigh her spirits down.
~~~
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Leti enters the almost full lecture hall and plops down in the first empty aisle seat she
sees. The desk is broken. “Shit.” Her soda is destined to spill if she leaves it on the floor, and
there isn’t enough room for its massiveness between her thighs. She balances the pizza box on
her knee and reaches for a slice. Unable to take notes with grubby hands, she stuffs and chews
quickly, wipes her mouth, and sips from the big cup. The remaining slices will get cold, but
she’ll eat them later anyway. She fumbles with her notebook and supplies.
A familiar voice interrupts her frustration. “Move over so you can use this desk.”
Leti can’t respond because chewed up dough and saucy cheese will fly out of her barely
closed mouth, so she smiles and nods and chews faster. With the adjacent seat empty, she sets
her giant sweaty soda out of the way and wipes her hands on her jeans before she uncaps her pen
and situates her spiral notebook. She swallows, sips, then swallows more, until she can finally
respond, “I was too tired and too busy eating to see anyone. Gracias.”
Jocelyn’s colorful dress hugs her tall, thin body. Her cardigan is draped over the arm of
her chair and it matches her soft suede shoes. “Do you remember my friend, Carmen?”
“We know each other,” Carmen barks, her light brown hair pulled back into a tight bun.
Today she has traded her colorful embroidered shirt and wooden beads for a dress like Jocelyn’s
but solid brown. She still wears those boots, the steel-toed kind construction workers wear, the
ones she uses to wreak havoc on anyone in Ethnic Publications who dares to disagree with her.
Carmen has never acknowledged Leti at the office, so maybe she forgot about them
meeting in Minority Summer Program.
“She’s one of the Three Wavers.” Carmen gestures dismissively.
Rude. She knows the real name of the feminist paper. Leti doesn’t respond to Carmen but
asks Jocelyn “Have you heard from the Hispanic Women’s Association?”
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“That’s right, Hispanic,” Carmen says like it’s a bad word. “You don’t call yourself
Chicana, do you?”
Leti can’t offer any defense because the lights dim, scary music starts, and a series of
images flash on the screen, each for about five seconds.
The lights come on. A young, Black woman stands at the podium. “Make two columns
on your paper,” she instructs them. “In the left, write what you just saw. Only facts. There were
five images.” She waits at the microphone impatiently, “Quickly. Don’t look at anyone else.
Write what you saw. We’ll add to the right column at the end of the lecture.” She hands out a
new article.
Leti smiles at Professor Anderson who stops next to her and asks, “You’ll be able to
handle all this?”
Professor Anderson had taught the Introduction to Psychology course Leti took last
spring. Leti had confided about her dad during office hours.
The article, “Deviance in rural adolescents” makes Leti wonder if she carries her dad’s
criminal characteristics in her DNA. Could she become “deviant” one day? She thinks about how
much damage he did. Her face contorts and the scar under her eye itches.
Jocelyn leans over and whispers, “Don’t worry about Carmen. No one is Chicana enough
for her. Sometimes, not even me.” She offers a smile, which Leti appreciates.
But memories continue to distract Leti, and she can’t focus on Professor Anderson’s
lecture, an elaboration on dense, research-based findings which lay the foundation for future
studies in deviance. Leti’s head hurts. She worries Professor Anderson might be right. Especially
after her dad’s last letter. A dynamic lecturer, Professor Anderson frequently pauses to ask for
student input, but the redundancy of each study pounds Leti’s brain cells like a molcajete.
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Near the end of class, Professor says, “Go back to your list of images. Look at them again
and see what mistakes you made.” Slide by slide, Leti makes notes in the right column about
each characters’ race, facial expression, posture, and proximity to the others. Gasps and groans
reverberate through the seats. Some students become uncomfortable.
Professor Anderson looks at her watch and adds one last bit of important information:
“This week, prepare a two to three-page reflection for each reading and connect it to your initial
observations for the slides. If you do well, you may discover something about your own deviant
behavior.” She’s the only one who chuckles at her joke. “See you Wednesday.”
Jocelyn and Carmen get up in a hurry and Jocelyn says, “Study group tomorrow night in
student union 313.” Carmen’s scorn pierces Leti like a cactus thorn, but she can endure the pain
to be in their study group.
~~~
Graciela is thrilled to be on the planning committee for Beta Theta Chi’s fall formal, even
if Stephanie said it was because of quotas. She didn’t say that to Graciela, of course, but Tiffany
overheard her and Bethany. Stephanie’s jealous about having to share their new friends. But that
won’t erase Graciela’s joy at being included.
“So, we were thinking,” the President explains and twirls her blonde hair around her
index finger.
Graciela resists touching her own hair, knows it will never glow as golden.
“Instead of a formal like usual, we’d like to do a movie-themed costume party this year.”
She drops the ringlet of hair and claps her hands together in front of her face like she’s praying.
“Something classic!” one sister says and imitates the president’s clapping prayer.
“Not too old-fashioned,” another adds. She tilts her head and frowns. Even her pseudo-
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angry face is as beautiful as a porcelain doll.
Graciela nods because she’s not sure how much she’s allowed to contribute. Her delayed
prayer clap emphasizes her silence and feels unnatural.
“Any ideas?” the President asks. She sits back in her cushiony white chair and throws her
hands up to inspire them.
No one responds. Graciela has already learned only the President’s ideas count. Plus,
most people don’t suggest something so specific unless they already have a plan.
Vice-President Bethany offers, “What do you all think about a Grease party? No one on
the hill has done one and the music is perfect for dancing.” Murmurs of approval circulate, so
she continues, “I was Rizzo in my high school production of the play.” She clears her throat and
sings a few lines: “There are worse things I could do, then go with a boy or two…”
The sisters clap and cheer. Some giggle together like they’re in the slumber party scene,
but no one here eats Twinkies.
After Bethany takes a sip of her water, she adds, “I can probably get our props donated.
And I would love to emcee the costume contest.” She looks around, dares anyone to challenge
her for the position.
Graciela is relieved they didn’t suggest a movie she’d never heard of. Hatch doesn’t have
a movie theater, so she was only able to see Grease when it was released to HBO. Unlike most
families, her parents could afford the more extravagant cable package. They had allowed her and
Leti to sit and watch it over and over, all day long, because it was the only way to keep them
distracted enough to stop scratching their chicken pox. Graciela knows the entire movie by heart.
Every line. But doesn’t share her secret with her sisters.
The President supports Bethany’s enthusiasm and shouts, “We could have a dance off!”
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Immediately embarrassed by her own excitement, she covers her face with praying hands and
falls over giggling.
The sisters clap more.
Graciela imagines singing, “We go together” from the final scene. She’ll have to ask
Chris to be her date since there is no other possible guy. He’ll wear a tight white T-shirt and
rolled-up jeans, his hair dyed black, and she’ll wear Sandy’s black leather outfit, her blonded hair
in the perfect slicked-back ponytail. In her mind, she puts out a cigarette as cool as Olivia
Newton John with her own red stilettos.
“And Gracie,” Bethany interjects, “you can be Cha-Cha DiGregorio!”
“The best dancer at Saint Bernadette’s!” another sister adds and laughs.
Graciela’s fantasy of being one of the popular girls like she was in high school is
shattered. Despite her efforts to look like them, they still see her as the other girl. But she smiles
and nods agreeably. She hears nothing but the buzz of their excitement as the heat of
embarrassment crawls up her face.
The President assigns duties. “Gracie, you can be in charge of food.”
Her irritation increases.
“You know what kind to get?” Stephanie asks, a super fake smile on her face.
Not only is Graciela stuck playing a tacky minor role from the film, now she’s relegated
to kitchen duty. She might as well add an apron and hair net to her costume. Or return to the
family restaurant in Hatch.

Tiffany sings a few lines from “Beauty School Dropout” but gets some words wrong and
is totally off key which irritates Graciela. “Should I wear Frenchy’s blonde wig? Or do my red
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hair in a bouffant? Or whatever it’s called.” She giggles and throws herself across Graciela’s
bed. “I asked Jake from bio if he’d go with me. He said yes! So happy I don’t have to go alone.”
She sits up and slides over next to Graciela. “Why don’t you look happy?”
Graciela isn’t sure she should trust Tiffany now. What if Tiffany thinks Graciela is like
Cha-Cha too? But she sort of defended Graciela at the Viva Mexico party. But if she gossips with
Graciela, chances are she gossips about Graciela. She fakes a smile and says, “Worried about my
Econ test next week.”
Tiffany waves her concerns away. “You’re so smart. You’ll ace it without studying.”
Graciela knows she’s wrong. He grades last semester prove it. She has to spend a little
more time on school this year. She can’t let Dolores’s prediction come true. And she surely can’t
risk her mother driving across Arizona to grab her by the greñas.
Tiffany gets up to look in her closet. “And after you do, we can shop for our costumes.
You’re gonna be the hottest chick at the ball.”
Graciela laughs for real at Tiffany’s misquoted line. “Chris will be a great Kenickie,
don’t you think?” They plan their dates’ costumes, too, and for a few minutes, Graciela feels like
she used to when Leti’d spend the night and they’d gossip about boys.
~~~
Leti waits outside Dr. Alas’s office, tries to concentrate on her psychology reading, an
article about criminal behaviors with a section about gambling. Another reminder of her dad is
not what she needs right now. She reads the same sentence over and over before Dr. Alas calls
her into the sanctuary.
“How are your classes?”
“Deviant behavior is a challenge.” Leti worries about Carmen interactions as much as
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course content. “I’m sure at some point we’ll have to examine what happened with the LAPD.”
She shudders.
Dr. Alas nods. “And your new job?”
“Two jobs: bookstore and weekends at a diner.” Leti makes her squinchy face. “I miss
financial aid. And Mrs. Carrillo. But I need more money with this new apartment.”
“What about your cousin?”
“Graciela?” Leti laughs. “She doesn’t need money.”
“Have you talked since the pizza place? You mentioned she was there but not with you.”
Leti recalls Graciela and her almost unrecognizable bleached hair when she came to the
bookstore. “She is never with me. She went to Hatch this summer and had the nerve to leave
messages for me at the front desk asking for my help.” Leti stands up and paces the space
between them. “She came to the bookstore and offered to buy me lunch last Friday.” Leti shook
her head. “I was stupid to think she’d actually show up.”
“Did you return her calls for help?”
“Graciela might be my cousin, but we aren’t friends anymore.” She plops down on the
couch, completely worn out, and leans her head back against the wall. “We’ll probably never be
friends again.”
“She seems to be a recurring source of your anxiety.”
“I don’t even know her anymore.” Leti hears the ugly in her tone.
Dr. Alas doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the advice Leti wants or thinks she needs.
She sits, quietly, and listens while Leti rambles.
“I can’t imagine anything I’ve said even makes sense.”
“What do you need right now, Leticia?”
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With tissue shoved in both nostrils, Leti looks at her. “What do I need? I need my parents
and money for school and a cousin who isn’t worried about her stupid sorority, so she can help
me like she did when we were kids.”
Dr. Alas makes a note on her tablet then asks, “Why do you think you need all of that?”
“Why? Because–” But Leti isn’t sure how to answer. “That’s the way it has always been
or was always before. My parents and Graciela’s parents took care of us. At school, Graciela
protected me, supported me. Graciela and I moved to Los Angeles so we could stay together.”
“Maybe what you are struggling with is all the changes in your life. It’s normal for
college students to have anxiety when so many changes happen all at once.”
“I don’t feel anxious, and there’s nothing normal about my life now.” Her volume
increases. She doesn’t quiet it. “No one else I know has a father in jail, a mother who abandoned
them, and a close family member on an insane journey to who knows where.”
Dr. Alas asks again, “So what do you need?”
“I guess I need my life back.”
“In Hatch?”
Leti isn’t sure how to answer, but Dr. Alas asks her to write about it. As if writing is the
solution to all her problems.
~~~
Graciela picks up her costume from the tailor in the village. The tight turquoise dress
with black ruffles and black patent leather stilettos, remind her how not like her sisters she is.
Tiffany’s costume looks wholesome and innocent. She passes a café window and notices her
black roots, some of the bleached hairs have faded to burnt brown. She looks trashier than Rizzo
at the drive-in. At least she’s not pregnant.
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Katherine sits at a table by the window, alone, and motions Graciela inside.
“What’s that?” Katherine asks in a not-nice tone and points at the plastic-covered dress.
“My costume for the Beta Theta Chi party. The theme is Grease. Aren’t you going?”
Katherine shakes her head and pretends to focus on the open book in front of her.
Graciela watches Katherine pick her cuticle, a habit Graciela had when she was younger.
Graciela sits and Katherine pours her a cup from the carafe on the table without making
eye contact. “What’s wrong, Katherine? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
Katherine shakes her head. “I just don’t socialize much with Beta girls anymore.” She
passes Graciela the cream and sugar. “I do my committee obligation to keep my scholarship and
that’s it.” She looks up at Graciela with an almost defiant face.
“The sisters will never see me as one of them, will they?”
“I told you. They can’t see us.” Katherine leans back and crosses her arms over her chest.
“They see Latina. They see Asian.”
“They probably call us names behind our backs!” Graciela pounds her fist on the sticky
surface and startles the group next to them. One guy she recognizes. Chris’s friend from the
hungover cold garlic bread encounter. Out of habit, she smiles and tilts her head. A cascade of
dry hair falls across one eye.
“What the hell are you doing?” Katherine whispers.
“Just being friendly.” Graciela smiles at Katherine too but differently. “I know him.”
Katherine shakes her head, and her smile is filled with disdain. “Your look was what my
mother would call an inappropriate invitation.”
“You’re crazy. His frat brother is my –” she hesitates, unsure what to call Chris,
“boyfriend.”
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Katherine nods, her lips pressed together. “This boyfriend ever share you?”
Katherine’s tone reminds Graciela that Chris never actually asked her to be his girlfriend.
“Gross! No! Chris’s not like that. He is from Connecticut and on crew and drives a BMW.”
Katherine bursts into laughter but quickly covers her mouth. “Are you really so naïve that
you think those attributes exclude him from the frat boy code? You’re part of their game.”
“What game?”
“A sex game. They get points for their encounters. Latinas and Asians are worth more
points. We’re exotic. Outdoor sex and sex with people watching, also more points.”
Graciela feels nauseous. The first time she was with Chris, they had to be quiet because
his roommate was asleep in the other bed. She had ridden Chris and felt eyes on her back but
ignored them. He finished and grunted loudly, so she tried to look behind them, but he pulled her
down on him and kissed her to muffle the sounds of their pleasure.
“And if there’s more than one girl,” Katherine continues, “they earn bonus points.”
Graciela flashes back to the way Brad admired Bethany on the Burgers ‘n’ Brew patio.
Could he have wanted a threesome? Would she have agreed? “How do you know all this?”
Graciela asks, unable to keep the coffee-flavored bile from rising in her throat.
Katherine finishes chewing her salad and says matter-of-factly, “I was like you when I
got here. I wanted a rich guy to fall in love with me, so I could get married. Otherwise, I have to
return home and work for the family business until they find me a suitable husband.”
Graciela can’t respond. She looks at the empty table where the guys had been and more
grossness surfaces. Long gulps of her now warm coffee keep it down and she feels better.
Katherine puts her hand on Graciela’s and squeezes. “Gracie, he can’t ever love you.”
“I’m not concerned about love, Katherine.” She squeezes back. “Guys are just for fun.”
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She pulls her hands away and wraps them around her cup, staring into its dark remnants. “I have
to focus on my film career. After this party, frat guys are no longer part of my plan.”

Graciela meets Rick to study for their Econ class. She could’ve asked him to go to the
party with her, as friends. But she worried he’d get the wrong idea. She wonders if he has played
those frat boy games.
“Why’d you change classes?”
“I had to make space for something else.” She doesn’t want to explain about Derek in
case they know each other or have mutual friends. She should have had a more specific lie ready
and makes a mental note never to be near his class. He believes her and they huddle together
over aggregate expenditures and fiscal policies.
~~~
Leti walks into the apartment after a double shift at the diner, scowls at her roommate and
their friends who lounge in the living room. No one else has a job. “Someone ordered a family
pack of fried chicken to go. Chef accidentally made two. We got the extra for dinner.”
Keysha gets up from the couch and walks away from some sporting event on television to
inspect the bag. “No sides?”
“It’s not a KFC bucket,” Leti snaps and puts a bag of potatoes in the sink. “Start peeling.”
Keysha makes a face like she’s about to argue but Leti’s glare stops her.
“Chop them into cubes and put them in this pot.” She slams it on the stove top. “Cover
them with water and put the flame on high.”
“I’ll help.” Yanaha gets up from the chair where she had been posing.
Jocelyn had been sketching her profile. “Hey! I wasn’t done.”
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“You can help, too,” Yanaha says to her.
“I need a shower,” Leti says, “And clothes that don’t smell like pie.”
“You brought pie?” Keysha asks.
Leti glares again. “Where’s Talia?”
“Down the street,” Keysha says.
“Want me to call her?” Yanaha asks.
“No!” Keysha answers quickly. “Those fools will smell food over the phone and there
won’t be enough for all of us.”
Leti hollers from down the hall, “There’s enough. And pie.”

Clean and cooled off, Leti feels immensely better, but confronting her dirty laundry
changes her mood quickly. Wrapped in a towel, she walks to the end of the hall, “Keesh, can I
borrow a pair of shorts?”
Keysha goes to her room and hands Leti the pair on top of the pile. “Talia’s home.”
“Clean ones?”
“I did laundry this morning.” She points to the empty hamper. “She didn’t bring guys.”
“Next on my to-do list. But I need more quarters.”
“Go down the street. Red fixed the machine in the guys’ building. You don’t need
quarters. That’s where I did mine. Show me how to finish the potatoes like you do.”
Leti smiles. Keysha isn’t usually helpful, especially in the kitchen. “Sorry I was such a
bitch when I got home. Last two customers left almost no tip.”
“Shoulda called me over there, I’d’ve taught them some manners.”
“You’d have eaten their leftovers.”
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Yanaha and Jocelyn have resumed their positions, but the light has changed. Jocelyn
frowns and scoots around, tries to get it right. “This is why I don’t do realistic portraits.” She
throws the tablet and pencils into the corner.
Leti opens the fridge, ignores the artistic outburst. “Where’s my apple juice?”
Talia says softly, “Marv drank it all this morning before I could stop him.”
Leti closes the fridge, grips the butter tightly. She gets the smasher and slams the cabinet
harder than she intended.
Talia takes the squished butter and smasher and sets them down. “He’ll bring more. I
made him write down the name.”
“Tell him there’s fried chicken.” She smiles at her roommate.
“Rough day at the diner?”
“And we need salad.”
Talia calls down to Marv’s apartment with the rest of the grocery order. “Put down that
video game controller and go now.” She tells him sternly and hangs up the phone. To the girls
assembled on the couch she says, “Red took his new system over there and they’ve been having
competitions all day.”
“While we wait for the guys to come over for dinner,” Jocelyn says, through with her
portrait attempts for now, “let’s watch Purple Rain.”
The others grown.
“Not again,” Keysha says. “I love Prince, but you’ve got all these other movies to choose
from.” She inherited quite a VHS collection over the summer.
“What about Fame or Flashdance?” Yanaha asks. “Also good music and we haven’t seen
those in years.”
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Jocelyn sits next to Yanaha on the floor pillows and leans her head on Yanaha’s shoulder.
“You have those?” she asks Keysha.
“I got everything.” Keysha replies. She asks Talia and Leti, “Have you seen them?”
“Maybe.” Talia picks up the case. “But I don’t remember.”
Leti doesn’t recognize any of the movies. “Whatever you all want.” She sits in front of
Talia who braids her curls into something less crazy before she finishes the potatoes.

Leti and her friends dance around the living room and sing at the top of their lungs.
Marv arrives with apple juice and salad fixings about an hour later.
Talia meets him at the door with a sweaty kiss and takes one bag. “You got two juices?”
“One is mine.” He opens his eyes wide at Leti, dares her to drink his bottle.
“Better put your name on it.” She elbows him and looks in the bag. “And you got
Hawaiian bread? Go Marv!” She inhales its sweetness and places the bag of rolls on the counter
next to the salad bowl.
“Where’s my brother?” Yanaha yells.
Keysha lowers the television volume.
“He went with Red,” Marv yells back even though the music isn’t playing any more.
“Red turned down fried chicken?” Keysha walks over to lean on the kitchen counter and
watch Leti make the potatoes. “They must be going somewhere good.”
“A birthday party,” Marv says. “Our teammate, Keesh. Why weren’t you invited?”
“Because she knows I don’t like her,” Keysha says. “Haven’t since we started.”
Leti busies herself with the smasher and now soft butter. “Potatoes will be ready in a
few,” she says in a soft, scratchy voice she doesn’t recognize. She turns up the flame and avoids
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looking at Talia who washes the lettuce behind her.
“Marv, help Keysha set up the table and chairs. Yanaha and Jocelyn get plates and forks.”
Talia takes the smasher from Leti. “Before you break the pot.” She tastes it. “Needs salt.”
“You bought the wrong butter, remember.” Leti’s voice echoes inside her head.
Talia turns off the flame. “You told him you only wanna be friends, remember.”
~~~
Graciela returns to the house after a review session and she’s confident this semester’s
grades will be better than the last two. There’s a message on her bulletin board with little hearts
drawn around it. Chris called. Graciela doesn’t feel like talking to him. He’s been needy since
the Grease party, which makes her believe Katherine may be right about the frat boy code.
Tiffany sits on the floor, crying, and offers Graciela a beer from the box under her bed.
“I don’t know why he broke up with me.” After the Grease party, she’d spent a lot of
time with Jake, sometimes snuck in after curfew. “What wrong with me?”
Does being a redhead have a point value? Graciela sits next to Tiffany and says nothing.
Tiffany cries more. “I don’t understand. I did everything he wanted me to.” She lowers
her volume and leans closer to Graciela. “I let him put it in my butt.” She slurs her words. Only a
drunk person confesses something like that. Her guy probably earned bonus points.
Graciela quickly downs the first bottle.
“And he took pictures of me.” She draws out the eeee and cries even harder, covers her
face with her hands.
“Naked pictures?” Graciela asks even though she knows the answer. Hopefully Tiffany
doesn’t plan to run for Miss America.
She nods. “And I was doing stuff.”
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Graciela doesn’t ask what stuff because she really doesn’t want to know. But she’s sure it
earned Jake more points in their sick little game. She hands Tiffany a tissue and opens another
bottle, drinks it faster than she did the first one.
They sit there for at least two hours before Graciela has to use the toilet. She returns to
the room where Tiffany is sprawled out on her bed, fully-clothed.
Graciela covers her with her grandmother’s quilt, takes two more beers before she shoves
the box back under the bed, and turns off the lamp. She wanders out of their room and sees Vice-
President Bethany sneak down the hall. It’s at least an hour past curfew for a school night.
Graciela clears her throat.
“Shit! You scared me.”
“Beer?” Graciela holds one out to her.
Bethany takes it and follows Graciela to the lounge at the end farthest from the house
mother’s room downstairs.
“Rough night?” Bethany asks and takes a sip.
“Tiffany’s boyfriend broke up with her.” She doesn’t share her own boyfriend concerns.
“You?” She takes another long drink.
“My date went a little late. In a good way.” Bethany smiles and stares out the window at
the piece of partly cloudy sky visible in the moonlight beyond the neighboring sorority house.
Graciela looks at Bethany’s profile and wishes her own hair could shine in the moonlight
the same way. Bethany is actress beautiful, no wonder Brad might’ve wanted a threesome with
her. Other than that, Graciela deduces she can’t be worth any points. She isn’t exotic and there
are no rumors about her outdoor or group escapades. So why is this guy with her?
~~~
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Before finals, Marv’s fraternity brothers organize a dance in the campus ballroom. He
goes early to set up and tells Talia he has a special treat for her.
Keysha doesn’t feel well, so Red stays home with her to watch movies.
“It’s weird taking the bus all dressed up like this,” Talia says.
Leti is uncomfortable in her new, flowered dress, purchased with her first credit card. It’s
cut lower than others she has, and the tank straps slip down if she moves a certain way. But Talia
says it looks great and Leti trusts her style. She hasn’t been out all semester, and maybe this will
make her feel better. Maybe she’ll see Yiska, hopefully not with another girl.
Once inside, Talia makes a beeline for Marv and Thomas who are talking to the deejay.
Leti gets a drink and follows her. Thomas leans in as if to hug Leti, but Talia steps in between
them, continues chattering with Marv. “Ladies’ Night” comes on, so the fellas get out of the way,
and Leti is caught up in a massive estrogen wave. Gratefully they hold her up because she’s too
tired to stand on her own.
The deejay, about to take his break, introduces Shai, Talia’s favorite group. Girls shove
past the brothers to get as close to the stage as the other exuberant fans will allow.
Leti enjoys the first song, “Comforter,” but the screams and sweat infringe on her
personal comfort. Even in the skimpy dress, she feels like she might suffocate.
At the bar, Leti sips ice water and scans the crowd.
“Who you looking for?” Yiska asks and stands close enough for his arm to stick to hers.
“A friend. Who’d you come with?” She’s surprised by her direct inquiry.
“Teammates.”
“Yours or Keysha’s?” She looks up into his eyes, dares him to say he came with the girl
who has been interested in him since summer program, the one whose birthday party he went to.
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No one can lie if you stare in their eyes.
He doesn’t answer but finishes his drink, takes her hand, and walks to the center of the
crowded floor with ease, like a biblical parting of the water. They dance without stopping until
“If I Ever Fall In Love” comes on.
Leti starts to walk off the dance floor, but Yiska pulls her close. Sober and sweaty, she’s
self-conscious of her hair, frizzy at the roots, and her potentially foul armpit odor.
Yiska hugs her close and whispers in her ear. “We’re friends. You can trust me.”
She pulls her face out of his neck where she enjoyed his saltiness mixed with Ivory soap.
She looks right in his eyes again and hopes her breath doesn’t stink. “I trust you.”
The slow song ends, and Shai takes a break. The deejay plays “Push It” and the crowd
fills in around them again. Yiska leads Leti off the dance floor toward the bar. He orders two
waters and they sit side by side on a soft bench outside the ballroom entrance.
A breeze blows in from the exterior doors. Leti’s ears still ring from the loud music.
Yiska turns his face toward her and says slowly, “Red invited me to a nice dinner, a place
I would normally never see. Seemed like a smart choice at the time.” He shakes his head. “It was
disastrous. Red had a few too many free cocktails and insulted the birthday girl.”
“In front of her teammates?”
“And friends from high school, her parents, and a few cousins.”
Leti covers her mouth in disbelief.
“And the food should’ve been better given the cost.”
“Free fried chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, and pie at our place.” She elbows him
and stares straight ahead.
“Should’ve been there instead.”
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She sucks on an ice cube, not ready to say, I wish you were.
“Leticia,” he says softly, pronounces her name like a song. “You work out whatever you
need to work out.” He drinks his water in one long gulp and leans against the wall. “I’m not
going anywhere.”
“My family–” She pauses, not sure what to say. “I’m here because I have no place else to
go. And my cousin is here, but not with me. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“But I would if you’d tell me. I’d at least try.” He reaches up and touches the scar on her
cheek with one gentle finger.
“My dad. Broke a bottle of liquor to start his own bar on fire. I slipped and fell in the
glass.” She looks away, not able to keep talking. She sips her water and wants to pour it over her
head to stifle her feelings. “He’s in jail now. My mom moved back to Mexico because she was
embarrassed by him. I haven’t heard from her since.”
It would make sense for Yiska to run away after her confession. At least out here, no one
will see. Instead, he shifts forward in the space next to her.
“I moved here because my cousin wants to make movies. Or she did. I don’t really know
what she wants anymore except sorority sisters.” Tears choke off her words.
He holds her hand and squeezes gently.
“All I have now is all this.” She spreads her other arm out and looks around. “If I screw
up, even a little, I lose my scholarship, my job, everything.”
Yiska stands in front of Leti and pulls her up close to him. “You won’t lose me.” And he
kisses her gently. He moves away and they both have their eyes open. They dance outside the
ballroom doors in full light until there’s no more music.
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Winter Break

Keysha refuses to go home for Christmas. “Too many crazies in my family.” She flops on
the couch in the same sweats she had on yesterday. “And holiday spirit means an excuse to act a
fool.” She turns on the television, mindlessly flips channels. Leti and Talia let her control what
they watch because she pays the cable bill. Says she needs it for “the game.”
In the kitchen, Talia mutters so only Leti can hear, “If she stays, maybe we should go.”
“Go where?” Leti remembers her two weeks alone last winter break. She can’t do that to
Keysha. She has been so angry, so often, the past few months.
Keysha sniffs. “Whatcha cooking?”
Leti sits next to her. “I’m trying to make posole, a traditional Mexican stew. Practicing
for Christmas Eve dinner.” Her smile fades. “It’s what my mom used to make us.”
Keysha wraps one arm around Leti’s shoulders. “Does that come with corn bread?”
“Tortillas.” She smiles, grateful for Keysha’s embrace. “But we have to buy those.”
Talia joins them on Leti’s other side. “Later I’ll try to make lemon pound cake. We
usually eat it after Christmas Eve dinner. Can’t be too hard.”
Keysha and Leti exchange frightened looks.
“What? I can follow some instructions on a box.” She fakes a pout.
“They probably have it already made at the store,” Keysha says.
Best sisters a girl could have. Like she used to be with Graciela. She lets a few tears fall
before the front door opens.
“Told you we need extra locks!” Keysha yells in Leti’s ear. Her angry face returns.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Marv enters with two bulging bags. “Not you three.” Talia’s look of
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derision silences his laughter. “Sorry. I’m like the three wise men, with gifts.”
“More like the one dumb ass,” Keysha mumbles so only Leti can hear.
“But instead of gold, frankincense, and what was that other shit?” He sets the bags on the
kitchen counter. “I’ve got cookies, biscuits, and half a pound cake.”
“Is it lemon?” Talia asks.
Leti salivates. “Tonight will be our practice Christmas Eve dinner.”
Talia gets up, leaves Leti’s left side cold. “Where’d you get all that?”
“Leftovers from last night’s track party.” He looks at Keysha. “Where were you?”
“Kickin’ it with my home girls. Where you shoulda been.”
Talia and Leti exchange looks. Keysha’d been locked in her room all night, upset about a
phone call she didn’t want to talk about. They didn’t dare ask about it this morning. Keysha had
emerged in a good mood and helped them hang lights Talia bought at Goodwill for a dollar.
They wanted to enjoy her as long as possible.
Marv hugs Talia to him and says, “I decided I’m not going to Oakland family for
Christmas. I’m gonna stay here with you.”
“Smart choice,” Leti whispers to Keysha. Talia had been fuming since he’d mentioned a
return to visit his cousins. Her last Christmas was not pleasant.
“You two gonna be here too?” Marv walks into the living room and picks up the remote.
Keysha snatches it from him. “This is our house. Where else would we be?”
Marv backs away slowly, mutters about Red being one brave white boy.
“Wonder if anyone else will be around.” Talia stares pointedly at Leti.
She looks away, stares out the window at the passing cars. Since the kiss, she has only
seen Yiska once, on his way to class. She bumped into him on her way to finalize her last piece
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for Third Wave, which exhausted her. She barely had energy to study for exams.
Another letter had come from her dad and she wanted to share it with Yiska since he said
he wants to understand. But sharing it makes it real. She didn’t even talk to Dr. Alas about it yet.
She will wait until after the holidays. At least this time, her dad didn’t ask for money.
~~~
Graciela lies on one of the couches in the enormous living room. She plans to watch
every movie the sorority house owns. Loudly. If house mother asks, she’s doing career research.
She even has paper and a pen on the floor next to her, so she can pretend she’s taking notes. The
winter sun reflects off the white walls, blinds Graciela, so she closes her eyes and takes a nap.
All she has eaten is popcorn, and after today, she’ll have consumed all the diet sodas. She
contemplates a walk into the village for groceries but doesn’t want anyone to see her alone on
Christmas Eve.
She’d lied to her mother about staying in LA with Leti. She thought Christmas with her
sisters would be more fun than peeling chiles in Hatch. But anyone who didn’t go home, didn’t
stay at the house.
On Christmas Day, she calls her parents and leaves a message because no one answers.
She knows they, and her brothers, are at the restaurant, celebrating without her. Sadness
overwhelms her starving body, and she cries herself to sleep.
The phone rings, echoes through the first floor, and wakes Graciela, but she doesn’t get
up to answer it. The machine comes on with the house mother’s droning instructions and after
the tone, a familiar voice stutters: “This message is for Graci, uh Gracie. Gracie Gonzalez.” Leti
says her cousin’s name with as little Spanish emphasis as she can. How thoughtful. “When I
called Casa, your mom said you didn’t go to Hatch, so I figured you’d be here.” Leti babbles like
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this is Graciela’s private machine with an endless supply of tape. “My roommates and I are
having Christmas dinner or really, a late lunch, at Canter’s deli on Fairfax. At two. Join us if you
want. If you don’t have plans.” Leti recites her phone number then hangs up without saying
good-bye or other socially-agreed upon conventions of phone calling.
Graciela can’t imagine how she would get to wherever Leti and her friends are. At least
her prima isn’t alone again.
She forces herself up off the couch to erase the message and reluctantly transcribes the
other four to the message pad. She’s not the only sister who didn’t go home for the holidays.
Where are the others?
The fifth message is from her mother who called late last night. She, too, puts on her best
English for the sorority answering machine. Jorge yells, “I love you, hermana,” in the
background. Graciela hears the mariachi band and her mother adds, “Adios, mi niña.
Felicidades.”
Guilt overwhelms Graciela. She looks around the empty house. She should be with
family. She has an hour to shower and change to join Leti and her friends. She can call a cab.
She returns downstairs in a festive red sweater and tight black jeans. Vice-President
Bethany sits at the kitchen table, eats a piece of cold pizza. It looks gross.
“That’s been in there since finals,” Graciela tells her.
“I’m starved. The guys don’t even have this. And nothing is open today.”
“Jewish delis are,” Graciela says with authority and grabs a phonebook. She finds one in
Marina del Rey that can seat them at three.

Graciela trudges up the stairs with her newly lightened hair, home early from a boring
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New Year’s Eve party Bethany had told her about. Her heels echo in the giant white house. It
was mostly couples. She didn’t know anyone there. No one supplied her with non-stop shots. No
one asked her to teach them dance moves. At least no one called her “the real Mexican.”
This is not how she thought her New Year’s would be but is determined to focus more on
school and less on social stuff. She’s serious about film program admission. She has one more
pre-requisite to pass so she can apply.
Graciela watches old episodes of Saturday Night Live and falls asleep on the couch. The
house is still empty. She wakes up with intense pain in her neck and thinks about Brad who was
always useful for rubbing the tension away. Too bad he caused most of it himself. But he was not
nearly as problematic as Derek, who continues to manipulate Stephanie with frequent break ups
and most likely, other women on the side. Chris was the least troublesome but also the least
interesting, and beyond sexual attraction, he and Graciela had nothing in common. Glad she’s
free of all that drama. She starts a pot of coffee in the new coffee maker and paints her nails
bright yellow for the upcoming spring events. She walks out the front door for fresh air with her
toes still tacky.
It’s earlier than she’d be awake when there are no classes, unless she was finishing from
the night before. For now, those days are behind her. She picks up a student newspaper from the
magazine rack in the foyer. It’s not the daily school paper, but Third Wave, the paper Leti writes
for. She sets it down on the coffee table once she’s back inside with dry nails. The cover has
photos of Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein, both politicians of some sort. Inside she finds
Leti’s article: “Gender Discrimination in Corporate America.”
Graciela reads, appalled at her prima’s summer job interview experience. Apparently,
several other female students were asked unethical questions when they applied for jobs with the
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same public relations firm.
Engrossed in the article, Graciela doesn’t hear anyone come in until Tiffany sniffs loudly.
Graciela looks up. “I thought you went home.”
Tiffany carries her heels and her mascara is smeared down one cheek. She’s more
disheveled than usual for a morning after. “Party last night was closer to here than home.”
“You look like you need this more than I do.” Graciela hands her the mug of coffee.
Tiffany sniffs again. “Party was intense.” She smiles then frowns.
Up close, Graciela notices a small cut by her mouth. “You look worse than intense.”
“I’m just tired.” Tiffany yawns. “And I need a shower.” She sets the mug down.
“You’re bleeding.” Graciela points at the dried trail down her leg.
Tiffany looks scared for a second then laughs. “Musta got my period.”
But they both know she finished it right before Christmas.
Tiffany emerges from the bathroom and Graciela offers her a fresh mug of over-
sweetened coffee, the way she likes it.
She sips slowly. “Gracie, I don’t remember anything from last night.”
“What? Like you blacked out?”
“No. Like I know I was at a party because I woke up on the frat house living room couch
surrounded by empty cans and other passed out people.” She sips longer, holds the cup with both
hands. “But I don’t remember the party at all.”
“We should call someone.” Graciela vaguely recalls a woman who talked about campus
rape at one of their orientation sessions. She looks down at Leti’s newspaper, tries to remember
if there was some kind of hotline or counseling for this.
“No,” Tiffany says quickly. “I’m sure it was some bad blow or too much of that nasty
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punch.” She holds the cup of now warm coffee to her face. “I don’t know why I drink that crap.”
Graciela sips her own coffee without saying anything.
“You can’t tell anyone. Promise?”
Graciela nods reluctantly.
Tiffany finishes her cup. She walks across the carpet in her bare feet, a wince
accompanies every step. “Let’s get breakfast at that cool fifties diner in Brentwood. My treat.”
Graciela stares at the two empty cups and realizes Tiffany wants to buy her silence.
~~~
Picking up an extra shift at the diner on New Year’s Day was Leti’s first mistake of 1992.
Four of her tables are partiers still in their sparkly clothes. They reek of booze. She spent half her
childhood mopping it off floors and scrubbing it out of the old wood tables at Patrick’s Pub. The
stench is familiar, the odor of home. But home memories no longer make her happy. Yet she puts
on her best bar smile and takes their orders, suggests what she knows will be best to ease their
hangovers. Too bad the chef doesn’t make menudo.
Leti returns from a brief bathroom break to a line of customers who wait to be seated.
The hostess isn’t around. “Give us a minute,” she says loudly over them, “and we’ll get tables
cleared for all of you.” She looks back and sees Graciela with the redhead from the fountain.
They both seem worn out.
Graciela makes eye contact with Leti and looks guilty. Maybe she feels bad for not
responding to the Christmas Day invite.
Leti walks through the line right next to her prima with menus for the party of five.
“Happy new year, cousin,” she says with a slight sneer. She hadn’t meant to say it all snotty.
Guess her feelings were hurt more than she admitted, even to herself.
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After the group is situated and their drink orders filled, Leti returns to the hostess station.
“Where are the two girls who were next?”
“They asked to be seated on the patio out back.” The veteran waitress gives Leti a
sideways glance and inspects her bright pink lipstick in a pocket mirror.
“Did you tell them it wasn’t my section?”
She smacks her gum and adjusts her bra. “They asked where your section was and
insisted on the patio.”
Why would her cousin deliberately avoid her?

Leti returns to the apartment, ignores her friends on the couch, and walks straight to the
bathroom, hopeful a hot shower will erase the misery of her day. After Graciela and her friend
left without speaking, she messed up three orders and dropped plates. Chef told the manager it
wasn’t her fault, blamed the greasy floor. She must not have been noticeably horrible because in
her apron pocket, there is twice the amount of tips she usually makes in a six-hour shift. Maybe
working New Year’s Day wasn’t such a big mistake.
“You okay in there?” Keysha bangs on the door after jiggling the doorknob.
Leti turns off the water, wraps a towel around herself, and opens the door. “Concern from
the one most likely to lock herself away from the world.”
Keysha looks hurt and snaps. “I didn’t want to check on you. They made me.” She points
back to the living room.
“Appreciate the concern. I’m fine.”
“Not really?”
“My cousin showed up with one of her sisters.” Leti pictures Graciela’s hair, bright
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yellow in those artificial lights. “She had the nerve to ask for a seat not in my section.”
“Damn! What’d you do to piss her off?”
Leti shrugs and picks up her clothes. “Doesn’t matter. Without her, I made a ton in tips.
I’m gonna save for a vacation this summer.” And she dances down the hall to her room.
“Great plan!” Keysha yells on her way back to the living room where she’ll report to the
others Leti is okay.
But away from their prying eyes, Leti lies on her bed, stares at the last photo of her and
Graciela together in their high school graduation gowns.
~~~
“Gracie, you have a package you need to sign for.”
“Sign for? Why?” She lies on the couch, pretends to be interested in whatever Tiffany
and Stephanie watch on television.
“It was sent registered mail,” the house mother seems amused Graciela would receive
anything so important.
It’s from her mother and slightly bigger than a shoe box. “Not much of a Christmas,”
Graciela mutters, wonders why it didn’t arrive sooner and why it’s covered with an excessive
amount of tape. She takes it to her room to open it in private. “Too big to be a plane ticket
home.” Her mediocre grades must have placated her parents. At least for now.
“Mi’ja,” the note inside says, “Jorge thought it was better to mail this box of gifts for you
and Leti from the Las Cruces post office, but he forgot and I found it in his truck today. I tried to
call, but the woman who answered the phone didn’t understand what I tried to tell her. I blame
the long-distance connection.”
“I blame the ignorance of these white folks.” Graciela gasps at the unexpected criticism
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of her sisters. If this was a Catholic school, she’d have to do penance for such blasphemy.
“Share with Leticia,” the note continues, “y darle abrazos.”
Inside the box, there are a few biscochos wrapped in a napkin. Too hard for Graciela to
bite, but she scrapes the edge of one with her front teeth, and tiny crumbs of cinnamony
goodness sprinkle on her tongue. She closes her eyes and thinks about Christmas at home.
“Leti!” She jumps up from her bed and runs back down stairs, startles her sisters.
The machine picks up at her prima’s apartment. “Ay lo siento, Leticia. Soy la peor.
Perdóname, por favor. Tengo regalos. Almuerzo el viernes. Lo prometo.”
She hangs up and returns to the couch. Several eyes stare at her, mouths open, and she
realizes she left the entire message in Spanish. Heat rises into her face and she’s grateful for her
natural tan. “Never too soon to start practicing for my advanced conversation class.” In her
periphery, she sees the house mother smirk and slink away.

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Spring Semester 1992

“She left another message,” Talia says. “This one’s in English. She hands Leti a piece of
paper with the Beta Theta Chi sorority house phone number.
Leti rolls her eyes and hits delete without even listening to Graciela. She doesn’t have
time for more apologies. She wonders if there’s a chapter in her Psychology of Motivation
textbook that could explain Graciela’s reason for repeated messages now, after all their time
without each other.
“She sounds genuinely sorry.” Talia follows Leti to her room and sits on the edge of her
new desk chair, a Christmas gift from Jocelyn and Yanaha. “And she offered to buy you lunch.
You know we have to take advantage of free food whenever we can.” The apartment has been a
strain on Talia’s scholarship funds. She started looking for a job.
“She always sounds like that.” Leti unpacks the books from her bag over Talia’s head and
onto her desk. “It’s a talent she perfected when we were kids. I’ve heard her use it with her
parents and her brothers. She always gets what she wants.” What could she possibly want?
“She mentioned a gift.” Talia stands up and pauses in the doorway.
Leti thinks last Christmas’s gift, the earrings now safely hidden behind her socks in the
top drawer of her used dresser. Maybe she’ll pawn them so she can quit the diner.
“She’s your family. And if you want to find your mom, you probably need her help.”
After Talia leaves, Leti imagines Graciela’s world filled with fluffy white pillows and
tiny crust-less sandwiches. Her only knowledge of sorority life comes from movies. She pictures
her cousin with her sisters cozied up by a fireplace on Christmas Eve exchanging extravagant
gifts, sipping champagne, and talking about their ski trips. It was a world she and her cousin used
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to make fun of. Together.

“You seem distracted.” Graciela waves a hand in front of Leti’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“My roommate didn’t show up for class. She didn’t get out of bed again all weekend. I
should be worried, right?”
“My roommate has issues too.” Graciela looks around and leans in close. “I think she was
raped.”
Leti blinks repeatedly, replays what her cousin said in her head a few times. “Why do you
think that?” She’s suspicious. This could be some new sorority drama Graciela thinks is
amusing. “That’s not something to joke about.”
“I’m serious. I looked in your newspaper and called that number to report a rape, but they
said she has to call. And she won’t talk about it at all.”
“Have you suggested counseling?” Leti thinks about how helpful Dr. Alas has been and
writes a reminder on her notebook to make an appointment.
“Are you taking notes about this for your next article?”
Leti shakes her head, tries to recall what Third Wave has done about violence against
women in the past few issues.
“I read your last one. About your awful interview. What a horrible man.”
Leti smiles. “You read it?”
“I had a lot of time during break.”
“I spent Christmas Eve re-reading my mom’s letter and all the ones from my dad. I wrote
a long one of my own.” She shrugs. “I won’t send it. Nothing will change the way they are.”
Graciela puts a hand over Leti’s. “I really am sorry about Christmas. And New Year’s.”
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She reaches in her bag with her free hand. “I brought you this.” She puts a small box on the
table. “From my mom. She used the mail this time. I had to sign for it.”
Leti forces a laugh. “Tia is always cautious.” The necklace matches the emerald and
diamond earrings she already has. “It’s beautiful.” She tries to smile for real, but the jewelry
reminds her of the past she’s sure is gone for good. “You really should try to get your roommate
some help.” She knows she should insist Keysha see Dr. Alas instead of locking herself in her
room. “But how can we help people who aren’t willing to listen?”
~~~
House mother insists Graciela report to her office at eight in the morning to discuss
academic concerns. She has seen last semester’s grades.
After Graciela waits more than thirty minutes, house mother arrives, her gray bun so tight
it pulls back all her facial skin. A temporary face lift. She says she needs a moment to prepare for
the meeting.
Graciela seethes. She could’ve slept another hour.
House mother finally opens the door and looks irritated. She has added a white cardigan
over her pink flowery dress, a sharp contrast to her attitude. “Why didn’t you make up classes
last summer, Gracie?”
“I was with my parents in New Mexico.” She pauses. “They’re sick and needed help with
the family business.” Not exactly true, but Graciela’s father does get more tired in the summer
heat and can’t endure the long days. And she did work there.
House mother’s icy blue eyes reveal minor guilt. “Gracie, we can overlook your sub-par
performance last year, but now that you’re living here, you must always represent the sisterhood
with dignity and superior academic performance. It’s one of the reasons we selected you to be
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part of our family.” By the end of her speech, her mouth turns down in disappointment.
Graciela becomes self-conscious, aware everything house mother says is true. “I can
definitely do better this semester.” Graciela hears attitude creep into her voice.
With one raised eyebrow, house mother replies, “Gracie, we want to help you succeed
here, but sometimes, the university is too challenging for people with your background.”
“My background?” Not sure what she means, Graciela takes a defensive stance which
causes house mother’s face to change again, a look closer to fear.
She walks around behind her desk before she continues. “The inclusion of minorities in
college is important and the panhellenic council fully supports efforts toward affirmative action.
Unfortunately, many students arrive here ill-prepared for the academic challenges.” She sits
down and busies herself with the piles of paper on her desk, shuffles them without purpose.
Graciela realizes she has been dismissed. But she won’t slink away without comment
even though her brain tells her she should. Instead, she steps one stride closer to the desk. Low
and slow she says, “Do not worry. I have more than adequate preparation for the academic
challenges the university offers. I am here because I earned it not because of affirmative action.”
Before house mother can respond, Graciela walks out of the office and leaves the door open.

“Do you believe that condescending bitch?” Graciela can only vent about house mother
to one person, Leti.
“She really said minorities don’t deserve to be here?” Leti frowns and hesitates with a
spoonful of fried rice in the air. “She’s so racist.”
Graciela chews some lettuce and shakes her head. “They can’t be racist. They let me in.”
Leti chokes on her rice.
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Graciela passes her soda since Leti’s is empty.
“Gross! What is this?”
“Diet Dr. Pepper. You’re welcome. I saved your life.”
“I can’t die from choking on rice. You should take anatomy next semester. Also they can
be racist and let you in. It’s called tokenism. We learned about it in Sociology.”
“Hey! I’m taking Sociology. Dolores said I need cultural enlightenment.”
“You do!” Leti gets excited and chokes again. This time, Graciela doesn’t pass her soda,
so Leti gets up for water from the fountain.
“Maybe you shouldn’t talk while you eat. Seems too dangerous for you.”
Leti throws a fortune cookie at her cousin.
“Why do you have two?”
“They always give me two.” Leti reads: You will have warmth on cold nights.
“New boyfriend?” Graciela is genuinely curious. As teenagers, they talked about guys all
the time, and there weren’t many options in Hatch.
Leti frowns. She briefly relates her friendship and kiss with a guy named Yiska and how
he was beaten by police like the guy on television.
They travel in two completely different social circles.
“What about your financial wizard, Brad?”
Graciela shakes her head. “We’ve been over. I was seeing this guy, Chris, but not
anymore.” Graciela looks around to make sure none of his friends lurk at nearby tables. She
reads her own fortune cookie: Your future will bestow many successes.
Leti laughs. “You don’t need to study after all! Success is in your fortune.”
Graciela throws the uneaten cookie at her. “Doesn’t count unless I eat it, remember?”
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When they were kids, their mothers had insisted they consume the sweet cardboard
concoction. Superstitious. Or maybe teaching them not to be wasteful. But Graciela and Leti
didn’t argue. Once a month, all of them had driven to Las Cruces for restaurant supplies. They
always stopped for a special lunch treat, food they couldn’t get in Hatch. Usually Chinese or
Long John Silver where both girls ordered fried shrimp. Looking at Leti’s plate of egg rolls and
shrimp fried rice, Graciela tries to recall the last time she ate fried food. There usually isn’t any
at the sorority house. “So, Spanish. You ready?” Graciela asks.
Leti shrugs and stares away from Graciela. “I have so much work to do.”
“It’ll be easier if we study together like we did last year.” She reaches across the table to
squeeze her prima’s hand. “Can it be Wednesday? I have astronomy tutoring on Thursdays.”
Leti smiles. “You sound too scholarly for a minority.” And she shoves the last spoonful
of fried rice in her mouth. She doesn’t choke.
Graciela pretends to be hurt by the comment and finishes her salad quickly so she can get
to class. She won’t skip any this semester. Damn! So scholarly.

At Leti’s suggestion, Graciela stops by student health to see a counselor and pick up
brochures from the Rape Treatment Center to share with Tiffany.
Alone in their room later, she asks, “How was biology today?” An innocuous question
designed to make Tiffany feel comfortable.
Tiffany plops down on her bed. “I have cramps.” She covers her face with an arm. “And I
dropped bio.”
“Isn’t it your major? I mean isn’t it a requirement or something?” Graciela moves closer
to Tiffany, holds the glossy papers in her sweaty hand.
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“There was a creepy dude in my section. He kept leering at me.”
“Change sections.” Graciela thinks about Derek and her Economics trauma.
“I did. Twice. But he found me in lecture and sat next to me.” She sits up, her face inches
away from Graciela’s. “Now I’ve got to find another class to take.”
Graciela leans back to avoid Tiffany’s bitter breath. “You can take Sociology with me.”
“Why are you taking that?” Tiffany frowns at the faces of student cultural groups on the
cover of the textbook. “Looks,” she pauses, “colorful.”
“My cousin liked the professor. And her friend is taking it, so I’ll have a study partner.”
“Then you don’t need me.”
“Maybe we can take a different class together in fall. You still need a literature
requirement? Leti says her Women Writers class is great.”
Tiffany’s attitude changes. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with your cousin lately.”
Graciela fumbles her words. “I feel bad about not seeing her at Christmas and ignoring
her New Year’s Day at the diner.”
Tiffany gets up and walks to their closet. “You weren’t with me at Christmas either.”
“You have family.”
“New Year’s Eve I didn’t,” she mutters and stares at the clothes.
“You need to see someone, Tiffany.” Graciela blurts out more harshly than she’d
practiced with the counselor.
Tiffany pushes aside the brochure Graciela extends to her. She heads for the door. “What
I need is something awesome for my birthday next week.” She grabs her purse. “Something not
fraternity. And as my roommate, it’s your job to plan it.”
Graciela stares at the open doorway. She puts the brochures on Tiffany’s desk, hopes
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she’ll read them when she’s ready.
~~~
Keysha should look less haggard at the start of the semester. She’s never left the
apartment in sweats and a baseball cap unless it’s the day of a track meet. Even then, it’s her
school-approved sweat suit, not this raggedy, gray cotton thing she’s got on. Maybe grunge is a
new look for her.
The professor for their Women Writers class is ten minutes late, sweaty, and stutters
excuses about the wrong room across campus. She’s new and the echo in the small lecture hall
distracts her. She drops her pile of handouts.
Keysha leans over and whispers to Leti, “Are we sure about this?”
“Easy A, girl,” Leti whispers back, only partly joking. Sometimes new professors impose
unnecessary rigor like they need to prove something. “Besides, we need a literature class and this
fits in my schedule. The other choices are statistics,” they both shudder at the memory from last
year, “and some history of people we don’t care about part two.”
“I’m just glad you saved me from part one last semester.” Keysha leans over to rest her
head on Leti’s shoulder.
Up close, her usually smooth face is covered in tiny, dry bumps.
“Why you so tense?” She sits up and jabs the top of Leti’s shoulder to relax it.
“Ouch! Stop!” Leti hisses at her. “Work is ugh.”
“That cute guy still there?”
“Rick is not cute. He’s arrogant.” Leti mutters, “Such an ass.”
The guy in front of her hands back the syllabus.
“Not you, sorry.”
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“I know, girl,” he sings back and turns around. “I’m fabulous!”
“Stefán! I didn’t recognize the back of your head,” Keysha says. “What happened to the
high-top fade?”
He fluffs the curls hanging down by his collar. “My neck got cold.”
“Not hiding any Christmas hickeys, are you?” Leti asks.
“Cochina, no!” Stefán protests, slaps the air behind him with his outstretched hand.
Professor clears her throat to get their attention.
So he whispers, “Dinner before the publications meeting.”
Leti already worries Third Wave deadlines will interfere with her academic obligations.
She’s perplexed by the required texts on the syllabus: Sandra Cisneros, Maxine Hong Kingston,
Louise Erdrich, Alice Walker, and a reader of feminist stories, poems, and essays. They are not
the ones listed in the bookstore. She elbows Keysha.
“What?” Keysha follows her finger then looks at the titles in her bag: The Awakening, O
Pioneers!, The Bell Jar, and The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. “Shit!” Before she can
raise her hand and say something, a student in the front row does.
The professor apologizes and assures them she has arranged a full refund. She sighs and
it echoes in the now stuffy room. “The ones I picked cost less, and you can buy new copies with
my discount at Sisterhood Books on Westwood Blvd.” She forces a half smile. “Today I’ll give
you some background on mythology. Feminist myths or the myths and legends featuring women
in various cultures.”
Keysha gives Leti a nod of approval. This will be interesting.

After class, Leti, Keysha, and Stefán walk arm-in-arm toward the second floor of the
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student union. Hordes of students scream at each other across campus. They sip Cappuccino
Royale and rapidly haul their backpacks down the slippery brick. A guy stops them to sign his
petition in protest of the police officers’ trial in Simi Valley. How will it do any good now?
“I’m so glad the rain stopped.” Leti looks up at the dark sky. “If it starts again later, I’ll
get soaked walking home from the bus stop.”
“You can wait for practice to end and get a ride home with us.” Keysha smiles and Leti
knows it’s forced. Her foundation can’t cover all the pain in her face. But she won’t tell anyone
what’s going on.
They walk into the crowded eatery and Leti snags a table. She calculates what she can
buy with the few crumpled dollars in her pocket.
Keysha interrupts her math, “I got you. I owe you from the bookstore, remember?”
Leti is grateful. “Just a breast and bread – no sides.”
“Want a Coke too?”
“Dr. Pepper, please. Small.”
Stefán clings to Keysha’s elbow. He whispers and points at various guys along their walk
to the chicken counter.
Leti watches them, already dazed, and clutches the sides of her backpack. She leans over
and closes her eyes.
“Oh, no she didn’t!” Stefán proclaims loudly.
Leti wakes from a deep sleep.
“Sends us to do all the work and serve her food like we are back in the slave days.”
Leti lifts her head. Saliva strings from her lip to the bag.
“Gross, girl. Wake up!” Keysha demands.
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Leti wipes her mouth and cheek with her sleeve and yawns, then stretches, sighs, and
reaches for the extended plate and cup. “Girl, that’s not a small.”
Keysha waves her off. “You two have a long meeting to get through without me, and it’s
only twenty cents more.” Because of track, Keysha isn’t on staff at X this semester, but she
promised Thomas she would occasionally contribute photos.
Stefán pouts.
“What’d you do to him?” Leti waves the crispy chicken skin at Stefán then devours it.
Keysha wrinkles her mouth. “Tell her. I’m not.”
“Fine!” He sets his bread and butter knife down. “I saw him.”
“Who?”
“The man I love.”
Keysha and Leti both groan.
“What? Why can’t I believe in love?”
“Because it’s a fairy tale,” Leti responds.
“And you ain’t Cinderella,” Keysha adds.
Stefán hisses, “He was kissing a girl.”
A laugh bursts out of Leti before she can clap a hand over her mouth.
Stefán pretends to be seriously hurt for about five seconds, then leans toward them and
says, “But see that one over there?” He points at a scrawny blonde squinting their direction.
“He’s mine!” And he saunters across the room.
“He’s so forward,” Keysha says. “Like that woman at last year’s invitational. Remember
I told you about that crazy dyke who kept calling me?”
“Keysha! You can’t use that word.”
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“Why? She called herself that. Even had it printed on a T-shirt: Detroit Dykes.”
“Yeah, but just because you all call each other ni – ” Leti doesn’t need to finish her
statement. But it gives her a new article idea. Maybe one she can work on this summer for the
collaboration issue.
~~~
Graciela’s head pounds after last night’s birthday celebration. She and a few other sisters
with fake IDs took Tiffany to a rooftop restaurant where they drank several bottles of
champagne. She had to help Tiffany undress and put her to bed.
She should’ve stayed asleep longer but doesn’t want to prove house mother right about
her “ability to meet the rigorous academic demands of this university.” Inside the lecture hall,
she doesn’t see Jocelyn in her usual front row seat, so she walks almost to the top before the
microphone below is turned on, and a deep voice instructs everyone to take a seat. Leti was right.
Sexy. His final “t” echoes in the space around Graciela who stands too close to the speaker, so
she retreats back down, but while her back was turned, all the seats filled and only a few empties
toward the front remain. She won’t be able to sleep there. She has a strong desire to leave, but
she needs to stay on track.
Professor Omari looks right at her and says, “It’s time for all of you to get serious.” He
turns on the projector and there’s a close-up photograph of a Black man with a severely beaten
face. “The world around us is serious.” He walks up the aisle and continues. “Minorities face
serious violence,” he changes the slide to a historic lunch counter photo, “bigotry, and
discrimination.” The last photo is a contemporary one. Los Angeles police with batons raised
over a Black man on the ground.
The ache from Graciela’s head spreads to her stomach. She looks away. She locates the
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nearest exit in case she gets sick.
“The question is,” Professor Omari pauses, “What are you doing about it?” With each
word, he slaps his hand on the microphone like he’s slapping her face. She’s awake now.
The next series of images shows Civil Rights marchers, United Farm Workers, and a
group of students with signs: “Education for All” and “Chicano Power!”
“Your research paper needs to focus on social action.”
TAs pass papers down each row and the class fills with grumbles and groans.
“How have different racial and ethnic groups created change in their communities?”
Graciela gets an extra handout for Jocelyn and tunes out the student murmurs. This isn’t
the same class Leti took. She had a field study requirement not a research paper. Graciela pulls
out her syllabus. The full course title is Sociology of Race and Ethnicity. At least she doesn’t
have to worry about running into Derek or Brad or Chris. And there will be tutors available.

Outside the lecture hall, Graciela bumps into Jocelyn. “I was caught up in the studio.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corner. “You have time to grab lunch?”
At the closest eatery, Jocelyn pays for her half sandwich and soup, sits down at the table
with Graciela, and blows each spoonful. Graciela counts three before Jocelyn looks up and
notices Graciela watching her.
“Your pasta looks good.”
Graciela shakes her head. Mistake. She takes a long drink of water and wishes she’d
thought to bring some aspirin. She isn’t sure the curly noodles with pesto and broccoli are as
appetizing as the two large pieces of gooey garlic bread. Her breath can’t smell any worse.
“Thanks for the research paper handout. We can study together for the midterm next
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week if you want.”
“Next week?” Graciela yelps, her bread half-chewed. She covers her mouth with a
napkin, finishes her bite, and takes a drink. “Already?”
Jocelyn nods. “Have you been following the trial? There’ll be questions about it in
addition to the text.” She finishes her soup and watches Graciela eat one noodle at a time.
“We have a midterm week three?” Graciela also wonders what trial but doesn’t want
Jocelyn to think she’s a complete moron. She’ll ask Leti later.
“And week six and week nine and the final.”
“And the research paper?” Graciela’s shock is obvious. Maybe she should return to
Dolores for a schedule change, but if she drops this class, she’ll be behind in another. Surely Leti
knows about this trial.
“The paper isn’t due until week twelve. We can start on it after the first midterm.”
Jocelyn takes her trash away.
Graciela concentrates on her pasta and vows to start reading tonight so she doesn’t
embarrass herself when she sees Jocelyn again.
~~~
At the Ethnic Publications office, Leti hurries to edit her Third Wave piece focused on
female students’ anxiety about sexual assault. Graciela’s revelation about her roommate’s rape
haunts her. What if that happens to her prima?
“You have time to edit pages for me?”
Leti looks up at Thomas’s soft brown eyes and crooked smile. Then she looks at the
clock. “How many?”
“No one on my staff is as thorough as you are.”
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“The whole issue?” Leti asks, incredulous.
“Whatever you can do before you go. I have to take it to the printer tonight.”
“I’m meeting my roommates for dinner in an hour. If I’m late, I’ll blame you.”
“I’ll buy dinner if it means I don’t have to read these pages again.” He puts the stack on
the edge of her desk.
She pushes her own work aside. “You know that means Talia’s and Keysha’s dinner too,
right? We’re a package deal.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Marv better not be complaining. No one makes him be at our place all the time, eating
all my food.”
“I heard the food is better at your place.” He sits next to her like they aren’t on deadline.
He speaks more softly. “Why am I not ever invited over?”
Leti leans back in her chair, recalls Stefán’s warning about the game Thomas plays. She
understands now, but heat still rises in her throat, the threat of embarrassment. She also recalls
his kindness her first Christmas here. The Christmas she spent alone. “Because we don’t have
enough chairs.” She should’ve said for you and your girlfriend, but she doesn’t want him to think
she thought he was flirting. “Now shoo so I can finish my work.”
“Shoo? You sound like my granny.” He laughs.
“What does your granny do when you ignore her?”
Before Thomas can answer, Carmen walks in alone. None of her staff is here because
they went to the printer last Friday. Pens and voices pause momentarily. Everyone watches
Carmen, waits to see who she’ll target with her rage.
She steps toward Leti who sucks in her breath.
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Thomas puts his hand on Leti’s shoulder to stand up.
“Came to see if you need help,” Carmen says to Thomas. She looks down at Leti. “Did
you see our piece about the degrading frat songs? If I hear one more asshole sing ‘Mexican
whore,’ I will pursue legal action. Third Wave should do a follow up piece.”
It takes everyone a few moments to react. Thomas first. “Can you help me layout ad
pages? A couple of them might be interested in the next issue of La Raza.” He steers her toward
the X desk.
Leti takes a minute to breathe normally again before she says, “Thanks, Carmen.” And
makes a note on the Third Wave ladder for the next issue. This could be perfect with her article.
She edits the X copy still distracted by this calmer, nicer Carmen.

“It was like she channeled her inner Jocelyn,” Leti tells Talia later. “And Thomas gave
me these,” she shows Talia the dorm meal coupons, “for making me late.”
Talia scowls at them.
“Why the face? He’s paying for dinner.”
“He gets them from the front desk clerk.”
“And?”
“That’s not his girlfriend.”
“So?” Maybe Stefán was right.
“No one gives a guy free food unless…”
“Really, Talia? They can’t just be friends?”
“Only you and Yiska do that.”
“Red and Keysha?”
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“They’re weirder than you two.”
“Where is Keysha?”
“She wasn’t at the publications office with you?”
“She can’t this semester because of practice.”
“She’s not practicing. Marv said she’s injured. But on days she has physical therapy, she
still rides home with them.”
“Why didn’t she tell us?”
“Embarrassed? Too proud? I don’t know why she does a lot of things.”
They watch the television news coverage of the trial in Simi Valley on the big screen.
The four white officers who beat Rodney King look more devious in their light brown and gray
suits, costumes hide their violent selves. They blame each other now. One is labeled a racist
because he called a Black family gorillas. One claims to have followed police training
procedures. The third plays innocent bystander despite video tape footage. And the fourth guy
doesn’t even testify because, according to the prosecutor’s interview, his lawyer doesn’t want his
résumé entered into evidence.
“After all these months,” Talia says, “you’d think we’d have justice.”
Leti is relieved Yiska isn’t with them. “Thomas thought he’d have a guilty verdict to
report by now. Instead, he had to fill in the pages last minute with a photo essay.”
Talia makes her anti-Thomas face again. “Keysha’s photos?”
“She went to a drum circle in Leimert Park. You know where that is?” Leti takes a bite of
pizza, realizes how little of Los Angeles she knows outside of campus and home. “It looks like
their hands are in motion.”
“She has that photo in her room.”
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“You went in her room?”
“I needed change for the bus. She keeps some in a giant blue cup on her desk.”
“You stole money from her?” Leti slides her soda out of Talia’s reach. “Do you steal
from me too?”
“You don’t have money.”
Leti laughs. “That’s so wrong. I have more jobs than all of you put together and I’m
always broke.” She laughs so hard, tears form.
Talia holds in her smile until Leti elbows her then she says in her motherly tone, “We can
look for more scholarships over spring break.”
“This summer I’m definitely getting a job that pays more and uses my writing skills.”
“And when we apply for graduate school, we’ll make sure you get a full ride.”
“Graduate school? Full ride sounds nice. But I’m not so sure. Undergraduate is difficult
enough. “How’d Keysha get to Leimert Park?”
“Red. He’ll do anything for her.”
Leti stares at the screen, now reporting on the NCAA basketball tournament. “You think
he knows what’s really wrong with her?” Leti asks hesitantly.
“Wrong with who?” Jocelyn grabs the last slice of pizza and shoves half of it in her
mouth before Leti can say anything.
Talia opens her eyes wide and says, “You just ate Leti’s last piece.”
Jocelyn steps back to drop her bag on the seat next to Leti and pulls more coupons out of
it. “I’ll order another one for us.” She takes their pitcher to the counter with her for a refill.
“Like I need to eat more.”
“She does.” Yanaha’s melodic voice interrupts them quietly. “She’s had so much caffeine
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today, I’m afraid she’s gonna combust.” She sits next to Talia. “Up all night finishing some
paintings.” She puts her head on her arm and mumbles. “She’s buying my salad as reparation.”
“Where’d she get the coupons?” Leti asks Yanaha but stares at Talia.
“Her friend at the front desk.”
“Is she having sex to get them?”
“What?” Yanaha sits up and stares at Leti confused.
Talia explains their earlier conversation about Thomas.
Yanaha whispers, “If she is, she hasn’t shared that with me.”
“We were just saying the same about Keysha,” Leti says.
“That she’s a lesbian?”
“No! That she’s not telling us whatever is bothering her.”
“I heard she can’t jump this season.”
“You knew?”
“One of the trainers told me.”
Leti drops the last piece of her crust. “Maybe we’re not as close as I thought.”
“Closer,” Talia says. “You’re the last person she wants to disappoint.”
Yiska would have told her, but she’s been too busy when he calls.
~~~
Usually the sorority house living room is full of chatter on Monday nights, sisters catch
up after busy weekends, share party stories or boyfriend updates. But tonight, the pieces of sound
in the dim living room are murmurs, gasps, and whispers.
Graciela stands at the periphery in the hallway’s darkness and listens. Someone says the
n-word, or something that sounds like it. From her vantage point, Graciela watches the television
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news. Four white men exit the court house while one group of people cheers and others, mostly
black and Latino, shout words like injustice, guilty, police brutality, and discrimination. The jury
has been sequestered for deliberation. This is the trial everyone has been talking about. The trial
on her midterm. The trial Jocelyn fears will result in disaster.
On the way to the kitchen with dirty cups and snack trash, house mother sees Graciela
and gives her a terse scowl. “Ladies,” she calls over her shoulder, “maybe it’s time to change the
channel to something more pleasant.”
Vice-President Bethany stands up obediently and grabs the TV Guide. She sees Graciela,
nudges Stephanie, and looks back at Graciela in an unspoken warning.
Instead of continuing to stand outside the living room like she doesn’t belong, Graciela
uncrosses her arms and fakes a smile. She sits on the arm of the couch next to Tiffany and
focuses on the television interview of a policeman.
Graciela never had to fear Officers Chavez and Copeland who were the Hatch police
department in its entirety. She and Leti had served them Sunday brunch at the restaurant. They’d
been at Uncle Patrick’s bar on Thursday nights at the end of their shift. Officer Chavez had even
played softball in a league with Graciela’s brother, Eduardo.
But this is different. The four men on trial are strangers and don’t look friendly. They
look smug, proud of what they’d done. Except the last guy. He looks guilty. Head down,
shoulders slumped, he walks slower than the others, ignores cameras but flinches at every
comment hurled toward him.
The sisters’ eyes bore into Graciela as if she is one of those police-hating people, as if she
has betrayed them. Tiffany shifts repeatedly, rubs her arm against Graciela’s thigh. She sips and
fidgets until her soda is empty then she rushes to the kitchen for another.
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Graciela reaches for a handful of chips from the bowl on the table and matches their
accusatory gazes. Her smile is gone. But she can’t swallow the chewed pieces in her mouth. She
needs a drink. Not punch or diet soda, but a stronger, more potent remedy.
“Ladies!” House mother’s tone is sharp, insistent. She looks sideways at Graciela, thinks
she doesn’t notice. “I’m sure there’s a movie we can all agree upon unless you have more
studying you’d like to do.”
“Say Anything!” Stephanie shouts, clap her hands together, and grabs the VHS tape.
~~~
After working a double shift at the diner on Saturday, because two waitresses called in
sick, Leti wants to go to her apartment and collapse in a ball on the floor. Instead she agrees to
meet Talia at the University Outdoor Invitational, a crucial track and field competition for LAU.
Yiska and Marv’s relay team is the foursome to beat. Keysha, who won’t be jumping, still hasn’t
talked about it.
Talia hands Leti a change of clothes. Flip flops, white short shorts, and a pink tank top
that are not Leti’s and slightly smaller than she’s used to wearing, but her feet are so grateful for
fresh air, she doesn’t care if she looks like a piece of bubble gum.
“You stink!” Talia says.
“You don’t expect a person who has worked all morning to be funky?” Leti lifts her
uniform over her head in the bathroom stall and makes a note not to torture anyone else with her
stench. “Did you bring me deodorant? Or a toothbrush.”
“That’s not gonna help. You smell like fried hair,” Talia says.
“I tried to bathe with the chicken,” Leti replies.
Talia smooths Leti’s stray hairs into place. “Fortunately, I have these.” She pulls a card of
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bobby pins out of her gargantuan purse and sticks them all over Leti’s head.
“Ouch! Damn!” Leti moves away from her torturer. “Are you stabbing them into my
skull?” She rubs the last spot Talia fixed and turns to the warped mirror. “It looks a little better.”
“You’re welcome!” Talia pulls a giant floppy straw hat out of the same bag before they
walk out of the building. She looks like someone’s mom.
Leti thinks about her own mom, who never wore hats, but used an umbrella for shade
whenever she went outside to protect her skin from becoming darker or getting age spots. Out on
the grass with the other spectators, Leti lies back on the towel and slathers suntan oil on her arms
and legs. “Maybe my mom married an Irish guy so I wouldn’t be as dark as her and mi Tia.” But
she wants her skin to be darker, less freckly. Her face, she leaves alone. Without a hat, it’ll
brown up eventually. She inhales the tropical scent deeply and pretends she’s on a much-needed
vacation in Hawaii or the Bahamas, thinks about how relaxed she was the last time she and Yiska
were together. Maybe he’ll go on her imaginary trip.
Talia sings, “If you like piña colada….”
Leti adds, “And gettin’ caught in the rain.”
“Think about what that will do to your hair!”
Leti laughs. “That’s a horrible song anyway. It’s about a woman who places a want ad,
trying to cheat on her man. And he answers the ad.”
“How cute. They still end up together, right?”
“You’re such a romantic.”
“Speaking of romantic, here comes Yiska.” She won’t give up wanting them to be a
couple, so they can have real double dates.
“Get the hearts and flowers out of your panties, Talia.”
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“I can’t help it! Look how cute my man is all sweaty. Yours too.”
“He’s not my man. Just my friend. All we can handle right now.” She repeats it out loud,
tries to convince herself.
“Yay! Our winners!” Talia jumps up to hug Marv.
“Where’s Keysha?” Leti asks without getting up.
Marv and Yiska exchange glances. “We were gonna ask you two the same thing,” Marv
replies. “We thought she’d at least come and watch. Support her team.” He sounds more angry
than concerned.
Talia pulls her lips in. “Did either of you ask Red? Maybe he knows where she is.”
“She wasn’t at home?” Marv asks.
“I’ve been at the library all day,” Talia says, “and she just came from work.”
Yiska raises his eyebrows at Leti who forces herself to stand up. Her tropical paradise
vacation plans chased away by reality.

By the time the slowest bus ever finally gets to their stop, Leti is tired of Marv and
Talia’s constant chatter. Yiska seems okay that Leti isn’t talking much. He gives her elbow a
squeeze, knows she’s seriously concerned about Keysha. They turn the corner onto Shenandoah
and see Red run out of his building toward theirs.
“I’ve never seen his big ass move so fast.” Marv laughs.
Leti looks at Yiska and they both sprint. He gets there before her, of course, but waits
before going in even though the front door is wide open.
Red is yelling, maybe crying in Keysha’s bedroom.
Leti isn’t sure what she should do. She can’t hear Keysha respond in his pauses.
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“Red!” Yiska says loudly and Leti is startled. “Red, you need us in there?”
Silence. Leti moves closer to Keysha’s door.
Red comes out laughing, wipes his eyes. “She’s getting dressed.” He pushes past them
but is stopped by Marv and Talia in the doorway.
“Robert Edward Daly, you are not leaving here until you tell us what’s going on.” Talia
looks like she can actually prevent their giant shot-put-throwing friend from walking out.
Leti stands closer to him and whispers, “Please? We need to know what’s up with her.”
He puts an arm around Leti’s shoulders and does the same with Talia.
From Keysha’s bathroom, the toilet flushes and the shower starts. “She’s gonna be fine.
Probably food poisoning.”
Marv steps closer to Red’s face. “Why was your big ass running down the street?”
Red’s face falls. “You saw me?”
“We chased you,” Yiska says. To Leti: “You might be faster than Marv.”
Before Marv can argue, Talia claps her hands together sharply. “Focus! Red, tell us so we
can help her.”
He sits on the nearest chair and looks down toward Keysha’s room.
“Water’s still running,” Yiska says. He moves to stand guard in the hall entrance.
“When I got home there was a message. She wasn’t yelling at me for not picking her up
or forgetting to save her food from last night. She wasn’t lecturing me about drinking too much
or having sex with stupid girls.” He tears up again. “But I didn’t know what she was saying. She
sounded scared and small. All I could understand was ‘pain’ and ‘done’ then click. She hung up.
And I ran down here as fast as I could.”
“Shower’s finished.” Yiska joins Leti on the couch.
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“Don’t say anything. I made her throw up whatever she took. She’s fine now.”
“I wouldn’t even know what to say,” Leti mumbles and covers her face.
Yiska puts one large hand between her shoulder blades and presses firmly there.
Leti inhales deeply then reaches out for his other hand.
Marv turns to Leti. “You need to make her go see your shrink.”
“Marvin William Foster!” Talia looks at Leti, fearful.
“Not a bad idea.” Right now, Leti doesn’t care if her friend shared her business.
“She won’t go,” Red says. “I already suggested it. Once she finishes rehab for her knee,
she’ll be fine.” He returns to Keysha’s bedroom.
Talia puts on enough pasta for all six of them and sends Marv to the store for bread.
“After you shower.”
“Want me to stay?” Yiska asks.
“I need a shower too.”
He opens his eyes wider and grins.
She shakes her head. “Come back for dinner.” She hugs him.
He kisses her on the forehead and follows Marv out the door.
“Not exactly the double date you had in mind,” Leti says to Talia. She pauses at the wall
of photos Keysha framed from their Oceanography field trip. “She’s not in any of them.”
Talia stands next to her and touches the one of her and Marv. “There’s no evidence she’s
ever with us. Like she could disappear at any moment.”
But in the one of Red, where she snatched off his sombrero to capture his messed-up hair,
Leti traces the shadow of Keysha’s arm along the edge. “We can’t leave her alone anymore.”
~~~
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Graciela wanders around the Student Union until she finds the Ethnic Publications office.
Jocelyn is on her way out. “I was dropping off art work for the next issue of La Raza.
What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Leti. Have you seen her?” She hopes her prima has answers to what gnaws
at her insides.
“She’s at work. Only here in the evenings, after classes.”
Why doesn’t she know that? “I’ve been watching the trial.”
Jocelyn spins on her heel and walks back into the office. “I mute the volume. After a
while, everything they say is the same. Bullshit excuses.” She picks up the envelope labeled mug
shots. “But their faces haunt my dreams.” She pulls out four sketches of the men Graciela saw on
the news. They’re bright white against the red and brown and black silhouettes of the crowd
behind and around them. Underneath each one is a black box with what looks like prison
identification numbers and faint lines behind their heads indicate their height.
“You drew these?” Graciela touches the edge of the heavy paper and sits down. “They’re
almost beautiful.”
“Not when you read what Carmen wrote about them. She dug up all kinds of dirt.”
Carmen is one of the Chicanas who doesn’t like Leti.
“I’m meeting her for lunch.”
Graciela follows Jocelyn to Cucina. They pass by Tiffany who sits at a table with
Bethany and Stephanie. Graciela waves at them not expecting a response.
At the corner booth, Jocelyn drops her bag. “Carmen, this is Leti’s cousin, Graciela. Film
major. She’s in Sociology with Omari too.” She digs out a handful of dorm coupons. “Sausage
and mushroom okay with you? I’ll get a large and we can all share.”
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Graciela nods, knows her sisters ordered salads without dressing. She thinks about the
video tape that played on the big screen here last year. The police officers’ faces weren’t visible
then, but now they’re emblazoned on her mind. She can’t blink them away.
Carmen eyes Graciela suspiciously. “You from New Mexico, too?”
“My parents own a restaurant in Hatch.” She looks away and sees her bleached-hair
reflection in the window. “I help with the chile-roasting when I go home.” Something she’d
never admit to her sisters.
“Hatch chiles are supposed to be the best.” Carmen still looks at Graciela with narrowed
eyes. Critical or curious. Maybe she’s wanted private time with Jocelyn.
Jocelyn returns to the table with a pitcher of lemonade and three cups. “One summer I
tried to juice lemons from a neighbor’s trees,” she says, “but the only person who bought it,
poured it on her head to lighten her hair.”
Jocelyn and Carmen both shift their gaze to Graciela.
Their pizza number is called. “I’ll get it,” Graciela removes herself from their judgement
temporarily. When she returns, Carmen is heated about fraternity songs that mention dead Lupe.
Graciela is grateful her shame doesn’t show through her skin. Out the corner of her eye,
she sees her sorority sisters leave. Tiffany glares, a combination of hurt and anger.

“You have lunch with your cousin and her friend now?” Tiffany asks.
“Not my cousin.” Graciela looks around the room for the framed photo of her and Leti at
their high school graduation. What did she do with it? “Classmates,” she snaps. “We were
studying.” Graciela isn’t sure why the lie slipped out except Tiffany’s tears seem different this
time, like they’re from somewhere deep inside. More softly, Graciela says, “You didn’t want to
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take the class with me, remember?” She puts her book bag on the desk chair and sits on the edge
of her bed. “And it’s not like you and the Beta Theta Chi royalty asked me to join you for lunch.”
Graciela doesn’t care who hears her snide remark. Since the Grease party, she has accepted how
they perceive her.
“You didn’t have any books out.” Tiffany takes a swig from the bottle on her desk.
“Were you telling them about me? Even though you promised not to?” She sits on her own bed
and faces the opposite direction.
Graciela gets up and sits next to her. “Of course not.” She puts her arm around Tiffany’s
shoulders and makes the shush-shush noises her mother made when Graciela was upset. “I
wouldn’t tell anyone.” This lie is necessary. “What did Bethany and Stephanie say when you told
them?” Hopefully they echoed Graciela’s concern.
Tiffany pulls away. “I’d never tell them.” She stands and grabs the brochures off her
desk. “I don’t need help.” She throws them in the trash and takes a longer drink. “I’m fine with
my philosophy class. And I’m fine without a boyfriend. And I’m fine if you don’t want to be my
friend anymore.”
Graciela notices an empty liquor bottle in the trash. “Of course, I’m still your friend.”
“That guy was a drug addict you know.”
“The guy at the party?”
“The guy on TV who is suing the police for beating him.”
“It’s not a lawsuit –”
“He was using marijuana. And he was on parole. He was a criminal.” Tiffany stumbles to
her closet. “Time for bed.” She takes off her dress and lets it fall to the floor. She crawls on top
of her bed and curls up holding her pajamas. It’s not even dark outside.
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~~~
After working extra hours during spring break, Leti goes with her friends to a party at a
large, historic house in South Central Los Angeles. The guys don’t care that their cross-town
rivals are there too. They all want a night off from being college students and athletes.
“I should’ve stayed home,” Keysha complains, refuses to dance. She leans against the
cool living room window.
Leti dances into the kitchen and gets her a cup of water. “We can go upstairs and play
cards with the guys.”
“You don’t know how to gamble,” she sneers. Liquor makes her mean.
But Leti ignores her while she and the eclectic group of educated folks sweat to the beats
of Parliament, George Clinton, and Bell Biv DeVoe.
Talia and Marv dance like an old married couple. They hold each other and sway slowly
no matter how fast the song.
Keysha barely holds herself up. Some random dude from their rival school tries to talk to
her, so Leti walks over and glares at him.
Outside, a tall Latino guy shoves a smaller Black guy away from his car. A third guy
yells obscenities, a few racial slurs. The little guy grabs his friend and they walk away.
Inside, people stop dancing. Someone says, “Retaliation,” and encourages others to leave.
The deejay’s scratching and mixing is painful now. Formerly friendly faces glare at each other,
wonder who to blame.
“Get Red,” Talia orders Marv. “Leti, get Keysha away from the window.”
Leti obeys, not sure why, but helps Keysha stand and does her best to move her.
They head out the front door toward Red’s van, and she wonders who’s in the best shape
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to drive them all home. Keysha throws up in nearby bushes. Leti stops to hold her up. No one
hears her heaves over the gunshots from the passing Buick.
Leti has never been shot at before. She imagines her dad’s hunting rifle, his elbow cocked
and eye pressed against the scope, trained on a target. She stops. Is she a target now? People rush
by faster, closer, but she can’t focus on anyone she knows. She stoops lower to the ground,
wraps her arm around Keysha, and drags her into the house. She sees Yiska. Keysha passes out
against the kitchen wall. Leti wishes she could pass out too, not be inside this nightmare. But
she’s completely coherent.
A mob of screaming, cussing people rush past them toward the side door. It leads to the
back yard and a gate to the alley. Yiska lifts Keysha onto his broad back and moves easily
through the crowd. Leti grabs the back of his shirt and Talia grabs hers.
On the ride home, Marv clutches the steering wheel and mutters under his breath, “Fuck!
Shit!” Talia doesn’t reprimand him as usual.
Leti pushes her hands up into her curls and bites her bottom lip. Sober now, she’s still
disoriented. “What if one of us had been hit?”
“Is anyone hurt?” Talia asks.
They mutter responses. Red hugs Keysha tightly and pours water in her mouth from the
gallon jug he has stashed in the van.

Back at the guys’ newer, fancier building, Keysha falls on the couch, her skirt half up,
exposing all her business. Red gets a blanket from the hall cabinet and puts it over her then sits
on the floor in front of her, leans his head back next to hers.
Talia and Marv retire to his bedroom.
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Leti sits at the kitchen table, not eager to walk up the street to her building alone.
Yiska opens the refrigerator, its light illuminates the scar along his jaw.
Leti has the urge to trace its roughness with her forefinger. The one on her own cheek
aches in sympathy.
“I’m making cheesy mac– that’s what my sister and I called it as kids.” He looks back at
Leti. “Want a soda?”
Leti yawns. “Water is fine.”
He lets the cold water run a minute before he fills her glass.
Leti feels dizzy. She blinks fast and hard. The glass of water almost slips out her hand.
“Maybe I need food, too.”
Yiska slides a bag of cookies toward her, rests his chin on his fist, blinks his long black
lashes expectantly.
Leti nibbles the pink, frosting-covered animal, its sweetness coats her still dry tongue. “I
waited tables all morning and finished research for a new article this afternoon.” She allows
herself a prolonged blink before she eats another cookie and drinks more water.
“You can stay.” Yiska heats up water for the noodles
“I can’t.”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “I have a sister. And I’d kill someone who forced her
before she was ready.”
Does he talk to Yanaha about her?
“My roommate’s gone. You can sleep in his bed.”
Leti wishes she could pause this life, go back in time and ask her mom or Graciela for
advice. “Your roommate?”
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“Four people on a relay team.” He points to the door on the other side of the living room.
“Our other roommates are partying in Santa Barbara tonight. Bet there’s no shooting there.”
“You enjoy running?”
“I like winning.” He drains the water and adds butter to the cheesy powder. “In junior
high, running was the only way to escape.”
“Escape what?” Leti wanted to escape Hatch and her parents, but not as permanently as
she has been forced to.
“Land filled with pain. Too much bloodshed.” He chokes a little. “Japanese Internment.
Forced removal. Police brutality.” He shakes his head and offers a bright orange bite.
This gooey goodness should always be consumed from the pot with a giant wooden
spoon in the middle of the night. “This can almost make you forget about everything else.”
“Like tonight?” he asks.
“And all the other shit.” She takes a bite, but her pain surfaces, and she has trouble
swallowing.
“Your folks?”
Leti nods, touches her scarred cheek. “And Keysha. And my cousin.”
“You see her?”
Leti downs the rest of her water. “We study together. I’ve been working a lot. She’s been
busy with her sorority sisters.” Her tired turns to sad. “But she’s all the family I have left.”
Yiska hugs her against his chest. “You have all of us.” He gestures to the snoring couple
in the living room.
Leti relaxes in his strong arms and looks up. His deep, sweet kiss soothes her, and she
imagines the rest of his body lying next to hers.
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He guides her to his bedroom where he holds her, doesn’t force her to go any further.
Before they fall asleep, the sun peeks through the pale blue sheet hanging over the window. He
whispers in her ear, “Good morning.”
~~~
Before sociology class, Graciela meets Jocelyn at The Coffeehouse. “I get it, but I don’t
get it.” She wraps both hands around her steamy mug, stares into its blackness, longs for the
canela flavor of home. The yogurt and granola breakfast she ate was not nearly as appetizing as
Jocelyn’s pan dulce looks right now. “Where’d that come from?”
“Panaderia by our house.” Jocelyn breaks the heart-shaped pastry in half and puts part on
a napkin for Graciela. “Much better than that.” She points her chin toward the remnants of
Graciela’s meal.
Graciela dips the corner of the orejita into her coffee. “It feels like everyone is so angry.”
She takes a bite of the now soggy corner. Its crystals of sugar linger for a second before
dissolving, but some of its crumbs float in her drink.
“We’ve been angry for generations. This tension has been building for a long time, before
national news broadcast the police brutalizing an innocent victim.” Jocelyn talks like the news.
Graciela thinks about Tiffany’s criminal accusations. Not justification for the four on one
brutality. “Then why do people want to move here so badly?” She thinks about her parents.
“We didn’t all move. Some families were here before European settlers, before Spanish
missionaries. Before it was US soil.” She sips her own café con leche. “My roommate’s
ancestors were forced off their land, given what was thought to be wasteland in Arizona. The
original Californios, the indigenous people, they claimed this land and cared for this land.”
Jocelyn stares out the window at the giant tree, clearly here before students took over.
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Graciela refuses to look. She no longer admires her own reflection. Her hair is pulled
back in a clip and she hopes the hair dresser can restore its color and texture. “So this trial, this
verdict, is about us too?” She definitely didn’t put that on her midterm.
“It’s about justice. And holding people in power accountable for not abusing their
power.”
“That’s why Carmen has all the rallies?”
“Carmen and her amigas are committed to raising awareness about social injustices. So
she volunteers at Central Juvenile Hall and spends all her time at La Raza. She’s even there when
she doesn’t have to be, helps the other newsmagazine editors.” Jocelyn stops abruptly and
concentrates on her food. “They’re all committed to justice in their own ways.”
Graciela tries to think of an intelligent question that won’t further upset Jocelyn.
“That’s why she’s at the courthouse now.”
“Maybe she’s on the news.” Graciela’s excitement is silenced by Jocelyn’s solemnity.
“I admire her passion, but I worry she’s jeopardizing her academic goals.”
Familiar territory. “Did you share your concern with her?” Graciela eats the last bite and
washes it down with her now cold coffee. “Sometimes people need a reminder.” She thinks
about Dolores’s warning. “I didn’t pass several classes last year because of other activities.”
Jocelyn puts a hand over Graciela’s. “Not gonna happen with this class.”
Graciela’s stomach flutters. And they hurry to Sociology where Professor Omari will
hand back midterms. Graciela has never been this confident about a college exam.
~~~
Leti tries to review her notes for Women Writers, but Keysha talks loudly to Stefán. “I
need a hat for this skirt.” She pats her head. It’s the first time in a while she’s bothered with her
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appearance, so Leti doesn’t discourage the conversation.
They share a bag of stale popcorn and watch the documentary Talking Story about
Maxine Hong Kingston. Writing helped her find herself even though she had conflicts with her
family and culture. Leti can relate. And she’s finally starting to understand the sexual and racial
oppression they face as minority women.
“We all have those ghosts,” Keysha whispers in her buttery breath.
Leti wishes Keysha would talk to someone about hers.
At the end of the film, Stefán leans over, eyes moist. “I hope you took better notes than I
could. All that,” he points to the screen, “hit me right here.” He points to his heart.
The three of them join another trio for a discussion, but Keysha leans back in her chair
and refuses to participate. She stands up behind her chair, ready to flee, when they talk about
Kingston’s aunt’s rape and suicide in “No Name Woman.”
Halfway through their discussion, Jocelyn pops her head in the door at the top of the
lecture hall and yells, “Not guilty!”
The professor doesn’t even try to regain control. She’s as distraught as the students.
Stefán grabs Leti’s arm and Keysha groans. She returns to her chair and puts her head
between her knees.
He says, “We have to get to the publications office.”
Leti agrees. Her Spanish class won’t meet now.
Keysha moans. “I have track practice.” Even though Leti knows she doesn’t.
“Not today, you don’t.” Stefán grabs her arm, too.
“Go with us first,” Leti says. “Then I’ll go with you.” She hopes Yiska isn’t alone.
They join the mob of students heading wherever they normally go at this time – only
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everyone moves much faster.
They arrive at the Ethnic Publications office and chaos reigns. Thomas yells on the
phone, Carmen barks at La Raza staff. Jocelyn hunches near a window in the corner and listens
intently to a portable radio. “Another building on fire!” she yells to the others.
Stefán leaves Leti and Keysha to help Thomas.
Leti moves two chairs out of the way, closer to Jocelyn. “It’s insane out there,” she
whispers to Leti.
Keysha scoots her chair as close to Leti as possible.
Thomas yells, “We need photos!” and looks directly at them.
Leti stands up in front of Keysha and shakes her head.
He walks over to them and looks at Keysha who stares out the window. She’s pale and
shaking. Thomas asks Leti, “Can you? No. Too white.”
“Hey!” But she looks at her reflection in the window next to Jocelyn and Keysha. She is
the palest one.
“I knew this would happen,” Jocelyn tells Leti between updates. “I told Graciela this shit
has been problematic for too long.”
“My cousin, Graciela?” Leti is surprised they had such a serious conversation.
Keysha gets up and stands with her forehead against the window. She mutters, “Looks
fine to me.”
Leti isn’t sure what to do, but she knows she can’t leave Keysha alone.

They walk to the track where Talia huddles inside Marv’s jacket, even though neither of
them looks cold. He looks angry. So does Yiska.
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Leti approaches him slowly, stands about a foot away, waits for him to make eye contact,
but he looks over her head, east, as if he longs to return home. She wishes she had that option.
This is her home now. This is her family. She has to take care of them. She puts her hand on
Yiska’s broad chest and presses it there. His breathing slows. His shoulders relax. He isn’t
smiling, but he’s not going to explode. Not now anyway.
“Can we go home?” Talia’s voice echoes like she’s inside Marv’s body.
Keysha walks toward Red, and he hugs her tightly. He gives Talia and Leti an upward
nod. “We gonna do something?” he asks.
“Not tonight,” Leti says. “Let’s go home and worry about it in the morning.”

Back on Shenandoah, Red and Keysha walk to his apartment and no one stops them.
“He understands her better than any of us,” Talia assures Leti.
Yanaha and Jocelyn join Leti and Talia on the couch. They can’t take their eyes off the
television news. For hours, the destruction escalates, spreads from one intersection to the next,
like a wildfire out of control.
Marv sits on the floor against the far wall. Yiska stands at the kitchen counter. Touching
either of them could be disastrous.
“Are they stealing?” Talia asks.
They sit, wait for this movie to end. But it doesn’t. Anger envelops the apartment. There
are no commercial breaks, no release for the increasing tension. Talia finally mutes the TV and
they watch in silence.
Yiska walks over and stares down at his sister.
She says, “No, brother. Just no,” in her soft but stern voice, and he walks away.
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Jocelyn buries her face in Yanaha’s shoulder, refuses to watch anymore.
Leti gets up and pours everyone water. It’s all they have to drink. Their food supply is
pathetic too. “What if the violence gets closer?”
Marv looks out the window and mumbles, “Let’s hope we don’t get trapped here.”
“What’s at your house?” Leti snaps, yet hopeful.
Yiska glares at Marv and pulls Leti’s back to his front, wraps his arms around her torso,
and leans his chin on the top of her head.
She lets him squeeze out her tension like he did after the shooting.
Marv calls his apartment to see if their other teammates are okay. But there’s no answer.
Maybe they left LA, like they knew it would erupt.
The phone rings. Leti unwraps herself from Yiska to answer.
Tia Irene screams hysterically about what she sees on TV, demands Leti and Graciela
come home. Leti assures her the violence isn’t nearby and it’s certainly not anywhere close to
Graciela’s sorority house. But Leti leaves Graciela a message anyway.
Jorge calls immediately after his mother. Graciela wasn’t available for his phone call
either. He wants to know what they’re doing about it.
“Doing?” Leti looks at the women sitting on the couch while the two guys pace
anxiously. “We’re waiting.” Although she’s not sure what they’re waiting for, except the end.
He said to call if they need anything.
All Leti needs is the madness to stop. She needs Marv and Yiska and Keysha not to relive
old traumas. She stares at her friends, at their inaction. Should they be doing something?
The phone rings in her hand. “You still watching?” Red asks without a greeting.
A man is pulled out of his semi, brutally attacked by four people. Gratefully, others help
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him to safety. “What did he do?” Leti asks.
Red responds, “He’s white.”
Governor Wilson appears on the television and declares Los Angeles in a State of
Emergency. He dispatches National Guard troops. Talia turns off the television. Yiska leaves
with Yanaha and Jocelyn. Marv stays.
Leti doesn’t sleep well. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees flames. Outside, she
hears glass break and reassures herself it’s a stray cat in the trash or opossum escaping the sewer.
In the distance, people laugh. Don’t they know what’s happening?
~~~
The next morning, Tiffany hands Graciela three messages: mother, Jorge, Leti. All
checking on her. “Why?” Graciela looks at Tiffany, still uncertain where their friendship stands.
“What’s going on?”
Tiffany hands her The City Times. Jocelyn was right. Los Angeles erupted. The photos of
violence and destruction are unbelievable.
The four LAPD officers charged with beating Rodney King were acquitted. One of her
sorority sisters says, “Good. Now people know who’s in charge.” Her dad is a cop in Northern
California. She frequently made comments about the case. Graciela had ignored her, mostly
because she thought it had nothing to do with her. Now she knows better.
Graciela can’t speak truthfully to Leti on the phone from here, so she doesn’t call her
back. She’ll find her on campus later and call Jorge from there.
“Hola madre,” Graciela says in her most cheerful Spanish. Benign words echo off the
white walls. “Buenos dias.”
“Gracias a la Virgen,” her mother replies. “You and Leticia come home right now.”
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Graciela looks at the newspaper, a part of Los Angeles she doesn’t recognize. “No te
preocupes, madre.” Graciela fakes a smile for a sister who walks by, figures it’s the safest way to
be. “Los problemas no están cerca de aquí.” She looks out the window while her mother’s
hysteria escalates. The normal marine layer blocks the sun now, but it will burn through the haze
eventually. “Ya no hay violencia. Todo esta bien.” Her mother isn’t completely convinced, but
Graciela promises to call her again when she gets home from class.

Campus is eerily quiet, like it’s a weekend or summer time. Half as many people as
normal walk with her to class.
No one’s in Sociology, but she sits in her usual front row seat to wait for Jocelyn and
reads the article Tiffany gave her. She wants to feel smart later. After ten minutes, no other
students arrive. She must have the wrong day. She double checks the room number and makes
sure there’s no sign on the door.
Anxious and out of coffee, she shoves the paper in her bag and walks in slow-motion to
The Coffeehouse. People huddle around tiny dorm televisions and portable radios. She’d lied to
her mother. The city is still on fire. From what she catches on the radio broadcast, there are
National Guard patrols around the destruction. They have nothing to fear way over here. She
looks out the window. What she thought was the marine layer may be smoke. In the distance, she
sees a combat boot-wearing student lead a group with posters and signs toward the village. It
might be Carmen. Graciela wonders if Jocelyn is with her. What else would she be doing today if
she’s not in class?
“Can I join you or are you expecting other friends?” Tiffany sits across from Graciela
without waiting for an answer. Her bag clanks against the metal chair leg like it’s made of glass.
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“Don’t you have class now?”
“No one was there.”
“Not even the professor?” She takes a semi-crushed package of saltines out of her bag.
Graciela has mixed-up day panic again. “It’s Thursday, right?”
Tiffany nods and nibbles on the corner of a cracker. “Maybe your professor couldn’t get
through the road blocks.” She looks like a giant pink rat.
“What road blocks?”
“Didn’t you read the article I showed you?” She takes the paper out of Graciela’s bag and
reads, “In attempt to contain the violent outrage in South Central Los Angeles, parts of the ten
and one-ten freeways will be closed today. So will all nearby surface streets.” She folds it up.
“And it lists a bunch of streets I’ve never heard of. So glad we live here where we’re safe.”
Graciela stares at her. She wants to say, you weren’t safe New Year’s Eve. “It isn’t safe
for any of us, ever.”
“Those people are over there messing up their own neighborhood.”
“Those people have been discriminated against for years.” Graciela thinks about what
Jocelyn had said. “Their rage has been contained for so long.”
“Now you’re on their side?”
“It’s not about sides–”
“You don’t understand.” Tiffany stands and spills crumbs on the floor. “They’re only
hurting themselves.” She leaves, clearly agitated.
Graciela shudders but doesn’t respond. She overhears the turmoil escalating, expanding
according to the radio. National Guard troops can’t contain the madness. She imagines what it
looks like, scene by scene. She frames each image in her head like they learned in editing class.
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This is what she should be filming. She glances at the distant television. Too scary.
Nothing like this ever happened in Hatch. Maybe she should take her mother’s advice and go
home. She refills her coffee and hurries to find Leti.

The Ethnic Publications office is crowded – the opposite of her first visit.
“Nothing is more important than solidarity,” a tall Black guy says to the group.
Jocelyn sits by the window, listens to a portable radio, and scribbles furiously on her
sketch pad.
Graciela squeezes past a dozen students who stand around a large table until she’s close
enough to touch Jocelyn, but she doesn’t want to disturb her concentration.
She listens too. Closes her eyes and pictures the trauma with each crash of glass and
crack of wood caused by the errant flames.
Graciela opens her eyes. “We have to go there,” she says softly.
Jocelyn looks up at Graciela, looks back at her drawing, and looks out the window. “It’s
too calm out there for me to get it right. We’re too safe here.” She rips the page out, crumples it
up, and drops it on the floor with others. “We need to see it.”
“I’ve got my video camera.”
“I know a guy with a truck.”
They weave their way out of the crowded office without talking to Leti.
~~~
“Was that my cousin?” Leti asks Stefán.
“I don’t know your cousin.” He hands edited copy to the student at the computer. “It
needs to be tighter. Show urgency.”
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Leti looks around. No one here knows Graciela except Jocelyn. Where she’d been sitting
by the portable radio, there are only balls of paper and a coffee cup. Leti must be hallucinating.
“We’re getting a statement from Governor Wilson’s office,” Thomas yells. “Give me a
page for it.”
Stefán looks at the ladder. “The issue’s missing something. Wasn’t Jocelyn working on a
drawing of some sort? We need images to break up all the text.”
“She was.” Leti points to the radio. “But she left. Can we pull any charts of demographics
from the neighborhood? Unemployment, education levels, home ownership, and stuff like that?
Anything from the mayor’s office?”
No one has heard.
Thomas crosses the room to her. “Where’s Carmen?”
Leti shrugs.
“So much for solidarity,” Thomas mumbles.
“I’ve got these.” Keysha rushes in, her face grim and drawn, and hands Leti an envelope
full of photos. “I printed all of them, but some probably aren’t good.”
“You went there?” Leti asks, incredulous.
“We had to.” Keysha flops onto the couch. “You need them and no one else was gonna
do it.”
“You’re either absurdly brave or totally insane.” Leti opens the package. “Who drove?”
“Red.” Keysha crosses her eyes. “We’re a little of both I guess. He put on a sweatshirt,
beanie, and dark glasses. Tried to look less white.”
Leti thinks about what happened to the other white guy trapped in traffic with his semi-
truck. “Too bad you didn’t interview anyone.”
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Keysha looks at Leti like she’s crazy. “Maybe next time I’m in a war zone, I’ll
remember.” Keysha spreads the images across the table.
Broken glass glitters in the sunlight.
The smoke-filled sky hovers over frightened people.
Pregnant woman carries a baby on her hip, pushes a stroller full of diapers across debris.
“Red talked to one dude when we stopped at the edge of the madness.” She points at a
picture from the end of the street.
“This one’s my favorite.” Stefán shuffles the photos so it’s first. “Everything in the
background is moving, and he stands still, almost ignoring it all.”
Leti recalls the photo Keysha took of the drummers. “It should be the centerfold.” She
looks at the ladder and moves Governor Wilson back a page.
“Can you work on captions?” Stefán asks.
“Will it be in color?” Keysha asks.
Thomas’s eyes grow wide. Color almost doubles production costs. Without ads, this issue
will put all the publications in serious debt.
“We can do fewer pages,” Leti suggests. “Get it out sooner.”
“And I have an idea for the back cover that might offset the cost,” Stefán says. “Let me
make a phone call.”
Leti’s curious about Stefán’s idea, but before she can ask for details, the Third Wave
phone rings. She trips over a few chairs to answer it.
“It’s getting worse,” Talia says. “Spreading. We’ve got to find Keysha and Red.” Marv
mumbles in the background. “They weren’t at practice.”
“Keysha’s here.” She hands her the phone so she can write captions.
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“Red said he’s stocking the van with water and snacks.” She smiles a bit. “Big ass always
hungry.” She pauses, listens to Talia on the other end. “Said he was gonna park at his frat and
meet me at the track.”
She hands the phone back to Leti and leans against the office wall.
“They got PM Liquor on La Cienega,” Talia screams in Leti’s ear. “It’s only a few blocks
from our place. We can’t go home.”
Leti doesn’t know who “they” are, but after seeing Keysha’s photos, she doesn’t argue.
“Where will we stay? Should I call my cousin?” She pictures the monstrous white house where
Graciela lives. A fortress. “They’ll always be safe.”
“I’m not sure we’ll be safe there. Marv’s gonna ask teammates who live on campus to let
us sleep with them tonight.”
Leti updates Keysha without the specific details about their neighborhood.
Keysha opens and closes her fists, still rages with adrenaline. “Better not be that bitch I
hate. You know she still wants your man. But I’ll kick her ass.”
“No more violence, Keesh. Not today.”
Thomas grabs the fax from Governor Wilson and reads from it aloud: “2,000 more
National Guard troops will be dispatched to Los Angeles to aid police with the growing unrest.
We are committed to keeping the people in the city safe.”
“Fuck Pito!” La Raza staff member yells. “He’s the reason our tuition keeps going up. He
doesn’t care about our safety.”
“You should write a response,” Stefán tells Thomas. “There’s space.”
Keysha slides against the wall to the floor and puts her face in her hands.
Someone else should have taken these photos. While Leti finishes her job, she keeps one
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eye on Keysha, wishes she could help her not be scared, grateful Talia will keep them safe.

They camp out in the living room of total strangers. Yanaha nibbles on stale chips while
the others share the burgers their hosts were able to sneak out the cafeteria.
While the others eat, Leti finds Yiska. He sits in a corner, his head against the wall. She
sits down with her back against him, like he’s a giant human chair.
He kisses the side of her neck. “Keysha doing okay?”
She wraps his arms around her.
“Red told me. Buildings on fire. People looting.”
“No gunshots here.”
He squeezes her gently. “Glad you didn’t go.”
“Me too.” She inhales his sweaty self and relaxes her shoulders.
He hugs her tighter.
“Watch Keysha for me?”
Leti wanders around until she finds Red. “What can you tell me that’s not in the photos?”
She promises to call him an anonymous source.
“The old dude was white, too. Lived there all his life. Said he remembers watching
flames of the Watts Riots from his rooftop as a teenager. ‘But this,’ he said, ‘this is torrential.’
And it made me think of heavy rains, the kind that destroy crops.”
Leti pictures one of Keysha’s photos where the flames are the backdrop for a downpour
of ashes. “It’s destroying this city, for sure.”
Around midnight, the guys walk across the grass to their temporary shelter.
Keysha curls up next to Leti, and Talia finally looks relieved.
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Jocelyn sits next to them and shows Leti her illustrations.
“You went there?” Leti whispers. The image Jocelyn created with charcoal is more
gruesome than Keysha’s photos–more tragic but also more magical.
“With Graciela,” she says. “It’s like a war. Only here instead of some far away land.”
“With my cousin, Graciela?” Leti didn’t imagine seeing her earlier. “How?”
“A friend has a truck. Graciela videotaped our drive. Documented the transformation
from West Side safety to South Central danger.” She leans into Yanaha, exhausted.
Leti gets up to call the X office from the host student’s phone. Thomas answers, groggy.
“I knew you’d be there. Wake up. We have to edit the cover to include Jocelyn’s artwork.”
Despite the darkness out there, she runs back to the office.
Her brief sleep that night is filled with flames. But not Los Angeles flames. Her mind is
tortured with the bar fire and her dad’s laughter. She wakes up with Johnny Cash singing and
Keysha, still asleep, punching the pillow next to her.
~~~
Graciela doesn’t sleep well, tormented by the chaos she witnessed. In the morning, she’s
up before her alarm or Tiffany’s and sneaks out quietly. She has footage to edit. Maybe she can
find Jocelyn or Leti to add commentary. If she gets an A on this project, it’ll prove to house
mother she’s more than adequately prepared.
Graciela pokes her head in the door to the Ethnic Publications office. It’s almost empty.
“I brought coffee.”
Carmen’s smile is weary. “You missed Leti by a few hours. We were up all night.” She
points at the pile on the table and sips the caffeine gratefully.
“I have video footage,” Graciela shares, a little too excited. “I went with Jocelyn and
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filmed the riot for my class.”
“Don’t call it that.” Thomas rubs his eyes and reaches for one of the remaining coffees.
“The term implies unnecessary violence.”
Graciela tilts her head to the side, re-imagines what she witnessed yesterday. “It was
violent.” She takes out her camera and shows them the last few minutes of footage.
Carmen narrows her eyes. “Are you familiar with the history of housing laws in LA?”
Thomas adds, “That area is one of the only areas Blacks and Latinos could buy homes.”
“Then why destroy their own neighborhood?” Graciela thinks about Tiffany’s comment.
“Because those kinds of laws force too many people to crowd into a space that’s too
small with limited resources. The pressure builds. What do you think started all of this
violence?” Carmen waves her hand toward the part of the city they cannot see, the part engulfed
in flames and destroyed by mobs of angry people for the past 48 hours.
“People wanting free stuff?” Graciela looks from Carmen to Thomas, uncertain why
there’s even a question about the motivations of people breaking into stores and stealing
expensive items.
Carmen stands up. “Do you really think that’s the reason why there’s violence?”
Thomas puts a calming hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “Maybe you come from a sheltered
world where you hear people say such things about us. But that’s because many people refuse to
see the role our government has played in all of this.”
Confused, Graciela puts her camcorder away. “So, I shouldn’t use the footage for class?”
“You should document it.” Carmen pounds her fist on the table. “But call it an uprising or
a rebellion. Make sure people understand it’s a response to social injustice.”
Graciela scribbles notes about what Carmen and Thomas told her on a scrap of paper.
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Instead of waiting for Leti or Jocelyn, she leaves the two remaining cups for them and hurries off
so she can sign up for time in the editing booth. She should’ve recorded their commentary to
include with the footage. Maybe she can write a paragraph for Tiffany to read about the safe
areas. Unless she’s still pissed.

After Graciela reviews the first thirty minutes of tape, she only has about five minutes of
usable footage. The rest is too shadowy or made her queasy because the truck bounced too much.
But if she could figure out how to do a voice over, it could be a decent introduction to her
project. Now she has to figure out the rest of her project.
Hopefully Leti has some ideas and is still at work since it’s not quite lunch yet.
Instead, she runs into Rick from last semester’s Econ class. He exits the bookstore
fuming. “What happened?”
He shoves her before he realizes who she is. “Sorry, Gracie.” He’s on the verge of tears.
“Some asshole in there accused me of stealing.”
“A co-worker?” She wonders if Leti has anything to do with this.
“Some idiot student saw me carrying an armload of books–you know, doing my job–and
he says, ‘The looting isn’t happening here now, is it?’ to his friend. And they both start cracking
up.” He paces in the space between Graciela and the front door.
She recalls what Carmen said about small spaces and steps back, so Rick doesn’t feel
trapped.
He relaxes a bit. “I didn’t react at first. Didn’t want to cause a problem. Just kept
walking. Then the stupid friend said in a fake country accent, ‘Boy, you hear someone talkin’ to
you. Better put them books down before we have to whoop you.’ And they both laughed harder
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and harder.” His breathing gets faster and faster.
Graciela can’t respond. She’s horrified. And hopes she doesn’t know the two guys.
“So I put the books down. Hard. Right on one guy’s flip-flop covered foot.”
Graciela covers her mouth and feels her eyes stretch wide open. She sits on a nearby
stone bench, its coolness penetrates the back of her legs.
“They started whining and complaining and my boss came over to see what was going
on. The injured jerk said he wants me fired, and I was too pissed off to explain my side. But a co-
worker saw everything, and she stepped in.” His breathing seems more normal when he sits on
the bench next to Graciela. “She took me to the office, so I could file a complaint.” He looks up
at the gray sky. “Think it’ll rain?”
“It’s smoke.” Graciela holds out her hand. Tiny dirty-white flecks dot her brown skin.
“Ashes from the fires.”
“If those ignorant people weren’t rioting, none of this would’ve happened.” He waves
toward the store entrance, covers his face, and releases more frustration through angry tears.
Graciela puts a cool hand on the back of his neck. “It’s not their fault. They aren’t rioting,
I mean uprising, because they want to steal.”
Rick sits up, shoves her hand away, and glares at her.
She swallows hard. “Those guys who harassed you are to blame. They had those racist
ideas before the verdict. Probably before the police beat Rodney King. Don’t you understand?”
“What I understand is those people make us look bad.” He stands up. “When people see
them doing that shit, they think we’re like them.” And he storms off toward the hill to the
fraternity houses. He thinks he’ll find support from his brothers there, but likely he won’t.
Graciela hears the echo of the Black guy in the Ethnic Publications office. “Nothing is
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more important than solidarity.”

Inside the air-conditioned bookstore, Graciela finds Leti at a register, muttering.
She embraces her. “You okay prima?”
“We had an incident.”
“Rick told me. He was really upset.”
“At all the wrong people.” Leti sits on a stool and offers one to Graciela. “It’s slow
today.” She looks like she hasn’t had enough sleep.
“Did Jocelyn show you her drawing?”
“We put it on the cover. Should have the issue out later today.” She blinks hard and
slurps the last of her soda through the straw, shakes the ice like a rattle. “Heard you got video.”
“I edited the footage for my class, but I need commentary to go with it.”
“We can work on that,” Leti says. “Maybe I can interview you for a follow-up article.”
This is nothing like the conversations they had in Hatch, but it feels like they are almost
back to normal. “I’m finally doing what I came to Los Angeles for,” Graciela says.
Leti hugs her back. They both hold on tighter and longer than they’ve ever had to before.
~~~
After six days of turmoil, no more curfew, no more Guard, but Los Angeles is still on
edge.
“People who don’t live here keep calling, criticize the destruction,” Talia says.
“They can’t understand,” Leti says. “They don’t know the history.”
“People who live in this city don’t know!” Keysha yells over the loud equipment across
the street and the boom box on the tailgate of a nearby truck blaring oldies.
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They clean up the mess on the corner of Vernon and Western.
“Look around.” Keysha shovels another pile of ashes, glass, and broken boards into the
nearby wheelbarrow. “Most of the people who live here are poor minorities.” She wipes sweat
out of her eyes. “Nobody from Beverly Hills got these kinds of problems.”
“What I don’t get, is why not go to Beverly Hills?” Marv works on his own pile of
disaster. “Why burn down this neighborhood? They gotta live here and now it’s a mess.”
“It’s not so simple,” Leti explains. “Remember when Red got mad because he liked some
girl and he caught his roommate making out with her? Jerk knew Red liked her.”
“And Red broke his own stereo.” Keysha shakes her head. “Over a stupid girl.”
Marv says, “I’da broke the other guy’s jaw.”
“Rage can’t always be appropriately directed,” Talia says.
Leti thinks about the article she read for her psychology class. “It’s a biological instinct.
People do what they need to do to survive. It isn’t always fueled by rational thought.” Leti
pitches more shovelfuls into the wheelbarrow. Who cleaned up the mess after her dad’s fire?
Leti and Keysha take a break in the shade.
Talia hands out the cold water packed in a cooler with their lunch.
Marv leans down to kiss her sweaty nose and Leti thinks about Yiska. He’s with Yanaha
and Jocelyn at another site helping people fill out forms for government assistance. Leti isn’t
ready to handle human tragedy. Shoveling through the debris is depressing enough.
After a few minutes of quiet–whoever was playing the music and driving the equipment
must be on break too–Keysha says, “My dad was here during the Watts Riots.” They all stare at
her. She has never mentioned her dad, never shared any connection to the destruction before.
“He was a teenager. Lived not too far from here.” She gestures south. “Says he remembers. Says
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that’s why Granny moved them to Sacramento.” Keysha takes a long drink of water. “He says
nothing’s gonna change. It didn’t then. Now we have this.” She stands and turns slowly in a
circle, gestures all around them. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna change.”
But she still picks up her shovel and returns to the building they’ve been assigned. Leti
follows her. “My dad’s in jail,” she says awkwardly.
Keysha looks confused.
“He started a fire in his own bar.” Every other word is emphasized by her grunts. She
digs and dumps, digs and dumps. “I was in the bar with him at the time.” She stops and leans on
the handle. “How I got this.” She points to the scar under her eye, smells the metallic sweat from
the hot shovel on her hands.
“Why’d he do it?” Keysha asks.
Leti starts shoveling and grunting again. “Insurance money. He owed a lot of people.”
She wants Keysha to feel like she’s not the only one with demons. “And he was drunk. I had to
drive myself to the emergency clinic.”
Keysha looks at Leti wide-eyed. “Your family’s fucked up.” And she hugs Leti sideways,
briefly, lightly, but way more than Keysha hugs anyone except Red.
~~~
In the aftermath of all the violence and turmoil throughout the city, Beta Theta Chi’s
house mother insists the spring party be a luau. “Our tropical paradise get-away,” she calls it.
Graciela hopes she’ll pack her bags for real and leave.
A section of the beach near Malibu is reserved for them, and the party planning
committee–which did not include Graciela–has decorated with tiki torches and brightly-colored
umbrellas. Everyone receives a lei when they arrive. The plastic scratches the back of Graciela’s
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neck and makes her sweat.
Since Tiffany no longer has a boyfriend, she’s stuck with Graciela. They hang out in the
dimmest corner, where the plinky Hawaiian music is quietest. Graciela purposely ignores the
girls who have dates, but Tiffany criticizes their sisters’ dresses and shares malicious gossip
about Bethany’s cheating boyfriend.
“Can’t any of these damn frat guys be faithful?”
Tiffany leaves to refill their punch. Derek sneaks up behind Graciela and whispers,
“Haven’t seen you since the first day of Econ last semester. Thought you dropped out.”
Graciela is not drunk enough to play nicely. “Walk away,” she says low and mean.
“Why don’t you walk away so I can see that white flower on your perfect ass.”
She turns around and slaps him.
He lifts his balled fist.
Graciela growls, “Think again.” She’s not sure where the anger came from, why she still
has so much resentment toward him. “Just walk away.”
He does.
Her hands shake. She pours herself a cup of water from the pineapple pitcher on the table
and gulps three down before Tiffany returns.
She looks happier. “Derek was yelling at Stephanie about some stupid friend of hers.”
“Why does that make you happy?” He wouldn’t tell Stephanie that Graciela slapped him.
Wouldn’t he have to tell her why?
Tiffany takes a long draw of liquor through the straw. “It’s funny because after all these
years, she’s the one who should be yelling at him.”
This round has more rum, Graciela can smell it. “I still don’t get it, but I don’t care.” She
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doesn’t drink any more punch.
“I want to have fun again.” Tiffany dances around by herself, flirts with her sisters’ dates.
She feels safe here, but Graciela keeps an eye on her anyway.
The night plods on and Graciela’s shoes sink into the uneven ground. Her feet slide off
the too-high heels, so by the time they get on the charter bus back to campus, she carries her
shoes. Sand covers her sweaty feet. Her buzz is gone.

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Summer 1992

Overhead, a bluesy guitar song mingles with the aroma of freshly baked goods. “Nice
tunes,” Leti comments to Talia.
“Glad Mrs. Carrillo got my work study approved here,” Talia says with a slight edge in
her voice. “Gonna need this money to support my man.” She’ll move in with Marv at the end of
summer, which means Leti and Keysha have to find a new apartment.
Leti wonders if she’ll resent Marv when she gets up at five to catch the bus to school and
open The Coffeehouse at six before her classes, while he stays home to play video games and
lounge around with his friends in the off season. But she doesn’t ask. Not like she has advice.
“Can I have something cold and caffeinated?”
Graciela joins Leti at the table near the stained-glass window.
“Tiffany needs your help,” Graciela whispers.
Leti can’t hide her annoyance. “You going to Hatch?”
Graciela frowns. “Dolores put me on subject to dismissal, so I have to make up a stupid
history class and an awful English class or they’ll kick me out.”
“Of the sorority?”
“Of the university.”
Leti slurps down the last of her tea. “Want anything?”
Graciela gets out her wallet.
“I got it.”
Graciela raises her eyebrows. “New job?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Yes, and,” she points, “meet my roommate, Talia.”
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Graciela recognizes the student at the register from the Burgers ‘n’ Brew patio.
“And her other roommate is thirsty too, so hurry up.” Keysha gets in line behind Leti,
pokes her in the back. “I can’t be late for this photography class or the professor won’t sign my
add slip.” After the last issue, Leti suggested Keysha minor in photography, hopes it will distract
her from not being able to practice for track until after fall semester.
“You have plenty of time,” Leti says.
“I need a sandwich, too,” Keysha says.
“You gotta pay for that,” Talia says.
Keysha leaves quickly without acknowledging Graciela.
“That was our third roommate,” Leti says. “Did you see the photos of the uprising? She
took those.”
Graciela nods. “Keysha. Jocelyn told me about her. And of course I saw the People
United issue. Amazing.”
“I only did the captions and copy editing,” Leti says. “But we start on the summer
collaboration issue this week, and I’ll be one of the editors.”
A disheveled mess interrupts their exchange. Her dull red hair frames her frenzied face.
“Gracie, why’d you write a note to meet you here if you’re busy?” She puts a hand on one hip.
“You could’ve just told me what you have to say at home.”
Leti didn’t recognize Tiffany as the girl she’d seen at the diner with Graciela.
“It was early, and I know you like to sleep in.” Graciela says with a glance at Leti that
means see how weird she’s acting. “I wanted to get to the bookstore before there was a line.” She
pats the bag at her feet. “Two classes,” she looks at her new gold watch, “start in an hour.”
“Doesn’t your cousin work there? Why couldn’t she get them for you?” Tiffany shifts her
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bag from one shoulder to the other and it looks heavy.
“I don’t work there anymore,” Leti says, slightly amused by Tiffany’s tirade, but
Graciela’s expression tells her it’s serious trouble. “I start a new job tomorrow.”
“Join us,” Graciela gets up for a third chair and Tiffany hesitantly takes hers.
“Where’s your new job, Leti?” Graciela asks.
“In Venice. I’ll be the editorial assistant for a surfer magazine.”
“Ooh!” Tiffany’s irritation turns to interest. “I bet you’ll meet tons of hot guys there.”
She opens her eyes wide. “Can we visit you?” Before Leti can answer, Tiffany slouches in the
chair and drops her bag to the ground with a thud.
“What do you have in there?” Leti recalls her own overloaded backpack during Minority
Summer Program.
Tiffany scowls then snaps her fingers. “Can I get a drink over here? Large coffee.”
Leti has bar flashbacks of rude, intoxicated customers. “That’s not how it works here.”
She glances at Talia whose narrowed eyes show no forgiveness.
“I’ll get it for you.” Graciela looks pointedly at Leti, clearly wants her to do something
about this disastrous roommate.
Leti thinks about Dr. Alas’s techniques and how to get Tiffany to open up. “Graciela tells
me you’re a biology major.”
“What else did she tell you?” Tiffany snaps.
“You had fun dancing at the luau.”
Tiffany relaxes a little. “I have to make up a class this summer that I dropped last
semester. I didn’t fail or anything,” she says quietly then leans in closer. “The sorority hates it
when we fail.”
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Leti smells liquor on her breath.
Graciela joins them with coffee for Tiffany and a few cookies for them to share. “Talia
says these are homemade.”
Tiffany makes a sour face at the gooey chocolate one Graciela breaks in half. “How can
you eat that?” She looks like she might barf. “Gracie, I’ll see you at home.” She and her heavy
bag hurry away.
“Guess I wasn’t much help, prima. Sorry.”
Graciela shakes her head. “We can try again another time.”

Venice, California might be as close to an island vacation as Leti will ever get. The surfer
magazine pays almost twice what the bookstore does per hour, so Leti takes time off from the
diner too. On the bus ride down Venice Blvd., she feels the air cooler. She doesn’t really want to
be this far from her friends, but she walks through the neighborhood toward her new office, jots
down the phone number and address for apartment buildings with vacancy signs.
Keysha has been restless since the uprising. Maybe the change of scenery will quell her
demons. And running in the sand, she says, will strengthen her legs faster when she finishes
physical therapy. Closer to the beach could be more relaxing. If they find something affordable.
Her first week at the magazine goes well. Leti arrives before Christina, a photographer
and the managing editor, who usually shows up without shoes and props her surfboard outside
the door where she removes her wetsuit and hoses herself off before she puts a sundress over her
bikini. Her father owns the company that publishes the magazine.
Leti hands the articles she wrote and edited to Christina for her approval.
“These are great,” she says after barely a glance. “Can you match them with the pics that
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were mailed in and the ones I took?” She’s talented, but not concerned about the magazine.
Leti does what the managing editor should be doing while Christina talks on the phone.
Listens mostly, while she repaints her toenails hot pink and occasionally responds with “No
way,” or “Serious?” and “That’s fucking cool!” After Christina hangs up, she wanders over to
see what Leti has done. “You’re awesome. This’ll be our best issue ever.” She points at the
newspaper on Leti’s desk. “Are you looking for an apartment?”
Leti apparently didn’t hide it well after she made her own phone calls earlier. She nods,
hopes Christina doesn’t care about personal tasks on company time. “For fall.” Leti gulps the last
of her water.
“You ready for a break? Lunch? I’m starved. My treat.”
“Maybe tomorrow? I have class today and need to head back to school.”
“I didn’t know you were still a student.”
The intern from the local community college, who’s in charge of ad sales, is usually
stoned and doesn’t show up until right before Leti leaves.

The next day over lunch, Christina pulls out a glossy rental magazine from her tote bag.
She shows Leti a condo in Marina del Rey. “One of my neighbors is moving out and I thought of
you. It’s two bedrooms so you’d have space for guests.”
Leti looks at the list price–five times more than she and Keysha budgeted–and then
smiles at Christina. “That’s thoughtful of you, but as a student, I need something,” she chooses
her words carefully because Christina’s related to the boss, “less extravagant.”
“Oh right, you’re a student. I forgot. You’re so mature.”
Leti smiles and continues to stare at the shiny, spacious apartment pictured on the cover.
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A lighting trick. Keysha could probably make their place look fancy with her camera too.
~~~
Graciela wakes up in Vice-President Bethany’s bed. She can’t remember how she got
there or why they both only have on underwear. Her headache tells her to get dressed and get
out. Don’t get caught. Like it did when she had woken up in some random guy’s bed.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Bethany’s screech makes Graciela fall over sideways
with only one leg in her jeans.
“Leaving,” Graciela answers quietly. She slips on her shoes, looks for her bra and shirt.
“Why are you in here like that?” she asks. Not less loud. She covers herself with the
blankets. “Are you stealing from me?”
Because thieves disrobe. “I woke up here.” Graciela’s room is at the other end of the hall.
“In my bed?” Bethany’s realization turns from fear to anger. “Get! Out!”
Clearly what Graciela is trying to do. Without a rush, she pulls on her shirt and waves
good-bye with her bra.
On her way out, she hears Bethany say to someone on the phone. “She must have
drugged me.” And Graciela knows this isn’t going to end well.

Throughout the next week, Graciela is investigated by the panhellenic council and
interviewed by campus police. Fragments of that night resurface. She had only gone with her
sorority sisters to the bar in the village because she thought it would stop Tiffany’s constant
complaining about how they never have any fun.
Bethany had been fighting with her boyfriend and wanted to make up. He bought shots
and told Graciela to teach Bethany a few dance moves. So they danced together.
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Graciela recalls Bethany’s sweaty pale skin against her own, an arm around her neck.
Right there in front of Tiffany, Stephanie, and at least two other sisters, Bethany’s boyfriend
barked orders: grab her ass, kiss her neck, touch her nipple, take another shot. They complied.
Bethany because she thought it would make him not break up with her. Graciela because she
enjoyed it. For the first time since fumbling with sex in high school, she was totally aroused,
completely present in the moment. Graciela doesn’t really like Bethany the way everyone else
does, but not sober, Graciela wanted her.
Bethany cried on the walk back to the Beta Theta Chi house, because her boyfriend called
her a dyke and her so-called sister, Stephanie, left with one of his friends.
Graciela tried to comfort her. They had another drink in Bethany’s room, maybe two.
That’s the fuzziest part. Maybe Graciela rubbed Bethany’s back, hugged her until she stopped
crying. It’s possible Graciela helped Bethany out of her jeans and sweaty shirt so she’d be more
comfortable in bed. Graciela thinks Bethany kissed her first. Graciela knows Bethany invited her
to stay. Which is probably why Graciela took her own clothes off too. But, since they both still
had on something the next morning, they most likely passed out before it went any further.
However, Vice-President Bethany convinced the other sisters Graciela is a sexual
deviant, so they voted her out. Not even Tiffany had her back.

Saturday morning, she calls Leti.
“Now?”
“They didn’t exactly give me a 30-day notice.”
“I’m not even out of bed yet, Graciela. It’s my first day off since,” Leti pauses then lets
out a long, low growl. “I have to wake up Keysha and see if we can borrow Red’s van. You’re
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gonna owe people for this.”
Graciela waits in the summer sun on the back patio of the sorority house with four
suitcases full of clothes, three bags of shoes, two boxes of books, and random belongings
scattered about. The crate on her lap weighs heavily with objects accumulated during her first
two years of college. The two years of her life she devoted to the sisterhood because their
whiteness meant affluence, the kind of connections she thought a film maker should have. The
panhellenic affiliation meant the connections a business major should have. But Graciela doesn’t
want to pretend she’s following her father’s orders anymore.
“If I had my camera with me now, I could document this injustice.” She pouts.
Surrounded by women she thought she admired, she discovered she no longer wants to
pretend the men she was expected to date and eventually marry are of any interest to her. This
she isn’t ready to share with anyone else.
Two hours later, house mother stands in the doorway and loose strands of gray-brown
hair frame her unmade face, her normally tight bun disheveled. “Gracie, your friends are here.”
She says “friends” like a normal person would refer to criminals or homeless people.
Guess that’s how they see her now. A homeless criminal.
House mother looks flustered when Leti and Keysha appear behind her. “I told you to
wait out front.”
“You aren’t my mother.” Keysha glares at the old woman from about a foot above her
head. She’s lighter than Talia with fiery hazel eyes and a bob of woven strands alternating black
and golden umber. The bright blue headband holds them out of her face, askew like the elbow
posed above her hip.
Talia appears behind them. “Let’s each grab a bag or box and get out of here.” She
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glances supportively at Graciela and reaches for the two smaller boxes. Her short crop of natural
curls emits a tropical scent. She passes between Keysha and house mother, intentionally
separates them from each other.
“Thanks, Talia.” Leti directs Keysha toward the pile of Graciela’s belongings. “All this
shit, Graciela?” She looks at the crate and opts for the two remaining suitcases with handles.
“Where are we taking it?”
Graciela doesn’t make eye contact. She shoulders a bag of cosmetics and her purse, drags
one suitcase behind her, and follows the other three out the side gate to the waiting van.
Leti is the palest one. Her light brown skin, temporarily reddened by the California heat,
will freckle. Together, they remind Graciela of the New Mexico landscape she left behind, the
beauty surrounding her childhood home. Maybe she should return.
Out front, Graciela lowers her voice. “She made me wait outside like a dog.”
Keysha laughs and walks back up the steps two at a time for the remaining belongings,
smiles at the others who are out of breath.
“You’re buying us all lunch,” Leti tells her. “We didn’t even eat breakfast.”
“I’d offer y’all some iced tea.” Graciela stands with the crate on her hip, “but folks inside
don’t take kindly to strangers.”
Talia frowns at Graciela’s fake country accent and reaches for something to carry.
“Old bitch accused me of stealing,” Keysha says. “If your cousin comes to our place, I
get this ugly lamp.”
Talia mutters to Leti, “Why did your cousin ever get involved with these people?” She
shakes her head and gestures at the massive double doors, white columns, and elaborate window
treatments visible from the bottom of the steps. “Looks like a damn plantation house.” She turns
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to Graciela. “How did you stay here so long without suffocating?” She hurries past the
manicured bushes as if one might hide something toxic.
Graciela looks at the ends of her hair, bleached beyond recognition. “At first, I thought I
could be one of them.” She looks back at the building. “By the time I realized how fucked up all
this is, I was stuck.”
“Well now,” Talia says, “you’re one of us.”
“But you need to do something about your hair.” Keysha frowns and flicks the end of
Graciela’s pony-tail. “Now where’s lunch?”
Graciela climbs into the back of the van, where the scent of men clings to the faded
upholstery. “Wherever you want.” Graciela sinks into the softness. She feels relaxed and safe for
the first time in months.
“Norms!” Keysha and Leti yell in unison.
Keysha puts the van in gear and heads down the hill.
Graciela watches the giant white building and its massive neighbors grow smaller as they
drive away. “As long as I can get a cup of coffee,” she says, “and something yummy.” She can’t
remember her last real meal. “Maybe something with a little spice.”
Leti laughs from the front. “No roasted green chiles anywhere around here, prima. You’ll
have to go home to Hatch for them.”
Graciela shudders at the prediction Dolores made. What’s she gonna say about this?
“But you can put hot sauce on anything.” Keysha turns up “Let’s Go Crazy” and yells, “I
love Prince!”
Talia leans over to Graciela, “I know she won’t say it, but Leti’s glad you called her.”
~~~
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Leti and some of the other editors sit around the central table of the Ethnic Publications
office and try to figure out what they can do to top the amazing coverage in the People United
issue about the verdicts and social unrest.
Thomas, the X editor, gets their attention. “We’re finally going to have a larger
distribution for this summer’s collaboration issue. I worked with the Student Media advisor and
we’ve been awarded a grant to place our publication in The City Times.”
There are cheers from the others. Since all the publications are in the red from the last
issue, Leti has been worried about how to make this summer and the upcoming year work.
Advertising and revenue talk make her anxious.
Stefán, who will be the Pride editor, speaks up. “You know what got us this recognition,
don’t you? My girl, Keysha’s awesome photos and Jocelyn’s amazing art work. They’ve been
nominated for two student journalism prizes.”
More cheers. This is one proud family.
Except Carmen. She approaches the table and says calmly, “The most important issue is
hearing from those members of our community who don’t have a voice in the media.” She
advocates for incarcerated youth to be featured prominently in the summer collaboration issue
like they are in La Raza. With her as the editor, it’s possible the whole issue, every issue, will
only feature the work of prisoners instead of reflecting student voices.
“People in prison don’t get a lot of sympathy from me,” Leti is shocked to hear herself
respond. She thinks about her dad’s latest letter unopened on her kitchen counter. “We should
focus on more positive representations in our communities, so we can earn respect from
throughout the city for what we do. No offense, Carmen, but featuring incarcerated people isn’t
the legacy we want to leave.”
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“I am offended!” Carmen kicks over the box in front of her.
Leti makes a mental note never to be within striking distance of those boots.
“You should know,” Carmen stares Thomas down, “more than anyone in here, how
important it is to represent imprisoned people.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “Why me more than anyone?” Thomas stands up, his arms
tense at his sides. “Because I’m Black I’m supposed to feel a kinship to the Black men who
chose a criminal life.”
Before he can react physically, Leti steps between them. “We know not everyone chose
that life. There’s a lot of injustice out there. But our purpose as college students, many of us first-
generation, is to uplift the youth in our communities and motivate them to aspire to higher
academic goals. We can’t if we feature misogynistic art or glorify gang life.” She feels her voice
shaky. No one has ever contradicted Carmen.
Carmen looks like each word punches her ego.
Before she can say or do anything, Stefán responds, “Leti is right. Every community has
a youth population.”
Thomas adds, “And every community has experienced discrimination and understands
the shame of internalized racism, sexism, and other –isms.”
Leti shares her idea for this summer’s issue. “We had lunch with another friend,” she
doesn’t use Keysha’s name, “she referred to a lesbian who was interested in her as an aggressive
dyke. And our friend is not a lesbian.”
“We told her,” Stefán says, “while I could call her my nigga because I’m half black, it
would be problematic for Leti to refer to her the same way.”
“Our conversation continued about the word bitch,” Leti says. “Some females call each
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other bitch con cariño, um, with affection, but when a guy refers to her as one, it’s wrong.”
The Ohana editor adds, “Yesterday, I was at a job interview in Orange County and the
receptionist called me an Oriental.”
Leti’s eyebrows go up because her dad used that word for people. Or he did when she
knew him and heard him talk.
Stefán says, “Carmen, we also know what it’s like to be called names within our own
communities because part of our identity is not accepted.” His face looks pained. “Blacks and
Latinos are so anti-gay sometimes.”
Leti turns to Carmen. “You rejected me when I called myself Hispanic. It’s the only nice
way people where I’m from talk about us.”
“And it’s about the way people use language,” Thomas adds. “You can refer to a Black
person in one context and it’s okay, but in another context, it can be used to demean them.”
“The same with gay,” Stefán says. “When I say it, there’s pride in my voice. But when I
hear it sneered behind my back, we’re gonna fight.”
Carmen seethes through the entire conversation, clearly upset at not getting her way. She
looks at Leti, angrier than she is at anyone else, like Leti has betrayed her again. She looks like
she wants to break the table with her forehead.
Thomas speaks up. “There are twelve pages, including the front and back cover. I already
sold the back cover as a full-page ad which will cover a small stipend for each of us this
summer.” They all cheer. “With five publications, each group gets two pages. Why don’t we
come back to the meeting next week with ideas or a draft of a piece?”
Leti adds, “Each of us can also bring submissions from one of our artists or
photographers to goes with the piece or as possible cover art.” She’s already mentioned her ideas
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to Jocelyn but isn’t sure Keysha is up for more photo field trips
“Tell the artists to think outside the box,” the Ohana editor says, “and try to be inclusive
of all the groups not just their own. And like last year, if several are good, maybe they can
collaborate.”
“Anyone interested in T-shirts with the cover image?” Stefán asks. “I’ve got a friend who
can get them for us cheap. Maybe free if we agree to advertise his business on the back.”
Everyone looks at Carmen, waits for her input, for her to say something. Instead, she
kicks over a stack of take-out containers too big to fit in the trash can. Crumbs of chicken, chow
mein, and salad scatter all over the floor. Carmen stomps out of the office.
No one goes after her.
~~~
Leti walks in the apartment and doesn’t say hello. She goes straight to the fridge, slams it,
and is clearly pissed. “I’ve been to work, sat in class, and put the collaboration issue to bed. I
rode the bus for 45 minutes next to a smelly dude who kept leaning over me to see if we were at
his stop. All I wanted was to come home so I could drink my last Squirt and eat my last two
pieces of fried chicken.” She scowls at Graciela and Keysha. “What the hell did you do all day?”
Keysha, still in her pajamas on the couch, picks lagañas out of her eyes.
“Did you go to class?”
Keysha sits up and shakes her head.
Graciela looks at Keysha then at the empty bottle and plate of chicken bones on the table
between them. Maybe staying here is a mistake. Before she can get up from the floor pillows or
answer, Leti storms off to her room and slams the door.
Graciela whispers, “What do you do when she’s like this?”
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Keysha says, “She’s not normally like this.”
“But we should do something. I drank her last soda. You ate the last of her chicken.”
“Talia’s better with problem solving than I am. Maybe we should wait for her.”
“Where is she?”
Keysha shrugs. “Marv’s, work, studying.” She gets up and takes the bottle and plate to
the kitchen trash. “I can’t keep track of their lives.” She waves toward the bedrooms before she
opens the fridge. “Damn! This is pitiful.” She opens a container. “This probably isn’t edible.”
Graciela scrambles up and looks around her. “What is that?”
“Spaghetti?”
“Since when?”
“Not sure.” And she throws it away too.
The bathroom door slams.
They both jump.
“She’s gonna try to shower her pissed off away,” Keysha says. “Never works.”
“She’ll be even hungrier when she gets out.”
“We can order pizza. You got money?”
“I have a credit card.”
Keysha picks up the phone.
“Order salad too. And sodas. Whatever Leti likes.”
Keysha complies.
Leti emerges, a little less angry, and they all share a greasy thick crust pepperoni with
extra cheese. Only Graciela eats the wilted lettuce, picks through to find the best pieces and the
few mealy chunks of tomato.
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“I was thinking,” Leti says, a string from the slice to her lips stretches as she talks, “if
you take over Talia’s rent, we don’t have to move. Saves us security deposit and time packing up
all this shit.”
Graciela looks at her cousin, eyes wide. “Move in here?” Her lip curls up like she smells
rotten spaghetti again.
Leti seems confused by Graciela’s response.
“I don’t want to live here anymore.” Keysha drinks the last of her soda. “I thought we
were gonna look at some of those Venice places after you finish work Friday.”
“This makes more sense financially,” Leti says to Keysha.
“I don’t want to mess up your plans,” Graciela says. “I’ll find my own place soon.”
“It’s not messing anything up,” Leti says. “It would actually help us out.”
Keysha stands up. “You just want to stay close to your boyfriend.” She says the last word
like a disgruntled sixth grader.
“You have a boyfriend?” Graciela is stunned. “Why don’t I know this?”
“You don’t know shit.” Keysha crushes her can with one hand and drips orange soda all
over the counter. “You’re only here because the white girls don’t want you. Clearly you don’t
want us either.” She stomps down the hallway and slams the door.
Graciela wipes up the mess with her napkin. “Guess that solves your problem.”
Leti shakes her head. “Neither of you understand. You both get money handed to you.
Sure, Keysha runs for hers. But you get it with no effort. I can’t keep working my ass off like
this.” And she storms into her room too.
They should’ve waited for Talia to come home and fix this. The pizza didn’t work.

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Before everyone else wakes up, Graciela packs a bag and calls a cab to take her to the
airport. Within a few hours, she’s at the El Paso baggage claim, waits for her almost-lost
suitcase. She stands at the curb in the dry Texas heat for another half an hour because Jorge is
delayed at work.
He finally arrives and she’s surrounded by people who say, “con permiso” or “quieres
algo” or some other polite gesture, and she’s more annoyed than she was by her cousin in LA.
Jorge laughs at her. “You sure have become an irritable city girl, Graciela.”
“Gracie,” she says, which has become her habit.
“Look, wannabe gringa, bleaching your hair,” he says, “doesn’t mean you aren’t as
Hispanic as the rest of us.”
Graciela reaches up to the lightened hairs that have joined forces to cover her entire head
with paleness. The ends are frizzy around her face, their texture the same as the creosote bushes
on the passing terrain. It may never be soft again. “Maybe someone here or in Las Cruces can
help me get it back to its natural state. I can’t be the first Latina to realize my mistake.”
“You didn’t bring as much stuff as last visit. I figured with all the insanity in LA last
April, you might think about moving home.”
“I’m only staying a week. I have to get back for class.
“Y mi prima?”
Graciela leaves out their most recent argument. She’d have to explain why she’s living
with Leti temporarily. And even though they’re close, she’s not sure Jorge will understand. “She
can’t afford a ticket. Uncle Patrick is still in jail. I’m supposed to ask my mother if she’s heard
from Tia Martina.” Graciela’s glad Jorge changes the subject so they can focus on their cousin’s
drama and Graciela is not forced to reveal her own. “She’s also busy with the newspaper, her
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new job, and summer classes.” She should do some reading for her own.
Jorge merges into what Las Cruces considers traffic.
The flat, dry landscape passes by outside the truck window, as pathetic as Graciela feels.
She already longs for the ocean breeze that sometimes visits campus. Finding an apartment will
have to be her top priority when she returns to LA. She can’t live with the tension between
Keysha and Leti. And Venice is too far from campus. Maybe she should find out where
Katherine lives. “Hey! She never called me back.”
“Who?” Jorge asks. “Mom?”
She laughs nervously. “No, a friend.” She lies outright. “I asked her to take notes for me
because I’m missing class this week.”
They exit the highway and Jorge points to the still-charred skeleton of the building where
she once filmed silly telenovelas. “Uncle Patrick’s bar.”
“No one bought it?” Graciela watches the tiny town pass by, distraught by the possibility
of a return to Hatch. But without sorority responsibilities, now she can be more studious.
“They say it has ghosts.” He turns on the street toward Casa Gonzalez.
The restaurant is the last place she wants to be, under the scrutiny of her father. Maybe he
won’t notice her if she’s sequestered in the back as usual. For the first time, she realizes the
advantage of playing her role.
“You know, Graciela,” Jorge says, “we’re fortunate to have parents. We’ll always have a
home to return to.”
She nods but doesn’t feel grateful. “Even if our father is a bigot.” She can never tell him
she doesn’t want to study business or return to work at the family restaurant. “And our mother is
a model for women who enjoy their own oppression.” Clearly Graciela paid attention to the
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articles in Leti’s feminist newspaper.
~~~
Once the last issue of the surfing magazine is at the printer, Leti tells Christina, “When I
interviewed, the job posted was only for summer. So, I guess this is my last day.” She had hoped
her work had been so good, she wouldn’t have to return to the bookstore or the diner.
“Yeah, I can’t do another one until next summer. Surf’s not too good here, and I travel
throughout the year: Oahu of course, Australia and New Zealand, Costa Rica for sure,” she
touches a giant poster of each place behind her desk. “And this year, hopefully Samoa and Fiji.
What’re you doing next?”
“Going back to school.”
“That’s right.” Christina claps for Leti. “You’re so amazing. I mean, look at the work
you’ve done here. Made what I do look even better.” She waves at the photos on her desk. “Now
what’s up with your apartment hunt? I’ve been thinking about it and if you aren’t familiar with
LA, you’ve gotta be careful. I’ve lived here all my life and there are some places where I’d never
live, even parts of Venice. Bad neighborhoods. Nothing but Blacks and Mexicans live there.”
Leti chokes on her water. “Christina,” she says when she can talk again, tears in her eyes.
“My mom is Mexican. My roommates are Black.”
Christina doesn’t say anything, but steps toward the doorway.
“How many Black people or Mexican people do you know?” Leti steps toward her to
pick up her backpack.
Christina flinches.
“You’re afraid because negative stereotypes of minorities are all over television news.
Maybe if you got to know some people from those neighborhoods you think are bad, you’d
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realize they’re a lot like you. They might not be rich or have a daddy who owns a magazine, but I
bet many of the people nearby grew up surfing too. Love the ocean the same way you do.”
Christina reaches for her board, uses it like a shield.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine in any neighborhood. Just not yours.”

Leti turns in her final research paper and returns home to confront her dad’s latest letter.
Keysha comes home later than usual and slams the front door, breaks Leti’s trance.
“Smelly dude tried to feel me up.” She sits down next to Leti. “What the hell is wrong with you?
Still pissed at me about moving? Maybe we can convince Red and Yiska to move by us.”
Leti waves the envelope at her friend. “My dad wants me to visit him in jail. There’s also
a note from his counselor. He says my dad’s depressed. They’re worried he might hurt himself
without family contact soon.”
“That’s bullshit!” Keysha says. “Isn’t that some kind of psychological manipulation.”
“The counselor is doing his job. Protecting his client. Preventing a suicide.” She holds
her eyes in her hands to cool them. “I don’t have money for a flight to New Mexico.”
“Isn’t Graciela there?”
“Too bad she can’t visit him and pretend to be me, but she’s too blonde now.”
“Maybe you can take a bus. There are student discount tickets.”
“Won’t it take forever? I have to be back at the bookstore a week from Monday.”
They’re both deep in thought when Talia arrives. “Look who I found on the front steps.”
“I left my keys in my apartment,” Jocelyn says. “Talia said I could kick it here until the
manager comes.” Yanaha won’t return from Poston until the end of summer. She’s running a
gymnastics camp at her old elementary school.
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“I told her to give us an extra key,” Talia says. “This isn’t the first time she’s been locked
out.” Her maternal tone makes Jocelyn hang her head in mock shame.
“We’re trying to solve Leti’s transportation problem,” Keysha says.
“What problem?” Talia gets all of them cold sodas from the fridge.
Leti waves the letter. “My dad wants me to visit him in jail.”
“In New Mexico?” Jocelyn asks softly.
Leti nods and leans back on the couch to stare at the ceiling, willing her tears not to fall.
“We used to be so close.” She looks at the rest of his letter. “He says if I do, I can have our old
car. All I have to do is update the registration.”
“Road trip!” Keysha yells. And she jumps up to call Greyhound. “I’d rather go there with
you than fly to Sacramento.” Clearly her demons reside there.
Talia smiles. “I’ve never been to New Mexico, even though Texas is the next state over.”
“If we leave after my summer school final on Wednesday,” Keysha says, “we can
probably be there by late Thursday night.”
“And I can see him on Friday?” Leti says to the paper in her hand, uncertain if she even
wants to do this. “Asking Graciela to drive the car back would be a waste of breath.”
“We could make the return trip in about two days,” Jocelyn adds.
Leti looks over at her. “You’d go too?”
She smiles. “That’s what amigas do. We can detour through Poston on the way back and
stay there Saturday night. You can all meet my family and enjoy some homemade fry bread.”
Keysha finishes on the phone. “It’s cheaper if we take the train and it goes from
downtown Los Angeles right to Las Cruces. It doesn’t take as long as the bus.”
Jocelyn adds, “And it’s air-conditioned. Way more comfortable.”
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“But Las Cruces isn’t near Hatch,” Leti explains. “How do I get the car?”
Talia puts her always supportive, maternal hand on Leti’s back. “Tell Graciela to drive it
there. She owes you.” Talia points to the messy pile of Graciela’s crap in the corner.
When Leti calls the Gonzalez house, Jorge answers. “I’ll make Graciela drive Uncle
Patrick’s car to Las Cruces on our way back to the airport. We can leave it at my friend’s house.”
Leti conveys this information and folds the friend’s phone number into her pocket.
Talia asks, “Where are we gonna stay?”
Leti jumps up and runs to her bedroom, “I can pawn these,” she holds up the emerald and
diamond jewelry, Tia Irene’s gifts, “and pay for a motel.”
Instead, Jocelyn calls a high school friend who attends New Mexico State. Her dorm
room is small, but she’ll find them space in other people’s rooms.
Leti can keep the expensive jewelry for her next emergency.

Wednesday evening, four young women with duffel bags and backpacks take the RTD
from their apartment to downtown LA and catch the train at ten. It’s comfortable enough for Leti
to sleep most of the way. She awakens at dawn and watches the Sonora Desert pass by, beautiful
in many shades of brown, like her amigas.
The next morning, Leti meets with her dad’s counselor first, in a room smaller than the
dorms, with sickly, greenish-gray walls. There are no posters or cheery photos. No personal
effects. Emotional distance is a safe place.
“Patrick Murphy isn’t only here for insurance fraud and arson charges,” the counselor
informs Leti. “He had gambling debts and other illegal activities at his bar.”
That’s why her mom left. Leti worries, thinks about her role at the bar over the years.
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Was she implicated? Is that why they want her here?
“Your father doesn’t look the same as when you last saw him.”
She didn’t expect him to. He has been in prison for two years. “When I last saw him, he
was stupidly drunk, and I lived in fear he’d hit me the way he hit my mom. Is he drunk now?”
The counselor doesn’t react to her revelation. “He’s on clozapine which we hope will
curb his suicidal desires, but it has numerous side effects.”
Leti has never heard of clozapine but whatever they do to keep him alive now will give
this place more time to kill him slowly from the inside. “Then I have nothing to be afraid of.”
The counselor leads her to a private room. The walls are the same greenish-gray, but the
chemical smell is stronger, the heat more oppressive. Leti chokes on the inhaled air.
“You get used to it,” he says.
She never wants to get used to this.
The man who walks in the room is not her dad. His golden ponytail is gone. Dark ink
words cover parts of his blue-veined, bald head. She doesn’t read them. When was the last time
he saw the sun? He shuffles in slowly and sits across from her, doesn’t say anything. The guard
sets down a small paper cup of water for him then stands by the door.
Leti can’t smile. She tries, but her face won’t go that way. So she tries to speak, but her
brain and voice do not cooperate. So she stares, takes in the empty blue eyes she doesn’t
recognize anymore and the deep creases in his pale cheeks, like the bones fight with the skin for
who gets to be on top. One ear is mangled. And the folded hands between them are also partly-
covered with ink. Leti looks intently, searches for the dad she once knew, struggles to find the
right words.
When she doesn’t speak, Patrick does. At first, a noise she can’t comprehend. Then he
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sips the water and repeats, “Hey, Letty-bo-Betty.”
Inside her, breath and blood pause, heat rises to her already sun-kissed face. Who is this
stranger calling her by that name? She can’t convince herself to respond.
“When you didn’t answer my letters, I didn’t think…” He looks down. “Not that you had
to answer. Your mom didn’t.” He looks back up at her, and the smile on his face horrifies her.
Only part of his mouth moves up, the other side opens to reveal missing teeth.
Leti wonders if the ear damage and half-face are part of the same injury.
“You look more like her now.” His tone changes. “I wrote her every day. I called the
house, Irene’s, even left a message at your grandma’s in Mexico. She refused to talk to me.
Made everyone say she wasn’t there. That bitch–”
Leti slaps him.
Instantly the guard restrains her. Another one appears at the door.
“Do not disrespect my mom!” She yells so hard it hurts her throat. She struggles with the
guard’s hold because she wants to slap him again, this man who was her father. “You did this.
You fucked up our life and you can’t unfuck it. You should’ve protected us. You shouldn’t have
taken our life away.”
The guard releases his hold a little. The other officer looks horrified.
Leti narrows her eyes at him. “Do you have daughters?”
He nods.
“Do whatever it takes to keep them away from men like him.” She points with her now
free hand and turns her back on the man she came to see. She tells the guard who barely holds
one of her arms, “Get me out of here.” Only then are the damp tracks running down her cheeks
and neck real.
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After she signs separation papers and a complaint to prevent her dad from sending any
more mail, she walks to the bus stop. It’s about twenty minutes to the house where she can pick
up the car and return to her friends. She’s so glad no one insisted on accompanying her.
With her face exposed to the full heat of the sun above, she turns around slowly, arms
outstretched for a few minutes. This will be the last time she bathes in New Mexico’s sun. She
boards the bus slowly, deposits the last of her change into the fee box. For her, this land holds no
more enchantment.
~~~
Graciela wakes up in her cousin’s bed, and the empty apartment is quiet, lonelier than her
childhood bedroom. She craves her mother’s sopapillas. She sniffs her fingers but the chile is
gone. Her newly blackened hair no longer holds the aroma either.
There’s nothing left in Leti’s refrigerator. Only boxes of macaroni and cheese, packages
of ramen noodles, and giant jars of peanut butter and jelly in the cabinets. Graciela shudders at
the thought of soggy white bread sandwiches she hasn’t eaten since elementary school. There’s
one tired apple in the bowl on the counter, so she eats it for breakfast.
Leti and the roommates will be back Sunday night, so she only has the weekend to find
an apartment and move her stuff out. But who’s going to help her?
She rummages through the crap on Leti’s desk and finds a bus schedule. She’s never
ridden public transportation, so she doesn’t know exactly how they work, but she knows some go
to campus. She saw them drive by her sorority house. Her former sorority house.
She digs through Leti’s pockets in the dirty clothes hamper and finds an errant bus token.
Robbery is a new low. Maybe she is a homeless criminal.
The walk to the bus stop exhausts Graciela.
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An unkempt woman sits on the bench, her shopping bags take up half of it. “You wanna
sit?” She squints up at Graciela and smiles. Her missing tooth is not as gross as the cracks on her
lips. One is covered with dried blood.
“No, thank you.” Graciela smiles back. Her mother’s voice echoes in her brain, advice
about kindness to strangers. Besides, this lady looks like she knows about riding the bus. “Does
this bus go to Los Angeles University?”
The woman leans forward, squints harder, then explodes in laughter. “Do it look like I’m
going to the university?” She gestures to the bags, laughs harder, and shakes her head. She stands
as her bus approaches. “This bus,” she points at the red beast with screeching brakes and gathers
her bags with her other hand, “is going places you ain’t never been. Don’t wanna be. Trust me.”
She hobbles over to the steps of the bus. “Walk down this street, turn right at the corner, and
cross over to the blue stop. Take the number twelve. Go get you some education, girl. Cuz you
sure don’t wanna end up like this.”
The bus doors hiss closed behind her massive ass.
“Thank you,” Graciela says to the exhaust. And she watches the woman and her bags and
the bus disappear down La Cienega Blvd. She read Graciela’s mind. She doesn’t want that. She
didn’t leave Hatch for Los Angeles to become a bag lady with bad hygiene. She shudders and
walks down Cadillac toward Robertson. A bus pulls up and the light changes, so she runs across
to get on. But her bus token doesn’t work.
“Those are for the blue bus,” the driver says and points at her green sign.
“How much is this one?” Graciela is frustrated.
“Sixty cents,” says the driver. Passengers shove past Graciela without saying excuse me.
“Use this to get on the blue.” The driver hands Graciela a scrap of paper. “Or you can pay cash.”
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Graciela only has a twenty, which she doesn’t want to say in front of the clearly angry
people who stare at her from the front row of seats. She has delayed their departure too long.
“Thanks,” she mutters and stumbles down the steps, angry at public transportation for not
cooperating.
By the time the blue bus arrives, she has taken off her sweatshirt and her feet hurt. Cute
shoes are not the most comfortable for urban hiking.
Finally seated near the back, she tries to ignore the odors around her and smiles when
other people on the bus look directly at her. She frames each one in her mind, wonders about
their tragic stories. Could she film them for her next project?

Graciela finally arrives on campus to drop off her final papers for English and history.
They’re late, but professors agreed to issue incompletes until she returned from her family
emergency in Hatch. A group with Greek letters on their shirts walks by her in the hall. Not her
sisters, but one squints at her in partial recognition. She shakes her dark hair and leans forward
so it falls around her face. After being in the sorority house with at least 24 other girls, living
alone will be strange. Maybe she should stay with Leti and Keysha. But after their conflict over
the apartment and the long, hot bus ride, “No thank you.” She grabs the daily student newspaper
and looks through the classified ads.
With what her parents were paying for sorority dues and her room, she can afford her
own one-bedroom apartment. She borrows a pen from a nearby student and circles a few
promising ads. But she doesn’t know the city at all. Maybe there’s a map in the bookstore. She
wanders inside, happy to see Rick.
“Someone will be right with you.” He eyes her suspiciously.
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“Rick, it’s me, Gracie.” He must not recognize her with dark hair.
“I’ll send someone over to help you in a minute,” he says sharply, walks away quickly.
“So much for solidarity,” she says to a person next to her. Graciela asks the stranger, “Do
you know if they sell maps here?”
He points, more focused on his reflection in the mirror.
“You need a bigger size,” she tells him.
He frowns.
She taps the shoulder seam too close to his neck. “It’s going to shrink.”
He smiles and takes the shirt off.
She exits the store with her Los Angeles street map and the aroma of charred burgers
beckons her. The apple is no longer enough. For the first time since she started college, she eats
lunch alone. For the past two years, all her time was spent with sorority sisters, doing whatever
the sorority required. Now, she’s not sure who to be or what to do. She can’t decide if she’s more
angry or more sad. And Katherine has not called her back to talk about it.
Graciela looks at the apartments in the village. Too close to fraternity houses, so she
studies the bus lines from school to Brentwood and Santa Monica, she wonders if Leti and her
friends took the Greyhound bus to Las Cruces. She imagines it was hotter and grosser than her
ride today. At least Tia Martina’s car has air conditioning for their trip back.
The patio is lonely. No one scurries off to the next important discovery. No one hands out
flyers about an upcoming event. A few people walk around, some in hospital scrubs and others in
unflattering suits. She should’ve brought her video camera. An idea for a post-apocalyptic world
forms in her brain.
“Can I join you?” Carmen stands next to the table, her face framed by the historic brick
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building in the background. Her hair is twisted up in a bun, but a few strays have escaped and
curl up near her temple and jaw.
“Of course.” Graciela’s voice is so soft she barely recognizes it. She gathers the
newspaper to her chest, wonders why Carmen didn’t choose an empty table.
“Looking for a job?” Carmen asks.
“An apartment. Where do you live?”
“I was in Palms with my girlfriend,” she unwraps her lunch, “but we broke up, so I
moved home for the summer.” She bites into the burrito and chile wafts into the air.
Graciela salivates over Carmen’s meal, regrets her dry beef patty with soggy buns.
“Saves money. But I have a job at Student Legal Services three days a week.”
“Are you going to be a lawyer?”
“Maybe. Knowing how the system works is the only way to fix it. On weekends, I come
here for an LSAT class.” She takes a long drink from her thermos. “You done with that?” She
gestures to Graciela’s ice-filled cup.
Graciela pushes it toward her. “LSAT?”
The bright red liquid crackles over the ice. “I’m applying to law school next year.”
“Already? I’m so behind, I won’t finish undergraduate classes for three more years.”
“I’m in an accelerated program. Three more?”
Graciela looks away, searches for a legitimate reason, difficulties like Leti has overcome.
But she opts for honesty. “The past two years, I wasn’t focused on school.” She shares briefly the
boyfriend and business class disasters. She tells Carmen partial truths about sorority distractions.
“I never understood paying for friends.” Carmen shakes her head. “I know there are
Christian sororities and service sororities, but yours sounds like it was neither.” She folds the
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empty foil into a neat square and puts it back in her lunch bag.
“I thought it was the only way to make the right connections.” Graciela looks at the
papers in front of her. “But now I’m about that scholar life.” Reminds her she should see Dolores
about her fall schedule.
Carmen takes a mango out of her bag and peels back the scored skin. She loosens a chunk
from the pit. “Want a piece?” She slurps one into her own mouth.
Graciela savors the sweet warmth, almost moans at its deliciousness.
“I have strawberries too.” Carmen pats her bag. “In case that wasn’t enough.”
She’s had enough. “I want to make real movies.” She thinks about the Hollywood
fantasies of her childhood, the footage she shot in April. “Ones that mean something.”

The basement hallway smells more musty than usual. A growly hum becomes louder as
Graciela moves closer to her destination.
Dolores sits in the dark, slouches in her chair, and leans back against the wall. Her light
blue shirt is soaked with sweat. A fan balances precariously on a rickety table next to her.
“It’s cooler with the lights off. A/C is out. Won’t be fixed until next week.”
“Why didn’t you stay home or move to an empty office upstairs?” Graciela practically
shouts over the noise.
“Then how would you and the other wayward souls find me?”
“Put a sign on the door?”
“All my stuff is here. Your records.” She sits up and pulls Graciela’s folder out of the
filing crate. “My lunch.” She points at the empty bag.
Graciela wishes she’d brought Dolores an iced tea.
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“Your hair looks normal. What do you want?”
“Fall. You need to finalize my schedule.”
“Summer grades?”
“Incomplete for now.”
Dolores frowns.
“I went to Hatch last minute and turned in both late papers today.” She thinks about how
easy it was to concentrate back home and at Leti’s without distractions. “I’ll do much better this
year because I’m living alone.”
“Heard the sorority finally gave you the boot.”
“How do you know everything?” Too hot to muster real indignation.
“It’s my job.” She fans herself with Graciela’s folder.
“Do you know why?” Graciela asks, hesitantly.
“I know enough. Be grateful they don’t like what they consider bad publicity.”
Graciela doesn’t want to think about it. “I got a B in film editing with my footage after
the riots, I mean uprising. What can I take this semester?”
Dolores looks at the blue paper in front of her. “Documentary films. Mi amiga is the
professor.” Dolores narrows her sweaty eyes and leans toward Graciela. “Don’t screw this up.”
Graciela signs the petition to add the class even though she’s not a film major yet.
“You also need this or this,” she points at the two biology classes on the schedule, “to
make up for the one you dropped. And an American English class. This introduction to
Sociology should be an easy class since you passed the upper division one.”
“Damn! With Spanish that’s five classes.”
“You need six. Pass them all or you’ll be dismissed.”
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Graciela feels her eyes open to their widest point and stick there. She can’t blink.
Dolores advises her to take biology and sociology pass/fail, and she includes an advanced
accounting seminar so Graciela can declare a minor in business. “Then the credits you do have
won’t go to waste. And numbers are easy for you.”
“Fortunately, all I have to worry about now is my classes. No more sorority.” And she’s
genuinely happy when she says it.
“Most of these classes have tutoring right upstairs.” She hands Graciela a photocopy of
the schedule. “You’re going to be busy.” And she laughs her loud, manly laugh. It doesn’t annoy
Graciela like it did before.
~~~
Talia invited everyone over for dinner the night before she and Marv moved in together.
“Nice of you to include Graciela.” Leti stirs noodles into meat sauce, careful not to
splash any on herself.
“She coming?”
“I didn’t offer to drive all the way to Brentwood to pick her up.”
Talia frowns. “I thought you two were cool now.”
“I thought so too. But she and that one,” she juts her chin toward Keysha who argues
with Red about which music to play, “are trying to make me super broke.”
“Have Red talk to Keysha about staying around here. She listens to him.”
“Maybe after dinner.” Leti watches Yiska and Marv sip their beers by the window. A
breeze blows in and Yiska closes his eyes, enjoys its coolness.
Leti’s world will never look like this again. She puts the stove on simmer and sneaks
away to borrow Keysha’s camera.
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Red turns up Prince, Keysha’s favorite, so she’ll dance with him.
Leti focuses on them, zooms into capture Keysha’s profile.
Yiska, hair still damp from his shower, sneaks by Leti. “More salt. Needs basil.”
She sets the camera down to retrieve his requests. “You cook?”
“I can.” He sprinkles and stirs.
“Not just cheesy mac?”
He gives her a spoonful. “A few other delicious bites.” And he kisses her neck.
She wiggles away to take more pictures. After several shutter-clicks from questionable
angles, she’s caught.
“That’s my job.” Keysha adjusts dials and shoots Yiska at the stove. It’s the first time she
has snapped any photos since the uprising. When Thomas asked her to take mug shots for the
summer collaboration issue, she made excuses about class conflicts.
“We won’t be able to do this anymore if we move,” Leti says over her shoulder.
“Why not?”
“We’ll be too far from all them. They’re staying in this area. A more affordable area.”
Yiska is moving into a three-bedroom with Yanaha and Jocelyn. Red is staying with the same
guys in the same apartment. Marv and Talia’s blue and gray duplex is one block over.
Keysha adjusts the camera. “You’ve got a car. Drive here whenever you want.”
“You don’t want?”
“Red’ll take me wherever I wanna go. That boy ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”
Leti shakes her head and returns to Yiska’s arms. “I wish I understood why she’s so
insistent on this move.”
“You ask her?”
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“I’ve tried. She avoids my questions, changes the subject. Deflection, I think it’s called.”
“Spoken like a future psychologist.” He kisses her cheek and points to the pot. “It’s ready
to serve. Next time, fresh garlic.”
“Next time, you’re in charge of the main dish.” Leti knows there may never be a next
time. Not like this. Her eyes fill with tears and she gets the salad out the fridge.
“I’ll pour drinks,” Talia says, all sweaty and breathless from dancing.
Leti forces a smile and opens the package of bread.
“Why you look so sad? It’s a party.”
“Our last party.”
Talia raises her eyebrows. “You won’t be my friend anymore?”
Leti leans into her. “Of course. You’re my best study partner.” She gets forks and plates.
“But if I can’t be your roommate, I’d at least like to be your neighbor.”
“With Yiska?” She has the most hopeful face Leti has ever seen.
She hates to disappoint her amiga. “Not ready for all that yet.”
“Yet!” Talia grins.
Leti watches Red dance for Keysha’s camera. “How will I handle her all by myself?”
“You don’t have to. Call Red.”
“It would be easier if we were closer.”
“Then stay closer. Don’t give her a choice.”
Leti thinks about how to stay all through dinner. She’s distracted when Marv toasts his
beautiful woman. She takes one sip of the champagne before switching to apple juice.
Over cake, Keysha asks for their attention. “I’d like to invite you all to visit me and Leti
in our new Venice Beach condo.” She passes the glossy photo of the building around. “Red can
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drive you all.”
It’s not one she took, Leti can tell. It’s from a real estate office, a high-end one. “We
didn’t apply for this apartment, condo, whatever,” Leti says loudly amid the murmurs of
approval. “How much is it?”
“Only twelve hundred. It has a pool and a hot tub.” She cheers herself.
Red nods and smiles supportively.
Leti’s half would be twice what she pays now. “I can’t afford it. I won’t sign the lease.”
She feels Yiska shift in his seat next to her.
“We already did.” Keysha smiles defiantly.
Talia gasps a little.
Leti stares at Keysha. She doesn’t blink.
“You were busy, stressed out about the trip to visit your dad, and we needed to make a
decision.” Keysha takes a bite of cake. “So I did. We move in next week.”
“Then you’re moving without me.” Leti pushes away from the table.
“As long as I don’t have to live here anymore.” Keysha slams her empty juice cup on the
table. “I can still smell smoke, I can still hear sirens, and I can’t stop seeing their faces.” She
stands up, knocks her chair down, and stomps down the hallway to her room.
Not even Red follows her this time.

Leti starts the pot of coffee Talia requested for moving day and walks to the panaderia on
La Cienega for pan dulce. When she returns, Keysha’s bedroom door is still closed. Leti knows
she should apologize before the others arrive. She shouldn’t have antagonized Keysha the way
she did at dinner. She knocks. “Keesh, can we talk?” So what if they live farther away. “You
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were right. I have a car. I can visit.” She knocks again. “Keesh, we just have to find something
more affordable than that fancy condo.” She laughs. “We aren’t rich folks.”
The silence on the other side isn’t normal. Usually Leti wouldn’t barge in on her
roommate so early, but she flashes back to Red’s run and what he found last semester. What he
told them after. “Oh, hell no!” She tries the knob and it’s locked. Keysha never locks her door.
Leti bangs her shoulder into it and hears a crack, but it doesn’t open. If Keysha was busy in the
bathroom, she’d have responded by now.
Leti calls 911 and Red. She grabs the cast iron skillet out of the oven and slams it as hard
as she can on the doorknob then kicks the door open.
Keysha looks peaceful on her bed. Not the same snarly face she had when she stormed
out of dinner last night. But she’s not moving. She’s on top of the comforter, on her side, a
pillow separates her knees.
“Keysha!” Leti yells. She inspects her arm and neck, rolls her on her back and listens. No
breathing. “Keysha!” She pries each hazel eye open one at a time and pats Keysha’s cheek.
“Keysha! Wake up!” Leti holds Keysha’s head up and the silken braids fall across the blue
pillowcase. “What the fuck? No!” She looks around the room for signs of what happened after
their argument. “Keysha!” She yells again, strokes her cheek. “No no no no no.”
Red bangs through the front door, stops to catch his breath. “She okay?”
Tears in her eyes, Leti looks at his blurry form. She can’t say anything.
“No!” He punches the wall. “Damnit! I told her. No!” He kicks the table next to the bed,
barely misses Leti.
He probably wants to kick Leti too. “It’s all my fault,” she says and cries harder. She
climbs onto the bed and holds Keysha’s head tighter and whispers close to her face, “I’m sorry. I
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came to tell you I’m sorry.”
Marv and Talia arrive with the paramedics. They take Leti and Red into the hallway so
the two women can try to revive Keysha. Leti buries her face in Talia’s shoulder and when she
can’t stand up anymore, she slides to the carpet and curls into a ball. She hears Red curse and
punch more wall. He grabs the photo of himself off its nail and holds it. He’s crying when he
joins Leti on the floor.
Yiska runs in with Jocelyn and Yanaha right behind him. “What? No.” He touches Red
on the head. “No.” He picks Leti up and takes her to the couch.
The last thing she remembers is the smell of coffee and the sound of sirens.

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Fall Semester 1992

Graciela dreads going back to the bookstore after Rick refused to help her find a map.
She also waits until after lunch because she’s not ready to see Leti. They haven’t talked since
Graciela moved to Brentwood, even though Talia invited her to their final roommate dinner. Leti
did leave Graciela a brief message: “Keysha killed herself.” That’s all she said. And she said it
without any emotion. Like she was reporting the news. Graciela shudders, selfishly glad she was
already out of the apartment because she isn’t sure how she would’ve been able to handle all
Leti’s friends’ grief.
Graciela clutches the wad of papers from Dolores, including her schedule, and wanders
through the shelves. “Excuse me,” she approaches a student in a blue apron. “Oh, Jocelyn, I
didn’t know you worked here too.” She feels awkward, not sure who counts as a friend anymore.
“Leti hired me.” Her smile turns down. “Have you talked to her?”
Graciela tilts her head and guilt overwhelms her. “She left a message.” Only a terrible
cousin wouldn’t call her back. “I was hoping to find her today.”
“She might still be in the office if she didn’t go to class.”
“She skips class?”
“She might take the semester off because– I don’t know what I’d do if Yahana– You
need help finding books?” she forces a smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Graciela smiles back and hands Jocelyn her schedule.
She frowns at it and looks sideways. “You’re taking six classes this semester?”
Graciela avoids eye contact. “I don’t exactly have a choice.” She looks at the sturdy, also
known as ugly, book bags. Not as stylish as her own, but more practical. “It’s this or drop out.”
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Sympathetic, Jocelyn says, “You’ll need a bigger bag,” and gestures to the even uglier
backpacks hanging on the wall. “And more than one notebook.” She points to the three-subject
spiral in Graciela’s hand.
“According to my heartless counselor,” Graciela hisses at a lower volume, “if I don’t pass
all of these classes, the university will kick me out.” Just like her sorority. Her ex-sorority.
Graciela’s books don’t all fit in her shopping basket and the metal handle cuts into her
arm. Maybe she does need one of those backpacks. In the line to pay, she sees two of Derek’s
fraternity brothers. She shifts her body away from them and tries to hide behind her darker hair
and the notebooks.
One mutters her name, Gracie, and the other one chuckles.
She fakes a smile and pretends to be interested in the lip balm on the rack by the register.
Why does she care what they think anyway? She barely remembers their names. “That’ll be four-
eighty-three seventy-two,” the cashier’s voice carries across the student store like she has a
cheerleader’s megaphone.
Graciela tries not to look appalled. An outrageous price to pay for books. She’s never
purchased all of them at once before. She hurries through her bag to find her wallet.
The cashier swipes the credit card and says, “This card has been declined.”
Dread crawls up Graciela’s neck. “That’s impossible.”
“It says invalid card.” Her look is either sympathy or pity, neither of which Graciela
wants or needs right now.
Horrified, Graciela looks in her wallet for another source of payment, but only finds a
handful of small bills.
The cashier returns her card. “I can hold the books here while you straighten it out.”
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“Thank you.” In her periphery, Graciela sees Tiffany and Stephanie in the next line.
They whisper as she walks away.

“Hola madre!” Graciela yells into a pay phone.
A mariachi band warms up in the background, so she can’t hear her mother’s response.
“Que pasó con mi tarjeta?”
Her mother can’t really hear well with the music so loud in the background, but Graciela
repeats credit card enough that all the students around her frown and her mother finally answers,
“Tu papá dice que ya no.”
She explains how Graciela’s father had received a letter from the panhellenic council
thanking him for his generous donations and asking if he would continue to donate even though
Graciela was no longer in a sorority. Her mother had called the Beta Theta Chi house to ask why.
The house mother explained Graciela had terrible grades and was accused of sexual misconduct
with a woman. There’s a loud crash followed by the guitarron and trumpet louder than before.
Graciela’s ears fill with air. She never wanted anyone in her family to know. She tries to
negotiate. “Pero, madre, es para mis libros.” They wouldn’t deny her access to books.
But her mother proceeds to wail in Spanish about how disgraceful her daughter has
become, “Alli en la escuela con los gringos.” And she hangs up the phone.
Graciela sits on the sticky plastic stool, holds the beeping receiver, stunned.
A friendly hand touches her back and another hangs up the phone. The beeping stops.
Graciela blinks. “My mother–” She points to the pay phone.
Talia guides Graciela to a nearby couch.
“They know,” she whispers and buries her face in her palms to stop the tears. “If they
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won’t pay for books, what about my rent? Is this my punishment for not moving in with Leti?”
Fortunately, her tuition has already been paid for this semester. “What about next semester?”
Talia takes Graciela down the hall and shows her the job board. “It’s what we all have to
do. Even me, now. Marv and I are saving for a wedding, so I’ve got to earn some extra.”
“My sorority sisters don’t.” Graciela can’t recall any of them ever talking about a job
unless it was at a parents’ law office or some family-owned resort.
“They aren’t your sisters anymore.” Talia points at the wall. “The bookstore is hiring.”
Graciela flashes back to her confusion in the aisles and Rick’s rudeness. But she’d be
able to see Jocelyn more, which would be cool.
“It says contact supervisor Leticia Murphy. Did you know she was promoted? And it
includes the room number for her office down the hall.”
How does she grovel to her cousin for a job now?
“The Coffeehouse where I work also needs another barista.”
Food service? She could’ve stayed in Hatch for that. But at least it’s something familiar.
“The Coffeehouse opens earlier and stays open later than anywhere else on campus, so
you can easily schedule around classes and tutoring.”
Graciela looks at the crumpled blue paper in her hand. “Sounds like the best idea.” She
shows Talia. “I’m in class all day, every day.”
“The Coffeehouse is open weekends too. And you can read when it’s not busy.” Talia
smiles and hugs Graciela sideways. “You’re gonna get through this. We all will.”
“Don’t tell Leti. Please?”
Talia frowns. “I’m not a good liar, Graciela. Why don’t you want her to know?”
“Don’t lie. But let me tell her myself. Just not yet. She has enough to deal with already.”
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Talia agrees. Keysha was her friend too. And she knows about Leti’s family problems.
After Graciela completes the application for The Coffeehouse and Talia takes it to her
supervisor, Graciela returns to the pay phone to call her oldest brother. She hates to ask him for
help since he’s already dealing with their sick father, but what else can she do? “Eduardo, it’s
just a loan. I have a job now and can pay you back a little with each paycheck.”
He agrees to send it to her new address overnight mail but makes her swear not to tell
their parents. Like Graciela will be talking to them any time soon.
~~~
Leti spends the first week of school wandering around campus unable to have a normal
conversation or sit in a desk for class. Instead of the Ethnic Publications meeting, she sits on the
edge of the track and watches the women’s team practice. Stefán and Thomas find her and take
her to The Coffeehouse so Talia can drive them home.
It feels hotter than Hatch and nothing cools her off. She wants to call Graciela and sleep
on her parents’ patio like they did as kids. She wants her mom to reply to her letter so she can
possibly feel less empty. She wants Keysha not to take all the pills and not to be mad at her.
Dr. Alas squeezes her in for an emergency session.
“My dad was on some drug when I visited. When I looked it up later, I learned it was for
treating schizophrenia.” Leti asks, “Is that shit hereditary? Could I get to be as insane as he was
and hurt the people around me? Or myself?”
“According to the most recent studies, there isn’t a schizophrenia gene. It takes several
factors to induce the disorder.”
“Is my roommate taking her own life after we had a huge fight about moving to an
expensive beach condo one of those factors?”
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“Have you thought about hurting yourself?” Dr. Alas asks.
Leti inhales and sits up taller, prepared to tell the whole truth even if it means she’s
totally insane. “I thought about it when we first arrived, and I didn’t have any money to pay for
anything. Then Mrs. Carrillo helped me. I thought about it after I read my dad’s letter requesting
money. Talia helped me see I don’t have that obligation. I thought about it after Graciela
shunned me at the diner. But when I saw how freaked out everyone was when Keysha almost–”
She exhales and slouches back into the couch. “I know hurting myself will not bring my mom
back. And it won’t take away the guilt I feel for Keysha.”
“You aren’t responsible for Keysha’s actions. She made the choice to take her own life. It
sounds like you and all your friends did everything you could to help her.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell us what was bothering her? I know she was frustrated by her
injury. And she mentioned the fires and the faces, but there has to be more.”
“There doesn’t have to be more. If she was struggling inside, all it takes is the slightest
outside influence.” She sips her hot tea, keeps an eye on Leti over her mug.
“Talia called her family in Sacramento. She said they didn’t believe her. Didn’t believe
anything was wrong with Keysha.”
“Mental illness is still very taboo in some cultures.”
“There’s a memorial at the track this weekend.” She closes her eyes and sees Keysha’s
ashen face, feels her braids. “Red is still so angry. He punches everything in sight. I think he
hates me.”
“Let’s talk about what you need now. How can you focus on what is going well?”
Leti can’t answer right away. She gets up and walks around the familiar space, tries to
catch her breath. It exhausts her. “I need to sleep.”
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“Has that been difficult since Keysha’s suicide?”
“I’ve been crashing on the couch at Talia and Marv’s new place, so I don’t have to go
back to the empty apartment alone. But they’re like newlyweds. It’s awkward.”
“What are your other options?”
“Yiska offered to come over, to sleep next to me. But it feels wrong. Like I’m getting
pleasure because of Keysha’s pain.”
“Are you pushing him away again?”
“Still, I guess.” She holds the back of the couch and leans forward. “If I let him love me,
one of us is going to get hurt.”
Dr. Alas makes a noise Leti isn’t sure how to interpret.
“Maybe once I find a new place, everything will be okay.” She fakes her positivity.
“Have you thought about asking Graciela to take you in?”
Leti shakes her head. “Her loyalties are clearly not here.” Leti points at herself. “She
thinks she can make it on her own, well good luck to her. But having a father who pays for
everything and a mother who bails you out with her secret stash, isn’t really on your own, is it?”
“You have the option of taking a semester off. Have you considered it?”
“Stefán suggested it. His roommate did it after her parents were in a car crash.” She feels
a slight chuckle come out. “I guess my life could be worse. My parents are alive.” She sits down.
“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I wasn’t in class and at Third Wave and working.”

With only a week left to find an affordable apartment, Leti meets Talia, Yanaha, and
Jocelyn for lunch before class to strategize.
“What about Thomas’s building?” Jocelyn says. “When we looked, there were a lot of
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empty units. Rent’s cheap because people fled after the uprising. A lot of Black people relocated,
found homes in Atlanta and other Southern cities.”
Yanaha adds, “You’d know someone nearby at least.”
Talia says, “But that someone is Thomas. You know how he can be.”
Stefán’s warning about Thomas the player echoes in Leti’s head. “He’s not like that with
me.”
“He might be if no one’s around,” Talia warns.
“The problem is he lives on the other side of Inglewood,” Leti says.
“So now you’re too good for the ‘wood?” Jocelyn chimes in. “Guess that surfer chick did
influence you after all.” She wipes Leti’s arm. “Salt. Trying to get her off you.”
Talia and Yanaha laugh.
“Not like that.” Leti takes a bite of pepperoni pizza, the sweet dough and spicy chunky
sauce one of her favorite foods on campus, but the television overhead always reminds her of the
Rodney King beating. The news playing over and over. She shifts her chair so her back is to it.
“It’s farther from campus than we live now. And I stay here late so yes, I’m a little concerned.
Look how pale I am! People are still angry. That can be dangerous. Especially for a woman.”
She sips her soda to wash down her food before she chokes and thinks about Tiffany, wonders if
Graciela ever convinced her to see someone about the assault.
No one offers a better solution, so Leti relents. “If I don’t see Thomas at the office later,
I’ll call him when we get home.” She finishes her pizza, still frustrated. “What sucks is I don’t
have a lot of money saved for the security deposit.” She stares out the window. “Keysha was
going to pay half.”
Talia puts a hand on her back. “What about the jewelry?”
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Leti’s last connection to her mom. How long does it take for a letter to travel to Mexico
and back? Instead of pawning the jewelry, she visits Mrs. Carrillo for another emergency loan
and returns to work at the diner.
~~~
Graciela begs Leti to meet for lunch with ideas for her documentary film because her
prima is more connected to campus happenings. It takes all Graciela’s energy and time to keep
up with six classes and her new part-time job. She promised Talia she’d tell Leti about it today.
“You’re on time for a change.” Leti arrives breathless and disheveled.
“I’m sorry about Keysha.” Graciela reaches over to Leti and clips a stray curl back in
place. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. I should’ve been there.”
“Nothing you could have done.” Leti exhales her sadness.
Since her cousin is already emotionally burdened, Graciela doesn’t want to share her last
parental conversation and recent apartment woes. Yet. Instead, she says in a falsetto voice,
“Thank you for squeezing me in your busy schedule.”
Leti sticks out her tongue before she walks away to order food. She chats with a person in
line. A third friend approaches, hands her some pages. Once she orders, she reads them while she
waits, pulls a pen out from her mass of curls, and uses the food tray as a desk. She, too, is not the
same person she was when they arrived. She returns to the table, chomping on fries before she
even sits down. “I only have 30 minutes. What are your ideas?”
Graciela looks at her sad salad and reaches over to Leti’s plate, savors the salty, greasy
goodness. Her sip of diet soda is gross. “Nothing about sororities.”
They both laugh. Leti pulls a few worn newspaper pages out of her backpack. “I circled
some of the headlines I think are interesting, ongoing issues with film potential. But I don’t know
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if you want something casual or controversial.”
Graciela shuffles through the pile of pages, examines each headline Leti has circled.
“This could be a good topic.” Leti points to the article in Third Wave about Sojourn, a
shelter in Santa Monica for battered women and their children. “But you couldn’t use their real
names for obvious reasons.”
“Obviously.” Graciela pictures the shadows, hears distorted voices. “Maybe something
less serious.”
Leti points at a few art exhibits and the new museum building where the World Arts and
Cultures department will be housed.
“I thought we were in a budget crisis,” Graciela says.
“You’ve been paying attention.” Leti is surprised.
“Not really.” Graciela points to another article featuring graphs and charts. “I saw that.”
Leti says, “The money for this project is from some foundation. Rich people can spend
their money any way they want.”
Graciela rolls her eyes. Rich used to be her focus, but now she knows its evil ways.
“You could do interesting profiles of women who have been abused and survived.”
“Maybe.” Graciela puts the article in her film class folder.
Leti reaches into the remaining papers and flips one over to the part she circled, a profile
of a music group called Lighter Shade of Brown. They will perform on campus later this
semester. “This could be fun. Some of their work is supposed to have a political message.”
But the photo on the other side catches Graciela’s attention, and she flips the page back
over. “Who are they?” The article is titled ‘La Lucha Continua.’ In the photo, a group stands
outside the administration building on one of the drizzly first days of the semester. A few have
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umbrellas; others stand tall and proud covered in droplets. She skims the article and learns the
Latino Legislative Caucus of California sent representatives to support the Academic Senate
Committee for Ethnic Studies and the campus MEChA group. The group Jocelyn invited her to
study with last semester, MEChA.
Leti takes a mega-bite of her burger and doesn’t answer. Good, she might choke.
Graciela squints at the photo, looking closely at each face. “You know any of them?”
Leti nods, gulps soda to help her swallow. “Jocelyn.” She points when Graciela holds it
closer to her face. “Maybe with Yanaha. But that,” her voice changes and she pokes the back of
the girl in a black and red Chicana! T-shirt, “is Carmen. She hates me.”
“No way!” Graciela swallows guilt from her sweet time with Carmen. “Why?”
“She was one of the editors at La Raza magazine. She hates the feminist paper because it
isn’t ethnic. She still looks at me like I’m not brown enough. Calls me a vendida.” A loud,
ragged breath escapes Leti before she takes another bite.
“How are you a sell out?”
“During Minority Summer Program, Carmen made fun of me for saying I’m Hispanic.
On the last collaboration issue, I didn’t support her idea about incarcerated people.”
“Maybe you should get to know each other better.”
“We’ve worked in the same tiny office for two years. I had class with her and Jocelyn last
year. Sat in study sessions across the table from her. Asked her questions. Tried to share notes
with her.” Leti’s voice escalates with each comment. “I’ll never be Chicana enough for her!”
Graciela reads more about the requests for a Chicana/o Studies Department. Right now, it
and the all the other ethnic studies programs are interdisciplinary. They don’t have their own
budget, support staff, or academic counselor like traditional departments. And the proposal
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presented by MEChA and the Academic Senate Committee two years ago has been ignored by
the university’s administration.
“They’re angry.” Graciela bangs her fist on the table, causing pieces of salad to bounce
out of her bowl and onto the table. “We should all be angry!” She doesn’t care about the
vegetables anymore, instead she shoves her bowl away and reaches for more of Leti’s fries.
“Sometimes staying quiet doesn’t solve anything.” She thinks about Tiffany and how much she
has struggled since she was raped. And Katherine who is still part of Beta Theta Chi knowing
they don’t fully accept her. She never called Graciela back.
“Some people can’t face reality.” Leti stares at the passing crowd of students, perhaps
thinking about her parents or Keysha.
Graciela stays silent but covers Leti’s free hand with one of her own and gives it a
squeeze. She hesitates to share her news now, but it won’t change Leti’s problems.
When the bells chime on the school clock, Graciela only has fifteen minutes before she
has to report to work. “I moved again. To a more affordable place.” She’s hesitant about the best
way to proceed. “My landlord let me move to a studio in another one of his buildings without
paying another security deposit since I wasn’t at the first place for a full month.”
Leti stares at Graciela with her eyebrows concentrated in a tight knot. “Why didn’t you
ask Tio Lalo for more money?”
“Tio Lalo isn’t giving me any money any more. Neither is Tia Irene.” Graciela feels
appropriately distanced calling her parents by these names.
Leti’s eyes open wide and her mouth parts slightly, but no words come out.
“My father learned of my sorority mishap, so he cancelled my credit card. I called my
mother to ask about it, and she yelled that I was sin vergüenza and hung up on me.”
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Leti slides over to offer Graciela some comfort.
Graciela stays strong and continues. “House mother told them I was caught with a
woman and she has filed sexual assault charges against me.”
“That’s why they kicked you out? I assumed it was your grades.”
“Grades didn’t help. Vice-President Bethany also accused me of drugging her.”
“Why would you drug her?”
“I’ll have to explain later. I need to consult with an attorney but can’t afford one, so I’m
going to Student Legal Services for help.” And to see Carmen. She stands up to throw away her
trash. “Right now, I have to get to work.”
Leti blinks and shakes her head. “Are you making fun of me?”
Graciela laughs. “No. Talia told her boss about me, and now I work at The Coffeehouse.”
Leti stands, too. “Next week, I can introduce you to Mrs. Carrillo in financial aid. I’m
sure she’ll be able to help.” She hugs her cousin tightly.
~~~
Leti needs some peace and quiet to work on her article for The Psychology Journal.
There’s more pressure on her now because she’s paid for her work. Instead of the Ethnic
Publications office, she retreats to the back patio of the North Campus Eatery, far away from
anyone who might need her. It’s the patio where she met Talia and Yanaha at Ladies Night
during Minority Summer Program and where she first read Third Wave. Seems like an
appropriate place to escape.
An hour later, Yiska sits at the table next to her. “You hiding too? Don’t worry, I won’t
distract you. Need some time away from the team before tutoring.”
But he is a distraction. Leti can feel him, smell him. Hanging out with him is easier than
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what she’s doing now. She balls up another failed attempt to write her introduction and takes all
five rejected pages to the trash. “I had the same idea. Avoid the madness.”
“What’s that?” He gestures to the trash with his chin, his hands around a massive burger.
Leti wants to be his burger. Instead she steals a fry from his plate. “Terrible writing.” She
returns to her own table, feels his eyes caress her back as she walks away. “Maybe you can write
this article for me.”
“For the feminist newsmagazine? Do they care what I think?”
“Of course we do.” For a minute, she wonders if they’ve ever had a male staff member at
Third Wave. “You might be the subject of my next article: Can men be Feminists?”
“Write it. Interview me.”
“You’re a feminist?”
“Raised by Native women. No other option.”
“Is that why you think you can cook?” She covers her mouth with her hands.
“Sexist.” He points his fry at her. “Feminists everywhere are cringing.”
“Deeply engrained stereotypes. I need to work on that.” She tries to re-focus on her
article. “This is about addiction not feminism.”
“Your addiction to cheesy mac?” He winks at her.
Now it’s harder for Leti to concentrate. She thinks about food and eating with Yiska.
An hour later, he approaches her table and looks at her through his long black lashes,
more sad than she expected. “You moved too far. I miss you.”
“All I could afford.” She tears off a scrap of notebook paper and scribbles her new phone
number. “Call when you get home?”
He grins and kisses her gently before he leaves.
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Leti walks in the door later than planned. The phone rings.
“I’ve been calling,” Yiska says. “No one answered. I was worried.”
She looks around her tiny apartment. “Without Keysha’s pictures on the wall, it’s lonely.
But I’m not ready to look at her yet.”
“More work tonight?”
Leti smiles. “I couldn’t work tonight if they paid me overtime. My brain is fried.”
“Come over?”
Leti hesitates. She wants to shower and sleep.
“Roommates went to a club downtown. I’ll make cheesy mac.”
Leti wishes he could come to her, but she’s the one with the car. “Give me thirty.”

They sit on the couch with the pot between them. Yiska feeds her a spoonful and her
whole body relaxes.
When it’s all gone, he apologizes. “I should’ve been there more after Keysha.”
“You did what you could. I needed to process my grief my own way. I still am.”
He inhales deeply.
Leti stretches up to kiss the scar along his jaw line.
He exhales and takes her cheeks in both of his giant hands, holds her face close to his for
a few moments before he gently brushes his lips on her moon-shaped mark.
After he lets her go, Leti leans her head on his shoulder and says, “Nothing helps me but
me sometimes.” She breathes in and out–long, deep breaths fill her whole body. “If I keep busy,
I feel like nothing can hurt me.”
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“Heard from mom?”
Leti shakes her head. “I mailed the letter this time. To mi abuela’s. My dad thinks my
mom might be there.”
“Keep hope alive.”
She looks up and feels emotions move from throat to eyes. “Might give up soon.”
~~~
Graciela checks her hair, teeth, and lipstick before she enters Student Legal Services. The
office is slightly cooler than outside and tiny heat lamps warm the ferns around the room. “Can I
help you?” An older man interrupts Graciela’s plant musings and directs her toward a lawyer
who might be able to help. “If she’s not there, I’m sure her assistant is. Very competent young
woman. Serious about the law.” Graciela smiles at his description of Carmen, wonders if he
thinks Carmen is attractive too.
The hallway is a maze. Signs have been replaced but some don’t match the directory
Graciela consults. It takes her longer than she thinks it should to find the office.
Carmen glances up from a stack of files. “I have about fifteen minutes before I have to
leave for class.” She doesn’t smile.
Graciela does. She takes a deep breath and inhales Carmen’s intoxicating citrus scent.
She explains how she woke up in Vice-President Bethany’s bed and the accusations that
followed. “The officer who questioned me said this could go on my academic record. Can it?”
Carmen explains hesitantly, “From what I understand, these cases are usually women
accusing men.” She twists her mouth to the side and looks at something on her computer. “I
don’t see any cases pending for the campus, so it’s unlikely they’ve made it a university issue.”
“The only thing I know about the law is what I’ve seen on television,” Graciela admits.
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“But my sorority sister can afford a powerful lawyer.”
Carmen looks up something else before she continues. “I can’t see a precedent for this
kind of charge. I’m worried, though, if Debra gets involved officially, it could become a
university matter.” Her concentration makes one side of her lip go in and one eyebrow go up.
“I don’t want that,” Graciela says. “All I want now is to focus on classes so I can finally
apply to film school.”
“I’ll do some more research before I pass this along.” Carmen taps the monitor glass.
They leave the building together and Carmen mumbles about possible case law until they
gets to the building for her class. “If Debra thinks you should retain counsel, I’ll call you.”
Graciela watches her walk inside, mesmerized. “Thank you,” she says to the closed glass
doors. She wanders in a daze toward The Coffeehouse and stumbles into the display menu.
“What’s wrong with you?” Talia asks, straightens the sign and hands Graciela an apron.
“I think I’m in love.”
Talia rolls her eyes. “You love to complicate your life.”
~~~
After a busy weekend at the diner, Leti studies for her exam on Tuesday and trudges
through two extra hours at the bookstore. She tries to read for Thursday’s test on The
Coffeehouse patio and longs for headphones to block out loud-talking girls at a nearby table.
She’s almost able to ignore them until one says, “My Hispanic roommate is so messy.”
She says Hispanic like it’s a bad word.
Her friend responds, “Which doesn’t make sense. Don’t they learn how to clean from
their mothers?” And they don’t laugh like it’s a joke. They’re serious. They believe the garbage
spewing out of their mouths.
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Leti replays the comments in her head to make sure she heard it right. This isn’t the
1950s, and she will not stay silent. “Excuse me.” Leti stands over their table.
One looks up, gives her empty plate and dirty napkin to Leti who wants to slap it out of
her hand and follow with a Carmen-style kick to her over-priced wardrobe. Instead, Leti remains
calm. “Some of us Hispanic students find your gross generalizations offensive.” She wishes
she’d planned this speech better. “Clearly you need to be more informed about the people you
attend this university with. Many of us worked hard to get here and—”
One interrupts. “What a lie. You got in because of affirmative action. More qualified
people like my cousin didn’t get in because of people like you.”
Again, Leti holds in her rage and channels it through her words. Students at nearby tables
stare. “If by ‘people like me’ you mean my cousin who graduated valedictorian of her class. Or
my roommate who was awarded grants from the Smithsonian to do research here. Or ‘people like
me’ who has articles published in school newsmagazines and prestigious journals.” With each
sentence, Leti’s calm tone is emphasized by her increased volume. People inside The
Coffeehouse have come outside to see what’s happening. Out the corner of her eye, Leti sees her
boss from the bookstore.
He asks, “Is there a problem?” with one hand on Leti’s shoulder to calm her down.
Before Leti can explain, the complaining girl says, “This gangster girl is threatening us.”
He laughs and looks at Leti. “You a gangster, girl?”
Leti can’t help but laugh back. Stefán walks up with Keysha’s camera in hand. “Take my
picture.” She tells him. “Caption it, ‘Gangster on the loose.’” He snaps a few shots. “Now, take
their picture. Caption it, ‘Racism alive and well on campus.’”
The girls gasp and hurry to gather their belongings.
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Stefán yells at their backs, “I’m gonna plaster your photo all over campus.”
“You handled that well,” her boss says, serious again. “I know this has been a rough
semester for you.” He liked Dr. Alas’s suggestion that Leti take a semester leave after Keysha’s
death. She decided sitting around doing nothing would be a lot worse.
“I have to handle it,” she says. “That kind of ignorance can’t continue.” And she knows
she doesn’t have a choice but to make it true.

“Why do people have such hostility toward us?” Leti asks Dr. Alas. “Maybe my mom
had the right idea.” She can’t sit still. “Return to the homeland.” She tries pacing. “Maybe
Keysha was right. Nothing’s going to change.” She sits and sips water. “What’s the point of all
this?” Leti stands again and spins around, gestures wildly out the window to distant troubles.
Dr. Alas nods supportively and sips her own water, gives Leti a patient and knowing
smile. “There’s a point to all your writing.” Dr. Alas takes Third Wave from the rack next to her
chair. “Many students share how your publication gives them advice and comfort.”
Leti finally sits, perches on the edge of her favorite chair. “Really?”
“Your activism changes lives. Maybe not Keysha’s, but you are helping others.”
Leti jumps up and resumes her path around the room. “I’m not an activist!” The word
conjures images of Carmen and all the protests Leti never has time for.
Dr. Alas leans back in her chair, eyebrows raised.
Leti continues, “How am I going to be a psychologist if I can’t even fix the people close
to me?” She thinks about Yiska. Keysha. Graciela. Her mother. She breathes hard and has to sit
down again.
“You want to become a therapist?”
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“What else can I do with this degree?”
“My job isn’t to fix people. I’m not trying to fix you. My role is to guide you to a more
complete understanding of who you are and what you need.”
Leti’s face squinches up involuntarily.
Dr. Alas smiles. “You don’t need the added responsibility of others’ problems in your
mind. You have to learn how to compartmentalize before you can do this job.”
“Speaking of jobs, I got a promotion.” She stands up again. “The bookstore pays me two
dollars more per hour as a supervisor and no more lifting dusty boxes in the basement.” She rubs
her lower back and forces a smile.
“Will you quit the diner?”
She shakes her head. “With the car and another emergency loan to pay back, I can’t
afford to quit now.”
~~~
In the quad outside the administration building, Graciela unpacks her video camera. The
crowd shifts in nervous anticipation. She imagines her documentary culminates with the Dean’s
announcement. She wishes she had a second camera to capture the crowd reaction
simultaneously. Instead, she can use a still shot of the Dean and record his voice while she pans
the crowd. She imagines this footage edited in her documentary with an interview of Carmen to
provide historical background. She still hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask her.
A mariachi band plays from the back of the crowd and reminds her of home. She will
choose a different type of music for this triumphant moment in her film.
“Is it Hispanic History month?” some guy asks his friend as they walk by.
“It’s a rally for the Chicano Studies Department,” Graciela answers, but they are too far
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away to hear or care.
At the other end of the quad, she sees Leti rush to get in the back door of the student store
so she’s not late for work. Graciela will have to work two long shifts this weekend to make up
for today off.
“Another movie?”
Graciela turns to face a familiar voice. “Started one for my documentary class.”
“How are all those other classes?” Jocelyn asks, her voice full of sympathy.
“Introduction to Sociology is easier after the class we had together.” Graciela hesitates,
not sure if Jocelyn wants more details. “Are you involved with La Lucha.” Graciela motions the
direction her camera is pointing.
“I was at first, but Carmen and I had philosophical differences.” She turns away from
Graciela to look at the restless crowd. “We agreed I should focus on my art and take over for her
at La Raza so she can focus her energy on MEChA and this.” She gestures to the large gathering
in front of them. “You’d think the Dean would have the courtesy to show up on time.” Her tone
is harsher than when she greeted Graciela.
“Not much the administration has done seems too courteous,” Graciela says. “And I’m
sure with my limited research, I only know part of the story.”
“The lack of consideration for people of color’s needs and desires is what fueled unrest
and rebellion in this city last spring. Remember?” Her gorgeous mind is always working.
“How could I forget?” Even safely ensconced on the campus and protected, though
temporarily, by the sorority house walls, she felt the racial tension, the accumulation of injustice.
“Jocelyn, would you want to write a commentary for my documentary?” Graciela blurts out, not
exactly sure what she needs, but she wants Jocelyn to be part of this project too.
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Before Jocelyn can answer, an unknown person emerges from the office. Graciela zooms
in. He holds a typed memo on letterhead. His hairline sweats profusely despite the fall breeze.
He approaches the microphone and clears his throat. “The Dean has asked me to, uh,” he looks
down at the paper in his shaking hand. Graciela keeps the microphone in his direction and slowly
pans the crowd, pauses each frame a second to capture the eager but confused faces.
The assistant continues, “On behalf of the Deans’ office, I am here to relate that no new
decision has been made about the departmental request.” He clears his throat.
The crowd murmurs: “He promised.” “Again?” “Are you fucking serious?” “Bullshit!”
“Interdepartmental programs will continue as currently operating. Okay. That is all.
Thank you.” He exits the podium area faster than he arrived.
Murmurs escalate to a roar. No one is pleased with the result.
Graciela frames one fuming face after another. There are too many for her camera to
capture. She stops, finally, on Jocelyn’s distressed face. But she doesn’t have to zoom in. Jocelyn
walks toward the camera. Her feet are not in the shot, and because a breeze catches her colorful
dress, it looks like she floats on a rainbow cloud. She stares into the lens without blinking.
Graciela moves the microphone so Jocelyn can talk directly into it. “That isn’t all. The Dean
must acknowledge students’ needs better.” Her voice is musical. But the rage under her words
beats like the distant Aztec drum.
~~~
Leti walks through the Ethnic Publications office doorway and Stefán is in her face
immediately. “West LA News called. They have an editorial opening and the managing editor
wants an interview with you.”
“With me?”
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Thomas joins them at the table. “They read ‘Sticks and Stones’ in the summer
collaboration issue. Told you that article was money.”
She throws her arms around Stefán’s neck and hugs him tightly.
“See,” he says, “told you.” He’d warned Leti and Keysha they’d become huggers.
“I miss her.” She looks at Thomas. “I developed the pictures I took at our last dinner.”
“The dinner?”
Leti opens the package and lays out her crooked, blurry images. Only one has a clear shot
of Keysha, her braids fly out from the sides of her head. “Let’s go crazy. She loved Prince.”
“Girl, you better stick to writing.” Stefán shuffles through the other photos.
Leti ignores him and asks Thomas. “Can I list you as a reference?”
Instead of answering, he hands Leti a folder with a neatly typed letter. “You didn’t even
ask how much it pays.”
Leti turns and looks at Stefán. “Is it at least close to what I make at the bookstore?” She’s
still paying back her emergency loan and her car will need new tires soon.
He frowns. “Not exactly.”
“But it’s great professional experience,” Thomas adds.
Stefán can’t keep a straight face. “It’s the same as the surfer mag, minus the racism.”
Leti hugs him again.
“This is getting a little ridiculous.” Stefán still sifts through the pictures. He shows one to
Thomas. “Can we hang this up in the office?”
“What’s that one? I didn’t take them all.”
“Someone caught you two unaware.”
Keysha and Leti are framed by the light from the open window, facing each other
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intently. “Before the party. Before we argued. Before she–” Leti slumps into a nearby chair.
“Talia must have picked up the camera earlier.” She touches the surface of the image as if she
could feel Keysha’s warm skin and the silkiness of her hair again. She sniffs it, hopes to inhale
cocoa butter.
Thomas and Stefán each put a hand on a shoulder. She feels their sadness and strength.
Carmen storms in. “Do you believe this mierda?” She stops in front of Leti’s chair.
Since she has no idea what shit Carmen’s in disbelief about, she wipes her eyes, sits up
taller, and says, “No,” and looks down to see if Carmen’s wearing her volatile boots.
Carmen announces, “The Dean didn’t even have the decency to respond. Sent one of his
lackeys to deny us our educational rights. Pinche gabacho!”
The rally. Leti had run past the crowd and snuck in the back door to work quickly
because she didn’t want to be late. She hopes Graciela captured it for her documentary.
Thomas stomps over to the table where the new issue of X is in progress, his eyes wider
than Leti’s ever seen. “This is an insult to us all!” His rage joins Carmen’s to fill the room.
The editors are immediately engrossed in a strategic plan. Leti slips the photo of her and
Keysha back in the package with the others and zips them into the safety of her backpack. She
isn’t sure what her role will be, but she has to do something about these injustices too.
~~~
The unpacked boxes surround Graciela in haphazard piles. And it’s dark because the one
small window is partially blocked by the willow tree outside. She tries to make the place
functional before Leti arrives for tutoring. This new place is Brentwood adjacent, close to the
diner where her prima works, but it’s above a dry cleaner and smells like burnt hair.
She lights a vanilla citrus candle and it reminds her of Carmen’s shampoo or lotion or
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whatever clings to her golden-brown skin.
Graciela is still daydreaming when Leti knocks or tries to kick the door down. “I brought
you pie.” She also holds a bright-red, cushioned metal folding chair and matching desk lamp.
“To cheer up the room, make it home.”
“Matches my new phone.” Graciela points to the old desk her landlord left. “Bought it
with my new Target credit card.”
“This is smaller than our dorm during Minority Summer Program.” She sits on the edge
of the twin bed and can almost touch the opposite wall. “Talia also sent this.” She takes a small
hot plate out of her backpack. “Found it when she and Marv unpacked.”
“I’ll buy a pot when I go back to Target.”
“There’s one under the pie. And some packages of ramen. Marv refuses to eat it anymore.
Yiska is teaching him how to cook.” She smiles and stands at the window. “What’s that smell?”
“My candle.” Graciela steps next to Leti and watches the willow tree outside.
“No, the gross smell you’re trying to cover with the candle.” Leti’s nose wrinkles. “Like
charred hair.”
“You are here for Economics help, so don’t judge my economical accommodations.”
Leti laughs and grabs her book before she unfolds the new chair. “I’ll test this out and use
your desk. You hover over me like the tutors and mutter when I do it wrong.”
“Why aren’t you going to tutoring?”
“Schedule conflicts. Don’t you want to help me?”
“Of course I do.” But she thinks about her own pile of uncompleted work and how early
her day starts tomorrow.
After Leti leaves, Graciela calls Jorge. “Can’t talk long. Work to do. Just wanted to hear
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your voice.” She tells him about Leti’s gifts. “It’s so much emptier with her gone.”
“At least you have light now.”
“And some food.”
“You can always move back to Hatch.”
“Not really. I’d feel like a failure.”
“They’d forgive you eventually. But I understand. That’s why I stay one state away.”
“How’s Eddie doing?”
“With his father as his boss? How do you think he’s doing?”
After they hang up, she calls Eduardo. He can’t really talk because there’s a mariachi
emergency. “But you should know our father is sick.”
“Your father. They don’t want anything to do with me.” Before he hangs up, she
promises to send a check soon. It’s probably better they didn’t have time to talk. She doesn’t
want her first phone bill to be more than she can afford.

Midterms are the most exhausting two weeks of Graciela’s new life. She earned Bs on
every exam except biology. In Dolores’s office first thing Friday morning, she lays out each blue
book like a Vegas dealer.
“That’s four Bs. What about the other two classes?”
“Good job, Graciela,” she replies in a high-pitched princess voice not at all like Dolores’s
gruff one. “I’m so proud of how much better you are doing.”
“Yay for you. Improvement.” Dolores holds back a grin. “But the other two?”
Graciela scowls at her. “On the biology test, I only got a C. The multiple-multiple choice
format threw me off. I was busy shooting and editing my documentary, so I didn’t have time to
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view the practice test on reserve at the library.” She opens her eyes wide and pulls out the VHS
of her documentary draft. “But look what I’ve done so far. Profesora Valdez called me in her
office to tell me how impressed she is with the variety of techniques I’ve tried to use, and she
gave me great suggestions for using fewer more effectively.”
“Luisa is a great teacher. She’s done a lot for this film program.”
Graciela frowns. “But the TA gave me a C on my script outline. He said. ‘You’re lucky I
even passed you. It was vague and incomplete.’ I wanted to yell at him! Of course it is. How the
hell am I supposed to know exactly what will happen when? It’s documenting real life!” By this
time, she’s shouting.
Dolores chuckles and lets Graciela pace about her office.
“He said, ‘Maybe you should have profiled a battered woman or domestic worker.’ And I
wanted to punch his face.”
“Why do you think he said that?”
“Because he’s an asshole?” Graciela is indignant about it all over again. “I should have
said something, but everything I thought of was rude.”
“Why did he mention those particular topics?”
Graciela stops pacing and looks at Dolores, puzzled. She repeats the two options he gave
her in her head. Calmly she explains, more to herself than to Dolores, “Because he’s racist. In his
mind, Latinas can only be abused or exploited. Now I wish I had been rude. Or socked him.”
“Did you tell Luisa all this?”
Graciela shakes her head. “She doesn’t have office hours today.”
“Write her a note while it’s still fresh in your head and leave it for her. She has tenure
here and needs to know which TAs don’t support her vision for this campus’s film school. She
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was hired to balance the old boys’ network, not perpetuate it.”
Graciela grabs a notepad from the stack on the shelf.
“Help yourself,” Dolores says sarcastically. “But do it in the hallway.” She gestures at
her door. “I have other students to counsel. Ones who actually make appointments.”
Graciela dismisses Dolores with a wave.
Before she closes the door, Dolores adds, “And maybe you should see Leticia’s shrink.”
Graciela could use some mental help. She spent two days after midterms sitting in a
courtroom. Her attorney hopes to resolve the misunderstanding quickly, so she insisted the
investigation include Bethany’s background, notifying her parents, and interviewing her sorority
sisters as well as her ex-boyfriend. The other side is debating.
While Graciela composes a note to Profesora Valdez, she sits on the floor with her head
against the cool plaster and closes her eyes for a few minutes, enjoys the distant guitar strum and
the din of conversations from the tutorial room down the hall. The faint smell of cleaning
product lingers in the tile and reminds her of restaurant cleansers more potent than green chile.
Her memories are interrupted by a familiar voice. “You studying, Gracie?”
Graciela hesitates to smile. It has been almost six months since she has seen or talked to
Tiffany. What if this is a trick to get information?
Tiffany must want to forget how she didn’t support Graciela after the accusation of
crimes against the sorority and plops down on the floor.
“What are you doing here?” Graciela tone is accusatory. “In this building, I mean.”
Campbell Hall houses the Minority Summer Program offices, Academic Support Center, and
computer labs on this floor. Upstairs, the interdepartmental ethnic studies programs share
conference space. No department chairs. No special advisement for majors. No one in charge.
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Graciela went up there to film at dusk, used the emptiness and the fading light to emphasize the
desperate need for departmentalization.
“Passing through on my way from the research library to biochemistry lab. It’s so hard.”
She whispers, “And that guy’s there every day.”
Graciela looks at her, quizzical.
“The guy–” Tiffany looks away, sucks in her breath.
Graciela realizes Tiffany means the one who raped her at the New Year’s fraternity party.
“He introduced himself like he doesn’t remember me. One time he tried to sit by me.”
Her voice cracks. Graciela can tell she has swallowed these tears, this pain, over and over again.
Graciela gets up, helps Tiffany stand too. “Let’s talk to someone who can help.” Together
they walk to Dr. Alas’s office. Even without a camera, Graciela can right some wrongs.
~~~
Leti watches Carmen walk into Spanish Composition. There’s no place for her to hide,
but she’s certain Carmen will avoid her.
Instead, Carmen sits in the empty chair next to Leti with the same condescending look
she had in the cafeteria two years ago.
“Why are you taking this class?” Leti assumes a Chicana activist would be fluent in
Spanish already, especially given her criticism of Leti’s cultural identity.
Carmen says, “One, because my parents are Americanized and didn’t bring us up
speaking proper Spanish, let alone writing it and two, it’s a pre-requisite for the Latino Narrative
class that’s taught through this department. If we had our own department, those classes could be
free from the tyranny of institutional limitations–” She stops when the door slams shut.
Profesora Zamora, a tall, indigenous woman with two long thick braids, dressed in what
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are usually considered men’s clothes, even a tie, walks in. Her posture is perfect. She reminds the
class, in Spanish, if she hears them speaking English again, they will fail.
Carmen sucks in her breath.
Leti gulps. She kept Spanish as her minor when she changed her major from business to
psychology. She’s never had Spanish class with Carmen, and she wishes Graciela or Jocelyn
were in this class too. By the end of lecture, Leti’s brain hurts. She’d heard this class was
difficult, even for native speakers. But she’s determined to be fluent. When she becomes a
therapist, she wants to provide counseling for people who aren’t so comfortable with English.
She thinks about her mom and Tia Irene, how different their lives might be if they had someone
like Dr. Alas they could talk to about their husbands.
She smiles and turns to Carmen whose face is less angry. “Quieres estudiar mañana?”
Leti hopes it’s not a mistake to ask. Maybe Graciela was right about them getting to know each
other better. They studied well together last fall in deviant behavior, but this time Jocelyn won’t
be there.
“Es possible.” Carmen’s face relaxes a little more. “Por la tarde.”
“Después de mi–” and Leti forgets how to say meeting, so she stares blankly for a
second. “Después de mi conversación con las otras escritorias.” And it comes out like a question.
Carmen snickers. “Si, encontrarme cerca de mi oficina.” She speaks faster than Leti does,
more confidently. But she’s like that in English too. “De MEChA.”
Leti nods, determined to prove to Carmen that she can be Chicana too.
~~~
Graciela wipes the counter after she and Talia serve a rush of students.
“Want to join us for this Sunday’s first family dinner at my new place?” Talia asks.
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“What are you making?”
Talia looks down at the counter. “I can only cook buttered noodles and hamburger patties
with canned corn.” She looks up with a face that says she knows it’s a terrible meal. “Yiska’s
been teaching Marv, but so far all he can make is spaghetti. It has been my weekend meal all
month. And cereal.”
Graciela can’t keep the grossed-out look off her face.
“I know!” Talia sits on the stool by the register, face in hands.
“If Leti can take me shopping, I’ll make the first meal,” Graciela offers. “It’s the least I
can do after you helped me get this job.”
Talia hugs her thank you.
“But breakfast is my specialty.” Graciela frowns at the memory of Eduardo’s chilaquile
disaster from her last visit, while their father recuperated from his flu. “He couldn’t give that pile
of crap away.” She tells Talia how Jorge suggested they put it in the breakfast burrito so
customers wouldn’t be forced to look at it. “Eduardo threw a hot skillet at him and broke one of
my mother’s ceramic pitchers from Mexico.”
“What are chilaquiles?” Talia serves the sleepy guy who pays with pennies.
“Eggs, tortilla, green chile, and queso.” They serve another rush of customers. “I tried to
tell him I could make it better, but he insisted on being in charge. Just like my father.” Graciela
wonders if her parents are concerned about her at all.

Sunday after work, Graciela hurries home to shower before meeting Leti at the diner so
they can buy groceries for tonight’s meal.
“Why do you look so nervous?” Leti asks.
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“I’ve never been part of purchasing at Casa Gonzalez. How do I know the quantity of
each ingredient?”
“You’ll be feeding Talia and Marv, his fraternity brother Thomas, Yiska, Yanaha,
Jocelyn, Red who counts as two people, and me. Ten counting you.
“So two dozen eggs?” Graciela writes a note on her list.
“You need money?”
Graciela pulls out her new credit card. “This counts as an emergency, right?”
Leti drops Graciela and the groceries off at Talia and Marv’s while she goes home to
shower. Marv is with the guys down the street and they’ll pick up drinks.
Talia gives Graciela an apron. It looks like one Tia Martina had. “Can I watch you make
these chile eggs?”
“Actually, I’m making a version of huevos rancheros my mother made for us as kids. It
has a green sauce made from Hatch’s famous chiles mixed with a little crema to reduce the
spiciness and make a smoother, almost cheesy-looking sauce.”
“That sounds delicious.”
“I have to substitute Anaheim chiles because that’s what our local market had.” She
makes her mother’s sauce her own by adding diced, roasted chiles for texture. She isn’t sure how
spicy this family can handle, so the first meal will be a mild one. She uses half the green mixture
to sauté the corn tortillas until they are almost soggy then she lays them out on a cookie sheet to
bake in the oven. This way they dry out a little bit but the green chile flavor is baked into them.
“My brother would criticize me, saying it’s too many steps and people want their food faster, but
I think flavor and presentation is important.”
After wiping her hands, she reaches over to the kitchen counter opposite the stove and
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turns on the little radio. It reminds her of the one Tia Martina kept in the kitchen window. Leti
must have brought it with her. What else has her cousin given away that reminds her of home?
Graciela puts it on a Spanish music station. She and Talia dance a few steps. The song is
familiar. To keep her tears away, Graciela sings along and laughs.
Jocelyn and Yanaha arrive and Jocelyn sniffs the air a few times, narrows her eyes at
Graciela. “You lived next door all summer and never once made breakfast.” She turns to Talia.
“How can we get Graciela to move into this neighborhood so we can eat like this every day?”
“You’re magical if you can get Jocelyn to eat regularly,” Yanaha says.
Leti and the guys arrive in time to set up the card tables and mismatched folding chairs.
Graciela caramelizes onions and tiny pieces of ham. They will provide a little flavor
surprise on top of the tortillas, carefully hidden by the fried eggs. To her, scrambled eggs look
gross. They’re easier when feeding a large group, but individual eggs make each person’s plate
look more appealing. All of it will have a layer of the creamy green chile sauce, a sprinkle of
cotija cheese, and a few slices of avocado on the side.
“Smells like home.” Leti dips her finger into the hot sauce and winces.
“Tonta!” Graciela sounds like their mothers who scolded them for stupidity as kids.
Leti sucks on her finger and frowns. Yiska looks pained for her.
“I’m so hungry!” Red announces loudly and plops on the couch in his track suit.
Talia whispers, “He seems to be doing better.”
Leti whispers, “But he still hasn’t talked to me.” She turns to Graciela, “He and Keysha
were really close.”
Graciela looks at the framed photo of him and Keysha dancing their last night together.
He is a pale pink blur, but she is alive with the music. Guilt overwhelms Graciela. She should’ve
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been there. Should’ve supported her cousin better.
“This reminds me of Sundays after church back home,” Marv hollers at the crowd.
With ten minutes before Graciela is supposed to have this meal ready, she fries the eggs
in the biggest pan she can find. She messes up the first two, so she sets them aside for herself.
But the other ten are cooked beautifully.
“I call this,” she announces before anyone takes a bite, “Huevos Verdes.”
“That’s green, right,” Red mutters. “Like green eggs and ham, Sam I am?” He gets the
laugh he wants, but Graciela glares at him so long, he shushes everyone.
“It’s a version of my mother’s recipe but not as spicy.”
“I like spicy.” Thomas looks at Yiska. “You like spicy?”
Leti elbows him before Yiska can respond.
“Enjoy!” Graciela signals them to eat, but she’s too nervous to join them.
After Red devours everything on his plate, he asks Graciela to be his wife. She gives him
her plate instead.
Leti raises her glass. “Nice job, prima.”
Her friends murmur their appreciation.
“Can you make biscuits and gravy tomorrow?” Thomas asks.
Leti answers him by throwing a kitchen towel his way. “Guests who eat free and don’t
bring anything do the dishes.”
He and Red groan but get up and try to squeeze in the tiny space with Yiska. Marv
changes the radio to the local hip hop station.
After the guys clean up, they return to Red’s apartment and his new Nintendo Tecmo
Bowl game. Graciela wonders how she’s going to get home if she stays much later, but she
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enjoys the company of Leti and her friends. More relaxing than the sorority gatherings.
“So I hear you’re filmmaker,” Yanaha says.
Graciela’s too surprised to reply.
“I told her about the rally and your documentary,” Jocelyn says. “Were you able to
interview Carmen, too?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Everyone stood arm in arm, singing, chanting.” She
takes a sip of the manzanilla tea Leti hands her but avoids her prima’s gaze, worries it will be
critical. “I was able to get footage of the Aztec drummer who kept time for ‘the people, united,
shall never be defeated.’” She chants in a deeper than normal voice.
Jocelyn smiles and pulls a cracked leather album out of her bag. “I brought this to show
you. In case you want historical background for your documentary.” The album has photos and
articles about the grape boycotts in the 1960s. “When my parents first arrived in California, they
went to Delano and worked in the fields.” Her voice is wistful, like she’s channeling her parents
into the room. She looks over the other girls’ heads, out the window toward the north. “They
protested with Dolores Huerta, Cesar Chavez, and stood arm in arm, chanting the same way.”
Her voice trails off at the end.
Yanaha turns to Graciela. “I can’t wait to see your movie.”
“I heard people got rowdy,” Leti says. “Did you get that on tape?”
Graciela winces. “University Police demanded I turn over the tape as evidence. I refused.
As soon as I got home, I left a message for Profesora Valdez asking what she knows about this
kind of situation. I left another message at Carmen’s office about my legal rights.”
If Leti reacts to the second Carmen reference, Graciela doesn’t notice.
Talia asks, “Was anyone hurt?”
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Graciela responds, “The police arrived and arrested a few people.”
“They’re being accused of not following peaceful demonstration protocol,” Jocelyn
explains, “because they threw picket signs at the building.”
“Look!” Yanaha points at a yellowed newspaper clipping where a tiny woman holds a
picket sign. “That’s Jocelyn’s mamá. When we were in junior high, she helped us organize a
boycott of California table grapes. All year, we picketed the local grocery after school and
weekend mornings.” She looks away and Graciela follows her gaze, expects a parade of ‘no
uvas’ signs to float by.
“When that didn’t work,” Jocelyn adds, “Cesar Chavez had to fast again.”
“A hunger strike!” Graciela sets her empty mug down loudly on the table.
The others look at her, wait for her to continue.
“There are people who’ve already talked about it. After I interviewed Carmen, she told
me–off the record–she feels it might be necessary.”
“Necessary for what?” Leti asks.
Talia scoots closer to her and says, “It’s an extreme measure.”
“It was necessary,” Jocelyn says. “People were dying. Kids got cancer from the toxic
pesticides and contaminated water. And died.”
“No one is dying at the university,” Leti says.
“Our cultural heritage is!” Graciela states firmly, quotes what Carmen said motivates her
social action. “Dolores Huerta and the farm workers were fighting for what was important to
them–fair and safe working conditions. We’re fighting for the same–a fair and safe educational
environment.”
“How is it not safe?” Leti asks in her skeptical tone.
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Graciela is ready. “It’s unhealthy for Latinas like us to feel not brown is better or we have
to follow a system that doesn’t work for us.” Those ideas are her own.
~~~
Talia reads the introduction to her paper out loud because, “Something doesn’t sound
right, and who better to fix it than my soon-to-be famous writer friend?”
Leti takes the paper from Talia and moves the misplaced modifiers. “Now read it.”
Talia claps and chews the end of her pen while she thinks about how to start the next part.
After an hour of researching mental health of Latinas in rural areas for The Psychology
Journal, Leti hears Carmen, who cancelled their study plans twice. “Did you read my editorial in
the campus newspaper?”
“In The Daily?”
Carmen continues, “I’m gonna be speaking about it,” and puts a flyer on their table, “at
the rally on Monday. You should be there.”
Talia picks it up. “My African-American History professor was talking about this.” She
looks up and smiles at Carmen. “Why doesn’t the university want the Chicano Studies program
made into a department?” To Leti she says, “We get community service credit if we go and show
support. He says if Chicanos get a department, then they’ll have to give Black people one too.”
She lowers her voice as if he might hear her. “I thought it made him sound lazy.” She wrinkles
her little nose. “Marv says he’s known for being opportunistic.”
“Making us a department legitimizes us,” Carmen says. “People in power want to keep
us–all of us–at a subordinate level.”
Leti glances down at the flyer. The rally is at noon, in front of the chancellor’s office.
Carmen adds before she leaves, “We could use as much support as possible, from
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everyone.” She stares directly at Leti.

Leti approaches the Chancellor’s Quad on Monday and is greeted by the faint beat of an
Aztec drum.
Carmen walks rapidly toward the protesting crowd. She sees Leti and waves friendlier
than she’s ever been. “Hola! You came to support us? Thanks!”
“I can’t, Carmen. On my way to class.”
She chuckles. “Why do you think we’re camping out here? For fun? To skip class?”
Carmen takes a deep breath. “I thought maybe you’d changed.”
Leti looks around for Graciela or Jocelyn to back her up, to acknowledge she’s not the
same Hispanic girl she was when she arrived. But she still can’t derail her academic plans.
“Why do you think you get to be here?” Carmen asks. “Because people from previous
generations stood up for our rights. Damn, Leticia!” A crowd begins to gather near them and
Leti’s Astronomy professor steps forward, places his hands on Carmen’s shoulders.
“Leticia, what Carmen is trying to say is we all have our own way of serving our
community. This is hers. You have your writing. Everyone is an activist in his or her own way.”
He guides Carmen to her folding chair and tells her, “Mi’ja, save your strength.”
Leti is stunned. How does her professor know about her writing? And why does he call
her an activist? She enters Bunche Hall late, but only two students are there, one eats, the other
snores. “What happened?” she asks.
The eater mumbles something about solidarity.
Since class is cancelled, she watches Carmen and her friends from a distance, furiously
takes notes for a possible article in case Jocelyn wants an outsider’s perspective in the next issue
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of La Raza. Listening intently, she hears someone recite a poem: “your books spoke to you/of
justice/and carefully omitted/the filth/that has always surrounded us…” She recognizes the
words as a translation of Claribel Alegría, one of the writers in her last literature class.
Graciela and her camera are set up across the quad near the other reporters and
photographers. Others gather around the tents. The drum beats pulse louder across the campus.
~~~
Later that week, Jocelyn hangs out at The Coffeehouse to finish a project. Graciela
returns her photo album. “I already edited some of your stills into my footage.”
Jocelyn holds up her drawing at arm’s length.
“That’s beautiful,” Graciela says.
“It’s a work in progress.”
Graciela wipes a nearby table. “Want a refill?”
Jocelyn extends her cup with her non-drawing hand.
Graciela brings the coffee back and doesn’t want to interrupt but lingers to watch Jocelyn
add dark red flowers along the path behind the crowd of people walking away from campus.
“Does it look like blood? Too morbid?”
Graciela shakes her head. “Those are clearly flowers. Celebratory, not morbid.”
“It’s too busy for the newspaper,” Jocelyn says, “but I’m thinking of some bigger pieces.
Positive publicity for the people.”
“Like a mural? My brother does them with his crew all over El Paso.” She misses Jorge
and hopes he’ll visit next summer like he said.
Jocelyn thinks for a minute. “I hadn’t considered creating a mural.”
“I have pictures at home.”
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“I’d like to see them.”
“Where did you get that?” Graciela points at the dried ground beef and hard corn shell
remnants on her plate.
“Downstairs. It’s what passes for Mexican food around here.”
“Gross.” Graciela shudders.
“It was the three-dollar special.” Jocelyn grins. “How could I refuse?”
“I could make something a lot more appetizing,” Graciela mutters.
“Then why don’t you?”
Graciela walks away and does some food calculations in her head. She picks up dirty
dishes from the other tables and hears a familiar voice. “This fall formal was our best yet.” A
forced voice. Fake friendly.
“I agree, Katherine,” Bethany replies, “and I’m so glad you were on the committee. We
made all the other houses jealous.”
Instead of returning to the register where she can take Beta Theta Chi sisters’ orders,
Graciela tries to slink away.
Bethany snaps her fingers. “Excuse me, coffee person, I need to order.”
Graciela stops in the doorway, her apron balled up in her hands, and inhales deeply.
Jocelyn looks at her, eyebrows raised.
Graciela exhales and turns around with her fake smile to face the people who tried to ruin
her life. “Hello, Katherine, what can I get for you?”
Katherine stammers, “A small decaf cappuccino,” and her face turns bright red.
“I’ll have an iced coffee,” Bethany doesn’t look up, “and one of these yogurts. I haven’t
eaten all day,” she says to Katherine whose face still registers shock. Bethany looks at Graciela,
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recognizes her despite her black hair.
“Anything else.”
“Nothing from you!” Bethany hisses and storms out.
Katherine hesitates, “Sorry,” and follows her vice-president out the door.

“Why were you embarrassed about doing honest work?” Leti asks.
Graciela didn’t expect her cousin to answer the phone but needs a different kind of
familiar before she goes to sleep. “In the moment, all I wanted to do was avoid my old life.”
“Morales women are good at that,” Leti says, sadness in her tired tone.
“Our unfortunate inheritance.”
“We don’t have to be that way,” Leti says quietly.
“When I told Tiffany later, she promised to put a copy of your newspaper under every
sister’s door and on house mother’s desk.”
“You friends with her again?”
“Cautiously.” Graciela shares Tiffany’s newest dilemma. “I took her to Dr. Alas.”
“She has helped me a lot.”
“I also need to ask you a favor. Can I borrow your car while you’re at work this weekend
for another trip to the grocery store?”
“Who are you cooking for this time and am I invited? I can serve food if I have to.”
“I’m gonna ask our boss if I can sell real Mexican food at The Coffeehouse.” She thinks
back to her ‘real Mexican’ debut at the fraternity party. “I want to have some menu ideas.”
“Sure you’ll have time with classes?” Leti sounds like Dolores.
“I can start with a few easy items, try them out at the next Sunday dinner.”
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“If we sample them first, then I have no objections.”
Graciela promises to put gas in the tank.
~~~
“Staying focused on everything everyday isn’t easy.” Leti gives Dr. Alas a copy of her
op-ed piece about the hunger strike. “We’re so privileged here, but still so marginalized.” Leti
shifts in her favorite chair, tries to get comfortable.
“You are doing what you can to rectify that.”
“Am I doing enough?” She shifts again. “Carmen doesn’t think so. She barely glanced at
my draft when I tried to show her in class. Said, ‘I’m sure the staff will know what to do with it’
and turned back to the book she was reading.” Leti gets up to shake out her legs.
“Did you expect something different from her?”
“She’s not as hostile to me as she used to be. But she’s a lot friendlier to Graciela.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“At least she’s not terrorizing us with her angry boots at the Ethnic Publications office
anymore.” Leti sits back down. “But it’s a sad place to be sometimes.” She shows Dr. Alas the
photo. “Keysha was difficult, but without her everything is even more so. And Talia won’t talk
about her. Changes the subject whenever I mention a memory. She did hang up the framed photo
I took of Keysha dancing.” Leti takes a deep breath. “Red still won’t talk to me.”
“He needs time to grieve in his own way. And maybe you aren’t the right person for him
to share his grief with.” Dr. Alas leans back in her chair. “What else is bothering you?”
Leti blinks a few times then takes a long drink of water. “The letter I sent to mi abuela’s
house in Mexico,” she is too choked up to continue, so she takes it out of her bag and puts it on
the table between them. In a familiar script, it was marked return to sender.
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Dr. Alas doesn’t touch it. She leans over and looks closely. She makes a brief notation on
her steno pad, keeps her eyes on Leti.
“Time for me to stop chasing ghosts.”
“Only if you’re ready. Losing parents is a different kind of grief. Are you sure you can
handle both at the same time?”
“I’m not sure what I can handle anymore. But I know I’m not alone either. Yiska is a
distraction, like I knew he would be, but a supportive one. Sometimes he listens while I read my
work out loud. He cooks for me.”
“Are you comfortable with where the relationship is going?”
“I don’t know where it’s going, if it’s going anywhere. But I like where it is right now.”
Dr. Alas smiles and nods for her to continue.
“Graciela and I are friends again. She tutors me in econ and finally distanced herself from
those horrible sorority girls so she can actually focus on her film career.” Leti gazes in the
direction of the protestors’ tents, set up along the side of the administration building, in clear
sight of all the Deans’ offices, interrupting their view of the Santa Monica Mountains. Brilliant
strategy. “She has a job now. With Talia.”
“Sounds like everyone around you is changing for the better. In part, because of your
influence.”
“I don’t know about that. Thanks to Stefán and Thomas, I have an interview for a higher
paying job. It will mean longer hours next semester, but maybe a career I’m good at?”
“Not as a therapist?” Dr. Alas sits forward in her chair, uncrosses her legs. “How does
that make you feel?”
Usually, Leti hates that question. “I feel like I’m part of something. Even without my
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parents, I have people I call family.”
~~~
Graciela arrives to campus with hot water for Carmen and the other hunger strikers on an
eerily quiet Sunday morning.
“It’s cold.” Carmen’s voice is raspier than usual, weakened by ten days without food. She
pulls her bright red rebozo tighter around her shoulders. She looks pale.
“Jocelyn and Yanaha are bringing blankets.” Graciela opens the thermos and puts a half-
full cup of steaming water in Carmen’s trembling hands.
Carmen holds it under her chin but doesn’t drink. Eyes closed, she lets the steam pass by
her nose and lashes. Along the edge of her forehead, shiny brown hairs curl toward her face
when the warm moisture greets them.
Graciela should have set the camera up to capture this moment, but she’s distracted.
“When we were small,” Carmen points an elbow toward her sister, still asleep on the mat
next to her, “our parents would take us on the bus, early in the morning. It was cold, like this. At
the beach, we’d hold a cup of chocolate, like this. It was too hot to drink but it made my cheeks
warm, my nose tingly. I blinked through the steam.” She opens her eyes.
“People are waking up out there.” Graciela gestures behind herself. “Thousands are
marching from downtown today.” She hopes the estimates are at least close.
“What if it doesn’t help?” Carmen closes her eyes again and slurps some water into her
dry throat. “What if the Chancellor ignores us again?”
“He has a lot of experience in that area.” A voice behind Graciela enters the tent. “But we
can’t let him deter us.” Leti’s astronomy professor is fasting with Carmen, her sister, and six
other students. He has been crucial in rallying faculty support across campus.
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Graciela hands him his own steaming mug and turns to unpack her camera.
He sits next to Carmen and she leans her head on his shoulder. “I’m tired,” she whispers.
“Your body may be weak,” he hugs her sideways, “but your spirit is strong.”
Carmen’s sister rolls over, awakened by their conversation. Graciela frames her
disheveled face in the background. The body heat inside the tent is stifling, but Carmen’s sister
still shivers as she wipes her face with a damp wash cloth.
Graciela pours the sister a mug of hot water.
She crawls over to sit on the other side of Carmen. “We have to be strong.” The sister
sips. “Set an example for nuestra gente.”
“Our ancestors taught us,” Professor says, “it is our patriotic duty to protest.”
Jocelyn pulls back the tent flap and ties it open. “Telemundo is there.” Jocelyn is giddy.
“The streets are filled with politicians and celebrities. Even Cesar Chavez’s son is marching.”
Graciela backs out of the tent so she can capture Jocelyn in the frame. The dew has
evaporated from the grass and the sun warms the campus.
“Come out,” Jocelyn says. “They’ll want to meet you all when they get here.”
Nearby, in a shady spot, Leti sets up chairs for the hunger strikers.
“Move to the sun.” Graciela aims her camera so the administration building is in the
background. She waves until Leti hits the mark then sets up the tripod so she can help Carmen
walk out.
The other hunger strikers come out of their tents, bleary-eyed, sip from water bottles. One
is wrapped in a blanket Graciela recognizes as the one from her prima’s bed. Another is cloaked
in a red, white, and green sarape, a black UFW beanie on his head.

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Before any bodies are visible, the chanting roars up Westwood Blvd.
“What do we want?”
“Chicano Studies!”
“When do we want it?”
“Now!”
The call and response echoes against the historic brick buildings and the giant fig trees
dance in response.
Graciela shifts her camera to the approaching crowd. At least a dozen people wide, the
multitude moves slowly toward the tiny tent city. Led by Aztec drummers, they march in unison.
Some protesters wave flags from various Latin American countries. Others carry banners with
Cesar Chavez’s face and La Virgen de Guadalupe. Colorful signs proclaim, “Chicano Power,”
“Ethnic Studies NOW!” “Que Viva Aztlán,” “Asians for Chicano Studies,” “By Any Means
Necessary,” and “La Raza unida jamás será vencida.”
The last sign inspires the chant in both Spanish and English. Behind Graciela, a familiar
voice shouts with the crowd, “The people, united, can never be defeated!” and Graciela
scrambles backward to keep the growing group in focus as they fill in the grassy space outside
the administration building.
“Watch the edge.” Leti interrupts her own chanting. “Don’t fall.”
Graciela steps down carefully, keeps the camera angled so she can capture the entire
assembly. The drum beat slows, the crowd quiets, and a Chicano professor from a neighboring
university approaches the makeshift stage.
“Education is power,” he says.
The crowd cheers. A trumpet blasts its agreement. Graciela focuses on his dark brown
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face. Sweat dries on the collar of his navy-blue shirt.
He smiles, waits for quiet again. “Thirty years ago, students walked out of their
classrooms demanding better education for Raza in high schools across Los Angeles.”
Shouts of “Walk out” and “Chicano Power” fill the air.
Graciela hands Leti the microphone to hold toward the stage while she adjusts the
camera. She zooms in on faces reddened by the long march across the city and captures the
reactions of the hunger strikers.
“Brown people are one million strong in Los Angeles.” He looks out into the crowd.
“Together with our Native American, African American, and Asian American friends, we are not
the minority in this city anymore.”
The crowd erupts in cheers and chants. A cacophony of drum and trumpet and clapping.
He calls Carmen and her sister to join him on the stage.
“Together,” Carmen clears her throat, “we can honor the legacy of the Chicano
Movement, of students and of farmworkers.”
Graciela follows her gaze to Cesar Chavez’s son and focuses her camera on his face for a
moment while Carmen continues.
“We can set an example for our jovenes, young people who don’t know their history.”
Leti pokes Graciela and points to the group of boys in white t-shirts and baggy khakis.
Their sameness comforts her, but she knows from the nightly news how some people fear them.
“The flames of last spring’s rebellion did not reach this university, but it did affect our
communities throughout Los Angeles.”
Fists raise and heads bow in a moment of silent support. Students clad in college gear
from all over the city show their solidarity, shirts emblazoned with “Chicano Studies for ALL!”
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Carmen continues, “The fire burning here is our desire to be accurately represented in
this university so our education reflects our history and our reality.”
Drums and trumpets ignite the crowd. People chant, “Si se puede! Si se puede!” as
Carmen steps off the stage. Cesar Chavez’s son embraces her and her sister. Graciela focuses in
to capture the moment between them. Professors from both universities shake hands. They all
pose for The City Times photographer.
A light drizzle doesn’t deter the crowd.
Leti pokes Graciela’s other shoulder and points at the administration building. “Even
though it’s Sunday,” she whispers.
Graciela turns her camera and zooms in on the face of the executive vice chancellor who
peers out her window on the third floor. She watches the crowd, her brow furrowed, and bites her
bottom lip.
“She wrote an op-ed piece for the city paper a few weeks ago defending the
interdepartmental structure,” Leti says. “Maybe this will change her point of view.”
“I hope soon.” Graciela shifts her focus back on the hunger strikers who are escorted out
of the sun to the shade of their tents. “Carmen might not be able to take much more.”
Leti lifts her chin toward the television news vans. “More people will pay attention now.
There’s a US Senator talking to the camera.”
Graciela hands Leti her spiral notebook. “Write down names for me?” And she takes the
camera off the tripod so she can enter the crowd and capture its energy.
Leti follows her. “Okay, but I’m using these notes for an article too.” She asks questions
like a star reporter.
~~~
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The next day, after a closed-door session that lasted longer than the rally itself, Los
Angeles University’s Chancellor issues a written statement to the media:
This is clearly an issue of great significance. Students and faculty have exercised
their right to protest and criminal charges against the protesters arrested last
month will be dropped. After reviewing both budget concerns and the history of
effective interdisciplinary programs, the university has decided that creating a
separate Chicano Studies department would further marginalize the program. We
will continue to discuss other options for improvement and compromise.

“What does that mean?” Graciela turns to Jocelyn then Leti as they eat cold pizza in the
Ethnic Publications office with Thomas and Stefán.
“It means Carmen and them starved for nothing,” Jocelyn says quietly.
“She won’t give up,” Stefán says. “Not the Carmen we know.”
Graciela wipes her hands and grabs her bag. “Come by later and update me,” she says to
Leti before she heads to The Coffeehouse for her shift.
“Has anyone read The City Times today?” Thomas asks. “One reporter called Carmen and
them fascists.”
“People driving by the march called them terrorists.” Jocelyn shows Leti the drawings
she has of Carmen and her sister holding hands in their chairs.
Leti speaks up. “Given the political climate on campus and the way our community is
still recovering from the uprising,” she clears her throat so her voice is more than the raspy
whisper which reveals her grief, “I think we need to present a united front to the school
administration and our civic leaders.” She looks at the group assembled before her. “What if we
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create a collaboration issue we can release before finals? Each magazine can take a different
angle and create follow-up stories.” Her suggestion is met with nods from all the editors.
“Marv said he could interview his professor in African-American studies,” Thomas adds.
“Anyone want to ask the hunger strikers a few questions?”
“Graciela did,” Leti says. “I can transcribe her video.”
Jocelyn asks, “Who can put together some statistical analysis so we can incorporate
charts and graphs of the involvement. Maybe some historical data too.”
One of La Raza staff volunteers.
“Without a grant like we use for summer,” Stefán continues, “how can we print the
number of pages we need?”
The Ohana editor says, “I’ll draft a script to call existing advertisers. Maybe we can
offer them a deal if they pay a little less for this and pay ahead for the upcoming semester.”
“I’ll cover the Administration’s response,” Thomas says. “Once the Chicano Studies
Department is in place, it’s only a matter of time before other student groups demand their own.”
Leti musters more energy. “Carmen and them could die.” The room quiets. Thomas and
Stefán stand next to her. “The larger community needs to understand why these methods are
necessary.” She reaches for Jocelyn’s hand. “We owe it to our ancestors.”

Day 14 of the hunger strike, a small crowd of students, mostly friends of the hunger
strikers and staff for the Ethnic Publications are joined by community members and a few
faculty. They wait for the Dean who promised some progress after the last negotiation.
A lone drummer pounds out a solemn beat and sage burns in the crisp winter air. A tutor
pushes the professor in a wheel chair, Jocelyn pushes Carmen, and her sister wheels herself.
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They struggle across the damp grass toward the stage and the crowd parts. People shake
their hands and pat their arms as they pass by.
Yanaha follows them, carries extra blankets and a thermos of warm water.
Thomas and Stefán clear a space for the wheelchairs.
Graciela walks backward in front of them for more documentary footage. Leti watches
her prima’s dark hair flow around and worries it will interfere with her shot, so she takes out her
own liga and after Graciela mounts her video camera on its tripod next to the stage, Leti walks
up behind her to make a quick trenza.
She wipes her own mass of curls back, away from her face, but sees its giant shadow on
the ground next to her. She’s reminded of the Oceanography trip and Keysha’s photos. Her
amiga’s memory strengthens her resolve. “If the Dean doesn’t show soon, there will be more
civil disobedience than University Police have ever seen.” Many in the uniformed perimeter
fidget with batons restlessly.
The crowd in the grass below them grows a little.
“Why don’t you stand closer?” Yiska’s question startles Leti.
She looks up at him. How can she not love this guy? “I still have to be reminded I’m part
of all this.” She holds his hand and walks into the crowd.
The administration building doors open and a group of suited men escorted by campus
police take the stage. The crowd waits in silence. The shortest one steps forward and speaks very
fast: “Chicano Studies will be given an academic counselor, a limited budget, the authority to
hire three professors in its first year, and to select from among the existing professors currently
with dual appointments, one who will be the chair of the department.”
The weary crowd cheers. The drummer starts a celebratory beat. There are a lot of hugs.
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“We won!” A hunger striker collapses by the wheelchairs. “Where’s my tortilla?”
“It’s better than what we had before,” Jocelyn says.
Carmen tries to stand. Stefán and Thomas help her to the stage after the administrators
leave. Her voice is quieter, as are her new shoes. Yanaha gives her a sip of water.
“All of you,” Carmen points at the crowd, “made this possible.” She looks at Leti and
raises her fist in the air. “Si se puede.”
The drum beats. The crowd cheers. They walk and wheel down the brick-lined path,
weave around the campus’s historic brick buildings. They chant, “Si se puede! Si se puede! Si se
puede!” louder and louder until the entire university feels their victory.
The parade ends at The Coffeehouse patio. Stefán gets the Ethnic Publications boom box.
Metal tables scrape across the concrete and space is cleared for an impromptu dance floor.
People move in unison. Leti and Yiska join their friends to dance.
“See, you racist TA,” Graciela shouts from behind her video camera. “I could not have
written this ending.” She joins the line next to Leti.
No one cares which ethnic group anyone else belongs to. Today, the people are united.

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Winter Break

Graciela serves green chile stew with corn and potatoes, perfect for the chilly winter
evening. It’s also an affordable option. At Sunday dinner, it’s ladies only because Yiska made
video-game-playing, pizza-delivery-plans with Red. Marv and Thomas are at a political
leadership conference.
“His professor recommended him,” Talia explains. “He’ll be able to use those
connections for a scholarship to graduate school since his track days are over.” Talia’s voice
reveals her frustration. Marv’s most recent injury will prevent him from competing, but he keeps
his scholarship until he finishes his bachelor’s degree.
Leti moves to sit next to Talia and half-hugs her.
Before everyone eats, Graciela shares her news. “Profesora Valdez nominated my
documentary for the Student Film Festival.” She sounds like a little kid, desperate for approval.
All four ladies clap and whoo hoo. After that, the only sound is the clink of spoon against
dish and the occasional murmur of approval as they eat.
Jocelyn gets up for a second helping. “Thomas is going to be sad he missed this. It’s
perfectly spicy.”
“Brother too.” Yanaha wipes the last of the stew from her bowl with the fry bread she
brought to share.
“I wish Keysha was here,” Leti says. “She loved spicy food.”
They all stare at the empty sixth chair.
After dinner, Graciela sits back and sips café with a hint of canela. She adds milk and
sugar until it’s perfectly sweet. “We should sell this at The Coffeehouse.”
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“Suggest it.” Talia turns to the others with good news. “Our boss likes Graciela’s ideas
for Gourmet Mexican breakfast items.”
More claps and cheers.
Leti frowns. “Does this mean I won’t get homemade lunch for free anymore?”
Graciela laughs. “No te preocupes, prima. I got your back.”
“Not exactly free since you buy the groceries,” Jocelyn says.
“But I can’t eat it that way.” Leti refills all their mugs.
~~~
“You missed a deliciously spicy dinner last night.” Leti pulls Yiska to her, kisses him.
He steps away, feigns resentment. “Didn’t save me any.”
“No leftovers. Your roommate ate seconds.” She kisses him again. “Still hungry?”
He nods and kisses her. First her mouth. Then her neck. He unbuttons her shirt and kisses
left then right. “You okay?”
She nods and holds his face gently.
He turns to kiss her hand. Then her scarred cheek.
She walks backward until she’s against the futon.
He moves down her body with his mouth, unbuttons her jeans and slides her out of them.
He kisses her until the pleasure is too much.
Leti pulls his head up and kisses him back. Mouth first. Neck. His large, hairless chest is
soapy clean. After she unbuttons his pants, he hands her a condom. She climbs on top, faces him
and gently slides herself back and forth, slowly until they’re both pleasured again.
She can’t imagine this man ever hurting her. His gentle sex is so much better than the
hurried attempts in her old boyfriend’s truck. She shoves her history out of her mind,
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relinquishes past pain, and enjoys this moment.
He lifts her, shifts them both to lie down. Him behind her, skin touching. He holds her
tightly, kisses the back of her neck and shoulders. He even massages her scalp.
“If you do that, I may doze off.”
He doesn’t stop.
In her dream, Leti walks down a street in Hatch. It’s snowing. Through a large window,
she watches Yiska with her dad. They both sip something warm by a fireplace. When she wakes
up, it’s still dark. She feels betrayed.
She untangles herself from him and walks barefoot across her linoleum floor.
He doesn’t move, but looks less pained, like his dreams might all be peaceful.
Leti pours herself a glass of tea from the pitcher he made earlier. It tastes like her dad’s,
only sweeter. She frowns. Was this a mistake?
She’d declined his invitation to Christmas with his family, even though he included
Graciela. She blamed debt and work. But really, she’s afraid. His family welcomed her when she
was Jocelyn’s friend, but this would be different. Yiska is theirs. Leti’s an outsider, not sure he
could ever be hers.
He shifts on the mattress, his long legs exposed. The moonlight filters in through the
blinds, and Leti closes them tighter so the morning sun won’t disturb their sleep. She crawls
under the sheet, pulls it up to her chin, and tries not to disturb him with her shallow, hurried
breath. He shifts again, closer to her, and without waking up, lays a protective arm across her
body and nuzzles his chin into her hair. She matches her breathing to his and gradually relaxes.
In the morning, she wakes to bacon frying. It was in her dream on a burger at the athletic
summer barbecue. She sits up and smiles at Yiska’s bare back. He squeezes oranges intently.
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She slips into yesterday’s shirt but can’t find her other clothes. “I should help.”
“Almost finished.” He butters slices of wheat bread and puts them in the pan face down.
She moves in to kiss his cheek. “Smells delicious.”
He kisses her back. “You too.” He scrambles the eggs into the bacon crumbles and serves
the mixture on top of the crispy pan toast. “Hot sauce?”
Leti takes it and the two glasses of juice to her tray table. “I’ll miss you next week,” she
says before she fills her mouth with breakfast.
He stares over his bite. “Me too.”
~~~
“I’ve ruined our Christmas Eve dinner plans. I didn’t know all the grocery stores would
close early today.” Graciela opens Leti’s bag. “We can’t just have pie and fried chicken. You’ve
been working around this stuff all day.” She inhales deeply. “Okay maybe we can.”
Leti eases her white Tempo onto the freeway. “I have some other stuff we can throw
together at the house.” She cruises on the almost empty 405 toward her apartment in Inglewood.
“And we’ll feast tomorrow at Twin Dragon.”
“Talia and Marv too?”
“You know she can’t cook.” They exchange glances. “And he tries but…”
Graciela watches the city roll by out the car’s dingy window. “You live so close to the
airport.” She thinks about her last flight home. “I won’t be flying anywhere, anytime soon.”
“It’s been two and a half years since I’ve been to Hatch,” Leti says. “Sure didn’t think
Los Angeles would ever become my home.”
“What about when you graduate? Will you leave?” Graciela holds her breath, hopes her
cousin doesn’t plan to move.
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“I’m not sure. Talia talks about applying to graduate school. She wants me to study for
the GRE with her this summer.” Leti shrugs. “I’m better at school now than I was in Hatch. But
I’m also excited about my new job. Maybe it’ll turn into something permanent.”
“Maybe you can do both.” They exit the freeway past a giant doughnut. “What is that?”
“Randy’s. Some mornings, when the ocean breeze blows just right, I can smell them.”
The streets are almost deserted, but Graciela still turns left and right, looks out all the
windows. “You live by a cemetery?”
Leti slows down for a dog in the street. “And the race track. Maybe I’ll take a day off and
go there next semester. Win big money.” She yawns, clearly exhausted after finals and the
collaboration issue and long hours at work the past week.
“Have you heard from Yiska?”
“He called last night and left a message.” She parks carefully between two cars in the last
available space on her street. “I was already asleep.”
While Leti showers the diner off, Graciela digs through the cabinets for something to
make with the fried chicken. On a high shelf, she finds some angel hair pasta, a can of tomato
sauce, and beef bouillon cubes. In the fridge, butter, half of an onion, and some slices of wheat
bread. There are a few small cloves of garlic on the counter. She breaks the noodles into pieces
and boils them once the bouillon has dissolved. She shreds up the two smaller pieces of chicken,
pulls all the meat off the bone, and heats it in a pan with diced onion, adds it to the soup when
it’s almost ready. The butter and garlic she melts together in a pan then uses the mixture to coat
the bread and turns the heat up until each piece is toasted crispy on both sides.
“Damn! What smells so delicious?” Leti walks out with her hair in a towel. “Did you find
a store open while I was showering?”
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“You had all this stuff here. I just mixed it together.” She gives Leti a taste of the broth.
“Like sopa de fideo with chicken.”
“And garlic toast like Sizzler.” They’d gone once on a trip to Las Cruces, but their
mothers weren’t happy with the service.

After dinner, they take Leti’s warmest blanket and two chairs up to the roof. “It’s colder
here than it was on your parents’ back patio.”
“And you can’t see quite as many stars.”
“More than a normal night. There are fewer lights on.”
A plane flies across the sky above them. “That was close.”
“Probably won’t be too many more landing tonight.”
Graciela sits up. “You forgot to call Yiska back!”
“He said he wouldn’t be home tonight. They have a tribal celebration in town.” Leti shifts
in her chair. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“How do you know you love him?”
Leti sighs, snuggles deeper into the blanket. “I said I’d miss him when he was gone.
Beyond that, I’m not sure.” She turns to Graciela. “Not sure what love looks or feels like.”
“With guys, it was always about them.” Graciela pulls the blanket tighter. “I made it
about them. They never knew me.” She looks away from her prima. “Carmen is the first person
who does. Besides you, of course.”
Leti elbows her under the covers. “Really? You and Carmen?”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad? I’m starting to understand her passion, even respect it.” Leti leans
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closer to Graciela’s face. “But don’t call me if you get in the way of those boots!”
“She has new shoes.”
Leti chuckles. “Have you talked to her about all this?”
“Only about my documentary. Did you know she’s applying to law school next year?”
Graciela sits up and the warmth under the blanket escapes. The cold takes her breath away. “I
might add political science as a major. She makes it sound so interesting.”
“Instead of film?”
“With film. I can double major.”
“And minor in business?”
“I’ve finished all but one of those classes already.”
“Speaking of your financial skills,” Leti sits up too, “we could really use help with
money stuff at Ethnic Publications. Maybe Thomas can get you a stipend.” Leti stands up and
points. “He lives in that building over there. He told me about the rooftop.”
Graciela stands up too, turns to look in all directions. “You can see the whole city.”
“Come back for Fourth of July. He said it’s amazing. Right now, it’s too cold.” Leti
adjusts the blanket and sips from her mug of hot tea. “I think I’ll minor in Chicana/Chicano
Studies. Some of the Spanish classes I already took will count.”
Graciela yawns. “Carmen will be so happy.”
Leti yawns too. “I’ll be sure to tell her at our next meeting.”
“Maybe I’ll tell her when I see her on New Year’s.” She imagines their moment, away
from school and the struggle. No drums. No speeches. She pictures them together without the
camera and enjoys the quiet of the night.
They are awakened by someone launching leftover fireworks.
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“Guess we didn’t have to wait for summer.”
Graciela shakes, not from the cold. “I thought it was gunshots.” She gasps for breath. “I
was dreaming about the uprising. My parents were there. Jorge and Eddie too.” She can’t hold in
her sobs. “I couldn’t see them through the smoke. But I heard them screaming.”
Leti holds her tightly until her fear subsides.

378

Spring Semester 1993

“Campus cops give real tickets?” Yiska looks at the notice Leti received in the mail
about unpaid parking citations and the threat of her car being booted. All the citation dates are
Saturdays when he dropped her off at the diner before going to campus to work out.
Leti waves the notice in his face. “This is real! It’s expensive and it’s on my driving
record.” For a minute, she imagines a bunch of old guys sitting around laughing at her then
picking up their phones and calling university administrators to share her stupidity.
“Football players do it.” He apologizes and tries to hug her.
“I don’t want sorry.” She pushes him away.
He falls into the nearby chair, looks helpless.
“How am I supposed to pay $175?” She’s so angry she can’t stop crying.
“I don’t have money either.”
She wipes off her face. “I want this fixed.” She storms out of his apartment, bumps into
Red. “You’re all idiots!” she yells at him.
She sits in her car up the street, mad at herself for getting too close to this guy. She’s not
crying anymore, but she feels so empty.

The next day, Leti puts the first issue of Third Wave to bed and returns to her apartment
after midnight. There’s a message from Yiska. “Give me time. I’ll fix this.”
She calls Graciela.
“You knew I’d be awake?”
“Our first paper is due tomorrow,” Leti says. “I’ve got nada. This semester is already
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fucked up.”
“What happened?”
“Yiska happened.” She tells Graciela about the parking tickets and his recent message.
“How’s he gonna fix anything without a job?”
“Can he take out one of those emergency loans?”
“Not without a way to pay it back.”
“I’d offer you money if I had it,” Graciela says.
“Gracias, prima. Mrs. Carrillo suggested I call and request a payment plan. Since I’m a
student, they should let me.”
“Tell them you’re from a small town and never heard of such things.”
Leti tries to laugh. “I never should have trusted him.”
“Don’t say that. He just fucked up. We all do.”
“I know.” She pours herself some unsweetened tea. “I screwed up too. Maybe I should
reconsider being a journalist.”
“How big could your mistake be? No one ever died from bad reporting.”
“A grassroots organization could falter from bad publicity. I was trying to be unbiased.”
Graciela rustles some paper on the other end of the line and mumbles, clearly distracted.
“It’s late. See you tomorrow.” Leti sits in quiet darkness, dreads the rest of her week.
~~~
On Friday, Graciela meets Leti on the Burgers ‘n’ Brew patio for lunch. The trees around
them are full, provide tons of shade, but Leti sits in full sun with her food.
“You didn’t wait for me?”
“Too hungry. Skipped breakfast. No time to buy groceries.” She bites her apple and
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waves Graciela away, distracted by the newspaper. The frown lines in her face deepen.
“We should sit in the shade.” Graciela unfrowns her own forehead. Leti doesn’t respond,
so Graciela sits with the sun at her back. She hands Leti the Ethnic Publications financial folder.
“You all are a mess.”
Leti puts the paper down. “What did you mess up?”
“Not me. The publications’ finances.” She touches Leti’s free hand. “Thanks to you, I
only slept a few hours the last few nights. But I finished all my assignments.”
Leti raises her eyebrows. “We appreciate your genius.”
Graciela watches the group of pink-shirted girls walk by. They talk too loud and look
down at everyone around them. “Was I that bad?”
“Sometimes.” She finishes the apple and takes it to the trash can.
“Professor Palacios said I could make a film for my creative project.”
Leti groans and puts her head down on her arms. “I have no idea how to make something
creative from what we’ve read for class.” She sits up. “But I did interview Mrs. Carrillo and
Yiska’s mom about La Llorona. I had no idea there were so many versions of the weeping
woman story.”
They had decided their mothers don’t count as women who have lost their children to
tragedy. They made the choice to abandon their daughters.
“Have you started your research yet?”
Graciela can’t answer because Derek’s smug face stares at her from the page opposite an
article about tuition increases. “He’s running for President?” Graciela asks between clenched
teeth, totally disgusted. “How can a creep like this be a political leader?”
Leti reaches over and pulls the paper toward her. “You know him?”
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“I did.” Graciela opens her eyes wide to indicate how well she once knew him. “Gracie
did,” she says, deflated, distracted from her pursuit of a film topic about a crying woman.
Leti shrugs, “It’s just student government.”
“But it could start his political career. Derek once said we should have a fence along the
US-Mexico border to keep out illegal aliens.” Bile fills her throat when she recalls how she’d
agreed with him. “He’s scum. If he’s in charge here,” she looks around the patio, “only white
students will be admitted.” She points to the adjacent graph. “And we’ll all be drowning in debt.”
She’s certain Derek enjoyed reading that next to his face.
“He won’t have any real power. Not as student body president.”
“He will eventually.” Graciela points at the corporate endorsements Derek has. “There’s
a quote from Pete Wilson’s assistant. Derek interned there.” Graciela says in a menacing tone,
“And his dad owns one of LA’s top PR firms.”
Leti looks at the paper more closely, points at Derek’s last name. “I know his dad! He’s
the one who interviewed me.” Her face turns red and her voice changes to a higher pitch. “He’s a
misogynistic asshole!” Now Leti understands the errors of Graciela’s ways. Her old ways.
“Is this a private meeting?” Tiffany walks up with her biology book, looks less
disheveled than the last time they saw her.
Leti shakes her head and points at the empty chair. “We were discussing the future of
campus politics. Your thoughts?”
Graciela barely acknowledges her former roommate. She scours through the rest of the
daily campus paper. “Who else is running? We have to make sure they defeat Derek. Or all the
sacrifices Carmen and them made will be undone faster than– ” She looks up, “I’m not sure what
to compare it to but this asshole won’t waste any time getting what he wants.”
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“We don’t have time for politics,” Leti says.
“Did you know about this?” She shows Tiffany the photo of Derek.
“I know that guy,” Tiffany says quietly and points at the name listed for the vice-
presidential candidate. Her previously pink face turns gray.
“That’s him?” Graciela scoots closer to her.
“How can he be– He’s a– It’s not right.” Tiffany gets up and walks to a nearby trashcan.
The people around her protect their food as if her sickness is contagious.
~~~
Leti practically runs to keep up with Graciela. They enter the Ethnic Publications office
and the atmosphere is subdued. Leti pushes past her prima to ask Stefán, “What’s going on?”
Jocelyn responds, “Carmen called me late last night to say she’s taking the semester off.
The hunger strike exhausted her.” She leans on Yanaha who must’ve come for moral support.
They don’t want Jocelyn to stop eating again.
Murmurs throughout the office of “No way.” and “That’s terrible.” Leti thinks someone
said they’d miss the boots. She looks at Graciela. “Did you know about this?”
Graciela shakes her head and flops into a nearby chair. But they can’t mope for too long.
Thomas arrives with Talia and Marv. “I brought reinforcements.”
Talia whispers to Leti, “He chase all his other staff away?”
“You tell him I edit all your papers?” Leti whispers too loudly.
“I told her you edit mine, too.” Thomas hugs Leti sideways. “She saves every issue with
her magic touch. How’s your new job?” His hug lingers and Talia gives her the eye.
Leti shrugs out of his arm. “Not as exciting as around here.” She takes the daily student
paper out her bag. “We need to respond to the fee hikes and the possible elimination of
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affirmative action in our next issues.”
Graciela grabs the newspaper from Leti. “We also need someone to defeat this dude.”
She pokes Derek’s picture. “I hate this dude.” She growls and crunches the page in her hand.
Stefán stares at Graciela, wide-eyed. “There are so many reasons I like you.” He turns to
Leti. “First, upcoming issues.” He looks back at Graciela, “Then politics.” To the rest of the staff
he says, “Without Carmen, everyone is going to have to put in a little extra time.”
Leti knows her presence, even angry, will be missed. “There are rumors the university
may retaliate legally because of the negative publicity during the hunger strike.”
Murmurs from the staff of “Bullshit!” and “They can’t do this to us.”
“That’s a civil rights violation,” Marv says.
“Gather evidence to support your idea,” Thomas says, “and you’ll have your first article.”
Stefán steps up to the bulletin board. “Instead of a collaboration issue, each community
will publish separate issues with the same theme, in support of affirmative action.” He puts up
chart paper with an empty ladder.
“The covers will be the same,” Jocelyn says. “I’m working on the design now.” She holds
up her sketchbook filled with lines and circles. It doesn’t look like anything to Leti yet.
The Ohana editor offers, “I’ll consolidate our lists of advertisers and reach out to them
with our new format.”
“Each issue will have a legal angle,” Thomas says, “like Marv suggested.”
Jocelyn says, “Carmen would be the perfect – ”
“I’ll call her!” Graciela jumps up. “Just because she’s not here doesn’t mean she can’t
help out.” She sits back in her chair and mutters, “She can’t be that tired.”
Yanaha speaks up. “Many LAU athletes come from isolated areas and we’d be stuck
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there without affirmative action.” She looks at Marv. “Many are also first generation in our
families to attend college. I could profile some students for each publication.”
“And I’ll contact faculty supporters,” Talia offers. “Maybe get them to write one of those
opinion pieces.” She leans over to Leti, “See how I delegate to people who write better?” She
winks. “I need at least five, right?”
Stefán fills in one ladder for all the issues to use as a model. “I’ll take all the photos.” He
waves Keysha’s camera around.
Leti closes her eyes and misses her roommate in the silent moment.
“There’s one other thing.” Thomas taps the blank space on Stefán’s chart. “We need to
endorse a slate of candidates.”
Stefán looks past Leti to Graciela. “A Students First campaign. A whole ticket of
representatives from the various student groups.” He pulls a folded piece of notebook paper out
of his bag. “I’ll be the campaign manager. We need a speech writer,” he looks at Leti.
She shakes her head. “You know I do not have time for politics.”
“It’s the only way to oust the Greek-affiliated officials who have been running student
government for so long,” Thomas says. “Students of color are underrepresented in office.”
Leti feels stupid but asks, “Isn’t it decided by a vote from all students?”
“Yes!” Thomas answers, clearly annoyed with her ignorance, “but have you ever voted in
a school election?” He points to the Asian guy next to her. “Have you?” And he goes around the
room, asks everyone. Only first-year students are exempt from his wrath.
“See what you did!” Jocelyn hisses in her ear.
Leti whispers back, “Is he going to explode?”
“Historically, people of color don’t vote.” Thomas walks around the table. “They’ve
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never believed their voice should or could be heard or would even count. Plus, there’s a history
of election fraud in this country. Once blacks were given the right to vote–”
“Black men,” Talia interjects.
“Sorry, sister,” Thomas continues, “there were restrictions because of literacy level and
land ownership and work history.” He points at Leti, “Your ancestors didn’t have access to the
vote because of language or citizenship.”
Why does Leti not know any of this?
“Perceived citizenship,” Jocelyn says. “And people born on this land have been treated as
second-class citizens since the land was stolen from them.” This time, Yanaha leans on her.
Stolen land? There’s still a lot Leti needs to learn.
Marv steps up next to his fraternity brother. “We need a strong presence in the upcoming
student election.”
Talia groans in Leti’s ear. “I know that tone.”
“Marvin William Foster for President.” Stefán pauses. “I like the way it sounds.”
Graciela says to Leti, “Carmen should be here.”
Leti sighs. “She can’t do everything. Give her time.” She can’t believe she’s sympathetic
to the woman who was once her worst nightmare.
Jocelyn sits up, “I nominate Yanaha for vice-president.”
Yanaha’s melodic voice floats above the crowd. “I’ll do it in Carmen’s honor.”
A staff member from each publication volunteers for the various offices until Stefán has
completed the nomination form.
Graciela jumps up. “I’ll help with publicity. Students First for Student Success!” She
frames each word with her hands in the air. “It’ll be epic.”
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Stefán grabs her arm and lowers his voice, so the staff all leans in closer. “We have to
proceed like the walls have ears.” He looks around suspiciously. “Our strategy meetings will be
at an undisclosed, off-campus location.”
Leti rolls her eyes at Stefán’s theatrics.
He glares at her then resumes his speech. “Next meeting, I’ll have scraps of paper with
the address. We’ll convene later that evening.”
~~~
Graciela returns to Student Legal Services even though her case has been closed. No
charges filed. She nods to the old guy at the reception desk–she should know his name by now–
and quickly navigates the maze of corridors to her lawyer’s office.
Carmen sits behind her desk, thinner and paler but with ferocious concentration.
Graciela lingers in the doorway, watches for a moment. “Jocelyn said you’re taking this
semester off. What are you doing here?” She hears her accusatory tone.
Carmen looks up, startled by the interruption. “Some of us can’t afford to not work.” Her
raspy voice drags over each word. She sips from her steamy mug then stands slowly to return
files to the tall cabinet behind her. “Why are you here? More sister trouble?”
“You look better,” Graciela says.
“Better than a wheelchair? I hope so.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking time off?”
“You were excited about your documentary and the award.” She holds the back of the
chair and gazes out the window. “I didn’t want to ruin your high.”
Graciela stares at the shirt and pants that now hang too loose on Carmen’s frame. She
moves closer. “You don’t have to protect me.” She thinks of all the bullshit she listened to when
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guys talked, how she feigned interest. “If you need me, I can listen.” The first time that offer has
been sincere.
Carmen breathes deeply and forces a smile. “What legal advice do you need now?”
“No one knows more about civil rights legislation than you. There has to be something–”
Carmen interrupts her. “Jocelyn can handle La Raza. She’s got an artistic eye and she
won’t piss anyone off.” She returns to her chair. “There’s other staff who can help.”
“That’s me. I’m the other staff. This is how I’m helping.” Graciela stands over her. “You
can create the best response to the administration’s threats to eliminate affirmative action.”
Carmen turns away, won’t look at Graciela. “It’s because of us, isn’t it?” She clenches
her jaw and turns back. “We stand up for our academic rights and they retaliate with this?”
Graciela feels heat from Carmen’s eyes, passion returns to her tired voice. She puts a
supportive hand on Carmen’s arm. “It doesn’t have to be long.” She looks at her notepad. “One
column. Jocelyn said you’d know what that means.”
Carmen nods, looks past Graciela to a distant future or her ancestral past. “I know.” She
bangs her fist on the table and Graciela instinctively looks down for the notorious boots, but
Carmen still wears the soft moccasins from the hunger strike. “Our work here isn’t done.”
~~~
After work Friday, Leti visits Dr. Alas. “Shouldn’t my life become less complicated over
time?” She dumps out her Yiska problem before she even sits down.
“Is your main concern really the money? If he walked in right now and handed you $175,
would the money fix the problem?”
Leti stands to pace the room and think. “He has disrupted my life. Made it even harder
for me to do everything I need to do. Before Christmas, I felt like I had it all under control.” She
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counts on her fingers. “New job so no more diner after New Year’s. Guy who likes me. Cousin
who talks to me. Friends who support me.” She sits on the edge of the chair and looks at Dr.
Alas. “I’d almost forgotten about losing my mom, my dad, and Keysha.”
Dr. Alas makes a note with raised eyebrows.
“Not that I want to forget about them but being sad all the time is exhausting.” She
presses her palms into her eyeballs, cools the heat they emit.
“Let’s focus on one issue here. Losing people. Do you feel like you’ve lost Yiska?”
Leti looks up, vision blurred. “How can I trust him anymore? Graciela says he made a
mistake and I shouldn’t hold it against him. We all make mistakes. But how can I be sure the
next one won’t be bigger? More serious?”
“You can’t know that about anyone. Look how Graciela treated you before. Now your
relationship is stronger.”
“That’s different, we’ve been close all our lives. A long history of together.”
“Shouldn’t that make it harder?”
“You’re the shrink! How should I know?” Leti hears the rage of her drunken dad rise
inside her. “I don’t want to be angry like him,” she whispers.
“Think about everything you’ve learned: addiction, motivation, fear.”
“But I’m not an addict. I haven’t had more than a few drinks since,” she can’t recall.
“And what am I afraid of?” She thinks about the dark solitude of her apartment.
“What’s the one thing you crave most? The one thing you must have? When you don’t
have it, you get angry, like now, and when you had it, life seemed so great.”
After a minute, Leti responds, “Control. Before Christmas, I had everything under
control.” She checks off another list. “Carmen doesn’t hate me anymore, maybe even respects
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me. Put some money in savings for summer. I was finally comfortable with Yiska being more
than my friend. And I established new holiday rituals with my new familia.”
“As a child of an alcoholic, it’s a necessary evil. Your mom forced you to take control
before you even knew how. Before it should have been your responsibility.”
“You think she feels guilty?” Leti pushes her hands into her curls. “Because getting her
back is the one thing I can’t control.”
“So what did you do about it?”
“Gave up.”
“Not really. You exhausted all your options for finding her. You even confronted your
dad and defended her. And you made the choice to let her go. You took control.”
“Should I let Yiska go too?”
“Have you exhausted all your options?”
~~~
Graciela enters Campbell Hall a few minutes before her tutoring session. She sips her
iced Cappuccino Royale and pauses at the flyer for the new Chicana lesbian mentor program.
She thinks about Carmen and exhales audibly. She feels someone behind her.
The low, gravelly chuckle causes Graciela to turn her head slowly. “Stalking me,
Dolores?” Graciela looks at her watch. “I’m on my way to tutoring.”
“I know. That’s why I scheduled my walk-through. I’ve got my eye on you, New
Mexico. Want to make sure you don’t slip over to the dark side again.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Graciela walks past Dolores to the trash
can. “I’m not going back. Ever.” There’s resentment in her voice she hadn’t heard before.
“Except when Jorge graduates. But that’s El Paso.”
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Dolores blocks Graciela’s path and says quietly, “I know. I talked to your mother.”
“She called you?” Graciela hasn’t spoken to her mother since the credit card rejection.
“She wanted someone to scream at about the corrupt city that stole her daughter. When
she hurled homophobic insults at me, I hung up on her.”
Graciela is unable to respond. She hasn’t shared her relationship with Dolores. Or what
she hopes will become a relationship.
“Don’t worry, Hollywood.” She pats Graciela’s shoulder and moves out of the way. “A
lot of people here,” she gestures to the vastness around them, “want to see you succeed.”
What can Graciela say? She resisted Dolores’s support for so long and now she’s come to
rely on it so much. “Maybe you can talk to the program director about hiring me as an economics
tutor this summer even though my GPA is– ”
“Abysmal,” Dolores finishes for her. “But you do have a knack for the numbers.”
Dolores gets too close to Graciela’s face. Café mocha still lingers on her breath. “I’m just
grateful I never had to bail you out of jail or identify your body at the morgue.”
“There’s still time. Don’t give up on me yet.” Graciela’s turn to laugh loudly.
“If you really want to tutor for Minority Summer, I mean, the Students First Summer
Program, you have to do orientation over spring break.”
The name change is part of the conscious students of color campaign. “We aren’t
minorities anymore.”
“But don’t get too caught up in the election madness. You can’t lose focus on your
classes. Keep those priorities straight.”
“How’d you know–?”
“I know everything!” Dolores’s booming voice jolts students in the nearby room, startles
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people entering the building. She laughs. “It’s what deranged Chicana lesbians do. We know
things.”
Graciela smiles at Dolores’s back until she disappears around the corner. Her laugh
echoes behind her.
~~~
Sunday night, exhausted from another double shift at the diner, Leti doesn’t stop at
Talia’s for dinner. She hasn’t resolved anything with Yiska and she can’t be fake to their friends.
After a long bath, she eats a bowl of cereal with bananas. From her tiny table, she looks
out the kitchen window and sees an occasional plane descend into the nearby airport. The ones
she can’t see often rattle the windows and shake the building. Feels like an earthquake. She curls
up on the couch with her Llorona reader to make notes. It’s all she has the energy for.
The phone rings after eleven. The notes in front of her have deteriorated to scribbles.
“Crap!” she says to the empty apartment. Another ring. “What the hell?” She hops on her not-
asleep foot to the kitchen counter. “Hello?” her voice is scratchy and brusque. What if it’s Yiska?
“Hello.” She repeats softer, more quietly.
“We missed you at dinner,” Graciela says.
“I was reading La Llorona. And I still have no idea what to do for my creative project.”
“Talia thought maybe you were sick. Said you were upset about some accident.”
“Two Latina girls who were playing jacks on the sidewalk in front of their apartment
building were hit by a drunk driver. They’re in critical condition. The teenage driver, white, is
the son of an influential politician. He was released into her custody.” Her tired reporter voice
sounds detached. “I’m pissed she’s trying to get the charges dropped.”
“Maybe you should’ve taken time off from classes to focus on work, like Carmen.”
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“I have to ask Mrs. Carrillo if that’s still an option.”
“Have you talked to Dr. Alas?”
“The Yiska part. She agrees with you about trying to work it out. But I didn’t think
family dinner was the right time.” Leti sniffs and coughs. “Maybe I am getting sick.”
“I’ll take some hierba buena to work tomorrow. Stop by when you get to campus.”
“Where’d you get it?” Leti thinks about the soothing herbal concoctions their moms used
to make for them as kids. The healing aroma fills the lungs of her memory.
“Eddie sent me a care package. Said he heard parents send them to kids in college.”
“You tell him about Carmen?”
“He was at Jorge’s when I called. They’re happy for me. Whatever that means.”
Leti chuckles, coughs more. “I’m happy for you too. If you’re happy.”
Graciela exhales hard. “I am. More than I’ve been since we arrived.”
“Back in Minority Summer Program, we were completely different people.”
“So clueless. And now it’s Students First Summer Program.”
Leti isn’t surprised. “You’re making more than movies, aren’t you?”
“Your writing changes lives too.”

The television news blares in the background and Leti can’t enjoy her pizza. The Orange
County reporter stands outside the hospital where the two Latina girls have been taken off life
support. Leti can only sit there and stare at the screen, even when it changes to sports news.
“You’re not watching this.” Yiska stands next to her, not too close, but his freshly
washed scent envelops her like a hug.
“They’re gone,” she says, unable to swallow comfortably. “Those two little girls died
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because some drunken asshole drove right over them.” She couldn’t save them either.
He turns a chair around, straddles it, and sits closer to her.
“My dad used to drive drunk,” Leti says. “Until I was old enough to drive him. Not
legally but responsibly. More responsible than he was.”
“I’m not him.”
Leti looks away.
“Give me a chance. I can fix this. Fix us.”
“Every shift I work at the diner and each payment I send to City of Los Angeles makes
me mad at you all over again.”
He closes his eyes. “You don’t have to trust me now. I understand. I’ll earn it back.”
She wants to believe him, wants to let go of this ugliness inside like Dr. Alas said she
should. Like she did with Graciela. “But what if I can’t. You threw me off balance.”
He touches her scarred cheek gently with one finger.
She leans into his touch until his palm is on her cheek and breathes until calm takes over.
“Jocelyn said she thought you two were eating here.” Talia interrupts their moment,
unaware anything is wrong. “I had to drag Marv out of the publications office or Thomas
would’ve kept him until morning.”
The pizza in front of Leti is cold, but she feels obligated to offer them some.
Talia waves it away. “I feel like a salad.” And she leaves them to order.
Marv eats a slice in two bites.
Yiska picks one up, too, barely nibbles the tip.
“We need more than this,” Marv says. “I’m hungry.” And he follows Talia to the counter.
“He’s not careful,” Yiska says, “he’s gonna be twice his size by end of semester.”
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“He can’t practice with you at all?”
“He tried. Trainer won’t allow it. Worried about permanent damage.”
Leti winces. “That’s why Thomas got him involved with the election.”
“And Marv’s a likable guy.”
Leti makes a face.
“You love him like a brother.”
“If they are that annoying,” she elbows him, “I’m glad I’m an only child.” But she thinks
fondly of Jorge and Eduardo and how much they still support Graciela.
“Everyone on track will vote for him. Most athletes will.”
“Even ones in fraternities and sororities? Might be a line they don’t cross.” She
remembers how Graciela suffered and Tiffany’s troubles.
He smiles. “Red.” He’s still staring at her through those long, dark lashes when the happy
couple returns.
“Can we get a ride home?” Talia asks.
“Red’s not here today,” Marv says.
Leti salutes them. “Anything for you, Mr. President.”
Talia rolls her eyes.
“I like the way that sounds,” Marv says. “You’ll be the presidential chauffeur.”
“I take tips.” Leti forces a smile. But she’s still upset about the little girls who died, so
she gives Yiska her keys to drive them all home. He’s careful to stop completely at every light
and sign, slows at busy intersections.
It’s late when they pull up to Talia and Marv’s. Leti rests her chin on the open window
and watches them walk, arm in arm, inside. She’s never envisioned her life like theirs.
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At Yiska’s, he waits with her driver’s door open. “You okay the rest of the way?”
She nods.
He gestures for her to get in. “I meant it. I’ll earn your trust again.”
She looks in her rear-view mirror at the corner. He still stands at the curb, watches her
drive away. She hopes he can.
~~~
“Jocelyn designed the most amazing mural for the Students First campaign.”
“Mural?” Clearly Leti has been preoccupied.
“Dolores got us permission to paint a mural outside the Academic Support Center.”
Leti hands Graciela a scrap of paper from Stefán. “If you can leave now, I’ll drop you off
on my way home,” she says, “but you’ll have to take the bus from there unless someone else can
give you a ride.”
“You aren’t going to the campaign meeting?” Graciela can’t believe this. “I thought we
were in the struggle together.”
“You have me confused with your new girlfriend.”
Graciela frowns. “She’s not going to be there either. Too tired after working all day.”
“I understand. She’s still recovering. I guess in some ways, so am I.”
They’re in the car and Graciela remembers what else she has to share. “Look!” She points
to the A on top of her recent paper. “It is about this amazing book, Chicana Lesbians: the girls
our mothers warned us about.”
“Our mothers didn’t warn us.”
“I wrote it all myself.”
“The book?”
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“The paper. Stefán helped with ideas for my research. Carmen read it and loved it.”
“Proud of you, prima.”
Graciela waves furiously and watches Leti drive away, still a little sad they won’t be
together for this. But Leti had to do a lot of college without Graciela when they first arrived.
Back then, Graciela never thought about her cousin’s loneliness. She was a horrible person. A
worse than horrible cousin.
While Graciela sets up her tripod, one of the guys from Pride walks into Feast from the
East. “Stefán, why are we meeting way the hell over here?” He’s the candidate for secretary, the
only white person on the ticket.
Stefán ushers him to the large table-booth in the back of the room “Because there are
spies all over campus. And the owner’s son is my new boyfriend.”
“Your real boyfriend or some random guy you’re stalking?”
“Shut up! I don’t do that anymore.”
The boyfriend appears with a tray of beverages. “I’m real,” he says. He leans over to
whisper, “But he did stalk me for a while.”
Everyone laughs and Stefán pretends to pout. Briefly. He’s about serious business. “We
have a lot to do and they close in two hours. Beverages are free, but you all have to order
something. At least an appetizer. I promised.”
Graciela readies the camera and agrees to split the Chinese Chicken Salad with Jocelyn,
who swears it’s the best on earth.
Stefán tries to focus the group. “As soon as Marvin arrives–”
He walks in the door at that moment, looks behind himself and under tables. “Making
sure I wasn’t followed. Checking for bugs.” He laughs, a room-filling laugh. His presence is
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dynamic. No one is better suited to win this political race.
Graciela expects to see Talia with him, but he arrives with Thomas, Yahana, and Yiska.
“As I was saying, Mr. President, Madame Vice-President, and you who still needs a job
to do,” Stefán winks at Yiska, “we have a lot of work to accomplish in a short time.” He hands
out paper with the agenda on one side and follow-up duties on the other.
Maybe Leti knew Yiska would be here to support his teammate, and she’s still not ready
to deal with him. Graciela pans across each concentrated face. For a few minutes, there’s silence
and people sip seltzer water.
Marv is adamant about running a clean campaign. “Outside this circle,” he draws with his
finger in the air, includes Graciela, “no disparaging remarks about any of the other candidates.”
His gaze reinforces how serious he is.
Yanaha looks pointedly at Graciela. “If you know dirt, bring it here. Only here.”
Graciela hands her the article Carmen wrote. “Derek’s fraternity was on probation for
those songs that degraded women, specifically Latinas.” Why did she ever want that life?
Yanaha’s eyes widen, and she passes it to Stefán who files it away.
Jocelyn hands out the publicity poster sketches she drew. “If we start during spring break,
we can finish before campaigning actually begins.”
Graciela frames Jocelyn’s passionate gestures and the group selects the drawings they
want reproduced for election week T-shirts. Stefán has a friend who offered to make buttons at a
discount with some of the smaller images.
Yiska speaks up. “One way to put students’ needs first is with food.”
Graciela pans out to focus on their half-eaten meals. “Like a fundraiser?”
She captures Yiska who says, “Yanaha and I can make frybread. Ingredients are
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inexpensive, familiar, and it’s not available around here.”
Stefán claps. “Now we know who’s in charge of fundraising.”
“Great idea!” the representative from Ohana, who will be the community service
commissioner on the ticket, offers her family’s support for a lumpia sale.
Graciela has never eaten Filipino eggrolls. If her family was here, they could roast green
chiles for their famous rellenos. No one would resist them. She can’t believe she misses them.
Stefán hands out blank calendars and they schedule fundraisers the remaining weeks
before spring break and daily campaign duties leading up to election day.
Exhausted, Graciela finally packs up her camera to catch the bus home.
~~~
Leti takes a few mornings away from work the week of midterms. She sits in the corner
of the patio and watches Marv and Yanaha. They approach each table of The Coffeehouse
customers with flyers for the upcoming frybread fundraiser. She can’t hear what they say, but his
smile and her hand gestures cause mostly positive responses. Only one table waves them away.
Maybe they’re friends with the girls she confronted about their racism.
Leti’s view is momentarily blocked. “Your cousin sent these.” Tiffany sets a plate with
triangles of tortilla filled with queso and chile. “Easy cheese, extra spicy. She says go inside if
you need a refill, it’s too busy for her to leave.” Tiffany looks as tired as Leti feels.
“Talia’s not in there?”
Tiffany shakes her head. “She went to class at twelve.”
Leti didn’t realize how much time had passed, how long she’d been watching the pair of
politicians convince their classmates that all students deserve a quality education, even if their
parents didn’t have one or couldn’t afford one.
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“No books?” Tiffany holds up her own, hard-covers with drawings of strange specimens.
Leti pulls out This Bridge Called My Back and Sister Outsider.
“You majoring in women’s studies?” Tiffany’s face contorts with confusion. “What kind
of job can you get with that?”
“And Psychology. These are for my research paper.”
“You know anything about rape victims?”
Leti almost chokes on the gooey, spicy treat. “I’ve read about support groups and done
some research for The Psychology Journal about trauma and depression.”
“Do you think if I tell now, anyone will believe me?” Tiffany takes a long drink. “I was
drunk and didn’t completely remember at first.”
When Leti had tried to talk to Tiifany about this last semester, Tiffany had been drinking
in the middle of the day and wasn’t cooperative. She seems sober now.
“He clearly remembered, even though he pretended not to when he first saw me in class.
He would make inappropriate comments about my red hair, other innuendos.” She stops and
looks over Leti’s head. “Pieces of that night come back to me and every time it makes me sick.”
“Like when you saw his face in the paper.”
“He sat behind me in class and whispered how he liked it when I screamed.”
Leti is nauseated.
“I had to drop the class.”
She wishes she’d recorded Tiffany or at least took notes. But maybe Tiffany isn’t telling
Leti the Third Wave reporter. Maybe because she’s Graciela’s cousin and they’ve shared the
now-cold snack, Tiffany sees Leti as a friend.
“I’m stronger now,” Tiffany says. “Shouldn’t he suffer some consequences?”
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“At the very least, he shouldn’t be allowed to run for student body vice-president.”
“Dr. Alas suggested I confront him about it.”
“She has that approach,” Leti mumbles, thinks about how Dr. Alas wanted her to
confront the parents who abandoned her. “It might be too late to file charges. We’d have to ask
someone in legal services.”
“Carmen works there.” Tiffany tears the tip off a triangle of quesadilla. “I can ask her.”
Leti wonders how much Graciela has shared with Tiffany about Carmen.
“Can we write a story about it?” Tiffany asks. “Mostly I do science writing,” she points at
her books with her elbow, “but maybe this’ll help other girls not experience what I did.”
Leti isn’t sure Tiffany should, but she writes the room number for the Ethnic Publications
office on a napkin. “Meet me after class.” And Leti tries to resume her reading but can’t
concentrate. She’s grateful they’re interrupted.
“You’ll be at the Students First fundraiser and introduction rally on Friday, won’t you?”
Marv hands Leti a flyer.
Yanaha makes a face at Tiffany, so Leti introduces her as Graciela’s friend. “We’re so
glad your cousin’s on our side now,” Yanaha says, a not-so-subtle dig at Tiffany and the sorority.
“She kicks ass with campaign publicity,” Marv adds.
Tiffany reaches over and takes a flyer out of his hand. She looks at it, then up at them.
“You’ve got my vote!” She puts the last piece of quesadilla into her mouth.
Leti takes the empty plate inside and refills her tea.
Graciela serves the last of her real Mexican treats to the hungry students.
Leti points at the clock to remind her they have class in twenty minutes.
Graciela wears her Students First T-shirt with her apron folded down, so the logo Jocelyn
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designed isn’t covered. Leti has a button on her backpack. Keysha’s photo is still in the front
pouch, but her mom’s letter is now in her apartment with the jewelry from Tia Irene.
Graciela makes a crazy face at her but nudges her boss and helps one more customer
before they say good-bye to Tiffany and head toward La Llorona.
~~~
After midterms, Carmen invites Graciela over for dinner. Amid campaigning, classes,
and The Coffeehouse, she feels like she could collapse any moment. How has Leti managed to
accomplish so much, successfully, all these years?
They’re seated at the kitchen table and Carmen says, “Someone wants to discredit you.
They want your sexual assault accusation on your official university record.”
Graciela’s face gets hot then suddenly cold. “Who does?” It never occurred to her that her
old life could return so viciously.
“The greek candidates.” Carmen spreads avocado on her corn tortilla.
“I’m not even running for office.” Graciela puts her fork down and pushes her plate
away. “Why would they do this?” She thinks about Marvin’s insistence on a clean campaign, no
disparaging remarks about their opponents. “I should’ve known they wouldn’t play fairly.”
“Since no official charges were ever filed, it will be difficult. There are no corroborating
witnesses, no evidence you drugged Bethany, but she can use the media against you.”
“I did not drug her!” Graciela feels betrayed.
Carmen raises an eyebrow, takes a bite of her tostada, and chews slowly. After she
swallows, she replies, “Your former sister came into the office with one of the candidates for a
consultation. I recused myself. Conflict of interest.”
“What did they say?”
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Carmen continues in what Graciela imagines to be her courtroom voice. “The panhellenic
council is attempting to have the complaint of sexual assault accessible to the public and the
opposition could use it against you. Against the Students First campaign.”
Graciela sits at the edge of her chair and holds her glass of now warm juice with both
hands, hates what must happen next. “I will disassociate myself from the campaign before I let
Derek and vice-president-rapist win with their dirty tricks.”
“You can call out their racism before they do anything publicly.” She sips her tea. “This
is not sound legal advice, you know.”
The idea makes Graciela nauseated. She sips her juice, but it doesn’t help. “That’s not the
kind of campaign Marvin and Yanaha want. I respect them enough to comply. I’ll call Stefán in
the morning. Someone else can use my footage.”
“Before I handed the case to the other attorney, I indicated you are considering a sexual
orientation discrimination case. I suggested she mention that.”
Carmen’s information seems like it’s going to ruin Graciela’s new life. She doesn’t feel
like eating, so she sits in a comfortable old chair and faces the wall, thinks about how unfair the
situation is. It has been almost a year since she was that person.
Carmen leaves her plate and massages Graciela’s shoulders.
But that’s not the kind of attention Graciela wants or needs right now. “I don’t want to be
part of any case.” She knows she shouldn’t be angry at Carmen, but she’s the only person
around. “I need to go for a walk.”
“Let me put my shoes on.”
“Alone. To clear my head.” She needs to eliminate the memory that has begun to haunt
her present life. “This can’t be my legacy. I have worked too hard and endured too much.”
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The next morning, Graciela calls Stefán before she leaves her apartment to explain the
unfortunate accusations. Half asleep, he dismisses her concerns.
“I can’t be the scandal that ends Marv’s political career.”
“Drama much?” Stefán asks. “If frat boys start mud-slinging, of any kind, I, not future
student body president Marvin William Foster, will respond appropriately. Besides, I heard from
a reliable source that the feminist paper is profiling women who will do some damage to the
greek candidates. Not my doing, in no way connected to Marv or Yanaha. All legit.”
Graciela knows about Tiffany’s article but doesn’t admit it. “Shouldn’t we at least tell
Marv and Yanaha so they aren’t caught off guard if something does happen?”
“I’ll call them after we hang up. But I’ll also have Thomas draft a suitable response if
they’re approached with this nonsense.”
~~~
Leti waits for Talia in the shade of a gum tree outside the research library. Closes her
eyes for a few minutes and tries to relax.
Talia approaches with beverages and pastries to share and the aroma of coffee grounds
envelops Leti. They stay on the bench outside a few moments to snack. Talia eyes the distant
crowd skeptically but smiles and waves back when Jocelyn notices them.
Leti asks, “Are you doing anything to help Marv with the campaign?” Election day isn’t
until after spring break, but it seems like all their friends can talk about.
“A professor from the University of Washington read my research and wants to work
with me on my PhD.”
“What are you gonna do?” Leti is too flustered to eat the rest of her treat so she puts it in
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her bag for later.
“It’s a fully-funded program, but how am I gonna tell Marv? He has his heart set on
staying right here, getting married, and starting a family.”
Leti pats Talia on the back and wishes she knew the best consejos to offer. “He’s got time
to adjust. It’ll only be for a few years. Maybe he can find a graduate program there too.” The
university clock chimes, a reminder they don’t have much time left for research.
“He doesn’t want to leave California.”
“He talked about moving after the uprising.”
“You want me to create another riot to chase his ass outta here?” Talia looks pained at the
memory. “And now, with all this election hype, he’s talking about running for governor one day,
maybe even president of the United States.” She sits up straighter and looks at Leti, eyes wide.
“A Black president. I’m so sure! Never gonna happen.”
“Then you’ll have to move to the White House.” She imagines visiting them there.
“This election has been great for Marv’s political career. Not so great for our
relationship.” Talia’s usually cheery demeanor has completely faded. “He and Thomas stay up
all night making plans. Strategizing, he called it. I’m not the focus of his world anymore.”
“When he wins, he’ll be too happy to be upset when you leave.”
“When he wins? You seem overly confident.” Talia looks away. “White folks have ways
to make sure we never win.”
“Normally I’d agree, but remember those lyrics that made Keysha so angry? Derek’s in
the fraternity that was on probation for distributing them. If all students are reminded, he will be
questioned at least. And we honor Keysha’s memory at the same time.”
“Marv won’t do anything dirty. You know how he is. Believes politicians should be
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scandal free.” Talia’s tone exudes doubt and resignation.
“He won’t have anything to do with it. Neither will you, future first lady.”

Leti walks into the Ethnic Publications office at the same time Stefán and others leave for
election business. They exchange knowing nods. She pulls the song lyrics article from La Raza
archives. Hopefully she can write an op-ed piece that can do some damage. And some good.
Tiffany arrives shortly. “I can study later. This is more important, right?”
Leti doesn’t want to answer. Are the rights of students to feel safe on campus more
important than their education? It’s an argument that echoes her questions to Graciela and
altercation with Carmen prior to the hunger strike.
“Besides, I can’t concentrate for long periods anymore. I hear his voice and it distracts
me. Sometimes I swear I see him sitting at a table near me. I try to ignore him.”
“Is he in your class this semester too?”
Tiffany shakes her head, her red hair too limp to move much. “He might have class with
my roommate or another sister, though. I hear them talk about him. One of them might be dating
him.” She says the last part with discomfort in her throat, sounds as if she might vomit again.
“Does he come around the house?”
“He did once. I saw him walk up the front steps as I was getting ready to leave for class.”
She pauses, picks at the skin on her cuticles and makes them bleed. “I ran back to my room and
stayed in bed the rest of the day.”
Leti looks closely at Tiffany’s face. Dark circles peek through her concealer. Lines
deepen between her eyebrows. The inside edges of her lips look scabbed over, like she’s been
chewing on them. “Have you told Dr. Alas about any of this?” Leti blurts out. Tiffany exhibits
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the characteristics Leti learned about in her Anxiety and Depression class second year. The story
isn’t as important as getting Graciela’s friend the help she needs.
“No,” Tiffany says hesitantly. “I told her what happened when Gracie took me that one
time, but then I started having nightmares and I never went back.”
Leti is sympathetic. Her own demons used to appear when she was asleep. “Did the
nightmares stop?” She asks quietly, certain she already knows the answer.
“Not unless I drink a lot. Then I can’t remember what I dream. Most nights, I just don’t
sleep.” Tiffany stares at the posters on the wall, the covers of the original ethnic publications.
“They let everyone have their own paper. That’s nice.” She says.
Leti worries she might reignite Tiffany’s trauma and wants to call Dr. Alas for a phone
consultation right now, but it’s after nine and there’s no way her therapist is still in the office.
Maybe she can convince Tiffany to leave a message before they go home.
As if reading Leti’s mind, Tiffany exhales hard, sits up taller, and in a stronger voice
says, “I’ll go see Dr. Alas tomorrow, I promise. Now, we need to do this. No other students
should have to feel like I do.”
~~~
At the start of spring break, Graciela’s sex scandal hasn’t surfaced, but she’s still anxious.
Carmen invites her to a free movie screening and Graciela isn’t sure if it’s a date or two friends
watching a movie. Three of Hearts is an interesting choice, but maybe it was convenience, not
content, that made Carmen choose it.
The lights come back on and Carmen asks, “Was your sorority sister your first?” She
unwraps a chocolate bar and offers Graciela a square.
“She was nothing.” Graciela takes a piece and shifts her body toward Carmen.
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Around them, student chatter grows louder. The question/answer part of the screening is
set up. The microphone up front squeals with feedback.
Carmen narrows her eyes. “So, you’ve never been with a woman?”
Prior to this moment, their conversations focused on her case, protest strategies, and
unjust laws. This place seems too public for Graciela’s confession, but she can’t lie to Carmen or
hide anything from her. “I visited my brother his first year in college and he took me to a party.
Buzzed from the jungle juice, I danced with the only white girl there. In the morning, we woke
up naked together.”
She hears her mother: “It’s a sin!” And her Tia Martina: “Pray for them.”
“She was nothing, too.” Graciela watches the busy stage hands set up chairs for the panel.
She turns back to Carmen and leans in. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” She kisses her,
gently but with clear desire.
Carmen takes her hand. “You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”
“No guy ever cared about what made me comfortable or uncomfortable before.”
“I’m not a guy, remember?” And she kisses Graciela back.
They stand up to leave and Graciela pulls Carmen closer to her. “I want to be
comfortable. With you.” She pauses a moment to inhale deeply and kisses Carmen again.
Carmen responds with open mouth. Her tongue finds Graciela’s and they exchange
sweetness. Graciela reaches up to hold Carmen’s face and exhales.
~~~
The first Sunday of spring break, it’s Leti’s turn to make the family dinner.
Talia watches her, hopes to learn some tricks. “Marv’s pissed at you because I told you
about the UW offer first. He made the guys boycott tonight.”
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“Not my fault.” Leti dips blue corn tortillas into the hot green chile sauce. “Maybe we
can talk about not the election.” She sprinkles a generous layer of shredded chicken, diced green
chiles, and grated manchego cheese onto the tortillas then covers them with another layer of
tortillas. “Would he tell me if Yiska had another girlfriend?” She looks at Talia, splashes a little
sauce on the stovetop.
“The guys aren’t here to clean up your mess, so watch it.” She shakes her head, clearly
exasperated. “Yiska doesn’t have any girlfriend but you. And where’d he go, anyway?”
“He’s gone?” Leti pours the remaining sauce over the layered enchiladas and sprinkles
the final layer of cheese with diced green chiles.
Talia bursts out, “That doesn’t look like enchiladas,” then covers her mouth.
“New Mexico style. Trust me.” Leti slides the pan in the oven. “What do you mean,
Yiska’s gone?” She imagines his bedroom empty and tries to remember the last thing she said to
him. Nothing. She said nothing when he tried to offer her an olive branch.
“How do you, his girlfriend, not know he’s gone. He said bye to Marv Friday morning
when we left for school. Is something going on you’re not telling me about?”
“But the track invitational is next weekend.” Leti stirs the white rice and brown onion
into hot corn oil. “He has practice this week.”
Talia contorts her face. “I don’t keep track of their performances like you do.” She gets
up from her stool by the counter and watches Leti make the rice. “Okay, I know that’s not how to
make rice. Even I know how to make rice.”
“Arroz verde. No, you don’t.” Leti thinks about Yiska’s performances, and she doesn’t
imagine him running around the track with his relay teammates. She measures four cups of water
and four tablespoons of bullion powder to pour over the rice. “I’m gonna take a plate over to Red
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later. He’s not mad at me anymore. He’ll tell me what’s going on if he wants to eat.” While the
water boils, she adds a few pinches of oregano, massive handfuls of cilantro, and diced
calabacitas.
“I’ve never seen rice like that. You sure it’s good?”
“Stop dissing my rice.” She lowers the fire, puts the lid on the giant pot, and turns on the
radio she’d given her friend, the one her mom played while she cooked. “This is how my mom
made it.” And instead of crying or being angry, Leti turns up the staticky salsa volume and
dances in little circles from stove to sink, cleaning up her mess.
Talia imitates her and they dance while they set up the card table for their guests.
Jocelyn and Yanaha arrive and Leti resists asking where her brother went.
“Smells delicious,” Jocelyn says over the music. “How long before we eat?”
Leti checks the timer by the stove. “Rice needs about fifteen more minutes. I made a
double batch so we can all take a plate home.” But really, she made so much hoping Marv would
change his mind and tell her where Yiska is.
“Smart!” Yanaha collapses on the couch. “I’m too tired for dancing.”
“Whose fault is that?” Jocelyn teases and sits next to her. “Yanaha insisted we go to
Glam Slam last night.”
Talia and Leti look at her confused.
“Prince’s new club downtown.”
“Keysha loved Prince,” Leti says.
Talia excuses herself to the bathroom.
Leti wishes she’d talk about Keysha. She looks around the living room. At least she put
up the pictures Keysha took. Leti hasn’t even done that. She pulls the pan of enchiladas out of
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the oven and the others admire the beautifully browned cheese on top.
The spicy fragrance fills the room and Graciela enters with Carmen. “Smells like New
Mexico in here.” She hugs Leti before she greets the others.
“You brought your camera?” Jocelyn points at the large black bag.
Graciela grins and raises her eyebrows a few times. “Ready for your audition?”
The others look at her suspiciously.
“My creative project for La Llorona is a film based on the elements of the myth: water,
loss, and of course, a crying woman. I wrote the script for my screenwriting class,” she hands out
copies, “and I was hoping you’d all help me by acting in it.” Her voice goes up with anticipation.
“A little presumptuous we’d all have time, don’t you think?” Leti chides her cousin.
Graciela grimaces. “I know. But if I promise to make rellenos with the next batch of
chiles my brother sends, could I convince you all.”
Talia sidles up next to Graciela. “Did you bring those cookies for dessert tonight?”
Graciela produces a bag of the delicious biscochitos she made for The Coffeehouse.
“Then I’m in,” Talia says. “After we eat.”
Jocelyn looks through the pages. “I’m going to find the shortest part and claim it now.”
“I already did,” Carmen tells her.
Jocelyn pretends to pout but hugs her amiga. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Before Leti eats, she calls Red and yells over the video game beeping and electronic
cheers that compete with the deep bass of “My Posse’s on Broadway” pounding from the stereo
speakers. “I saved you a plate of enchiladas.”
The sound pauses. “That’s why I love you!”
“Tell the other fools there’s food here, but only for people who aren’t mad at me.”
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Red laughs and repeats what she said.
Leti hears a door slam.
“Shit! Thomas is gonna eat mine too!” And Red hangs up.
She looks at her friends. “We might have an invasion soon.” She secretly hopes Yiska
has returned from his mysterious trip and arrives with them.
~~~
Stefán fills drink pitchers while Graciela sets up her camera for their final strategy
meeting before the election. She joins Yanaha and Jocelyn at the largest table in the back. “You
two are early.”
“We were studying for midterms at the new coffee place across the street,” Jocelyn says.
Graciela fakes a gasp as if they’ve betrayed her. “Don’t make that a habit.”
“Your food is better,” Jocelyn says. “Their coffee is expensive and it’s too dark in there.”
Yanaha adds, “I was too distracted to concentrate anyway.”
Graciela cringes in agreement. “I wasn’t able to finish my second paper for Chicana
Lesbians and my last two poli sci test scores were low. I haven’t studied for my second
Sociology midterm at all.”
“We should go to Norms after this and pull an all-nighter,” Jocelyn says.
“I love their pie.” But Graciela’s eyes protest, sticky each time she blinks. Her brain
becomes fuzzy. Does she have enough money for a whole Chinese Chicken Salad?
Marv, Thomas, and the others finally arrive.
Jocelyn shares, “The mural is complete, and we came up with an idea to use the space for
campaigning the next three weeks.”
Graciela explains, “Yanaha and Marv will schedule interviews with their supporters to
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talk about the issues. They will be broadcast in the Cucina every evening.”
Marv adds, “I have three set up already.” Graciela zooms in on his face. “I thought my
friends could talk to Yanaha and hers could talk to me.”
“And this won’t cost us any money.” Jocelyn looks at Stefán for approval.
He jumps up and turns over the poster board he’d kept a secret. “We have raised more
than $10,000 for the Students First campaign.” Cheers erupt. “Fry bread was a huge hit.”
Stefán’s colorful pie chart shows how the funds will be utilized in the upcoming weeks.
“We should schedule a debate,” Yanaha says. “Marv versus Derek.”
Graciela scowls. “I am not videotaping that. Time to train an apprentice.”
Stefán calls the greek ticket headquarters from the restaurant’s back office. He returns to
the group, his face contorted with disgust. “One of those sexist songs is the background of their
outgoing message.” Too bad it couldn’t accidentally play as Derek enters the debate.
“We should make up one of our own,” Jocelyn says. “What rhymes with Derek?”
“Don’t go there,” Marv says, “we won’t play their game. Clean campaign.”
Graciela looks at Stefán who shares the rape article Third Wave will release at the end of
the week. “It should damage their campaign, but it’s not affiliated with any of us.”
Several eyes drift toward Graciela. She pans out so she can capture them all before
responding. “Tiffany was my roommate. When she told me what happened, I sent her to Dr.
Alas. She went to Leti all on her own. I haven’t even seen the article.”
Jocelyn adds, “Leti made sure I didn’t know until it went to the printer.”
Graciela peers through the camera at everyone’s reactions. Their discomfort worries her.
“Isn’t that the job of a good reporter? To make sure we know all the facts? Shouldn’t the students
know who they’re voting for?” She defends her cousin. “It’s not like we re-printed those
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repulsive song lyrics, trying to unearth old pain. Leti didn’t go out looking for some scandal. A
legitimate victim came to her with a story.”
“Several victims,” Jocelyn says. “After Tiffany told her what happened, she found other
girls who the vice-presidential candidate had victimized. All sorority girls. All at his frat house.”
“A rapist doesn’t deserve to hold office,” Stefán said. “And our hands are clean.”
Their meeting ends early, and everyone leaves quickly for their study groups.
“Gracie,” a soft voice whispers, familiar and hesitant. She uses a name Graciela once
insisted on and now barely recognizes.
“Katherine.” It has been almost a year since Graciela left the sorority house and de-
pledged her allegiance to that world. Feels like longer.
Katherine tries to hug Graciela, but she steps back. “I almost didn’t recognize you with
dark hair.” Graciela doesn’t respond. Katherine continues, “I wish I could have been as brave as
you,” she pauses, “wish I had spoken up for you.” She swallows hard and breathes raggedly, like
the air in her lungs is stuck on something. “I was afraid to make things worse.”
“For me? How could the accusations I faced and the humiliation I felt be any worse?”
“For me,” she says. “They already considered me an outsider, always made sure I knew I
wasn’t one of them.”
“You made me see that. Why’d you stay?”
“They’re my only source of support. I am on a full scholarship from the Greek system.
Without them, I have nothing.”
“You had pride.” Graciela returns her attention to packing her camera equipment.
Katherine walks away and Graciela’s last bit of resentment follows her.
“Who was that?” Stefán asks when Graciela joins him at the bus stop.
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“Someone I used to know.”
~~~
Leti agrees to have dinner and study with Yiska. Maybe she’ll learn why he was gone.
She sits at the table, curious why his smile is so huge. She can’t fake one back.
He hands her an envelope with $125 inside.
“Where’d this come from?”
“Uncle needed help at the ranch. Not enough, I know. All I could earn over break.”
“What about your scholarship? Can’t it be taken away.”
“Uncle knows. No record.”
Leti stands up to hug him.
“I missed you,” he whispers.
She hugs him back, “You skipped the invitational?”
“You’re more important.” He kisses her. “And I promised I’d make things right.”
Leti can’t say how she feels out loud. It’s choked inside her like a hot desert wind.
He must sense it because he gets out his books instead of leading her to the bedroom.
“My final creative project for La Llorona isn’t as interesting as Graciela’s.”
“Sister told me about the film. Sounds like you all had fun.”
“I’m trying to write a serious journalistic piece about women in volatile relationships, but
my tone is too detached. I’ve got all this research,” she gestures to her stack of articles, “and a
boring, uncreative story.”
“Why not use the letter from your mom?” He hands the assignment sheet back to her and
puts water on the stove to boil for dinner.
“What? One letter? How does that fit my project requirements?” Leti has to incorporate
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the common elements of La Llorona: loss, body of water, and crying woman. Yiska knows all
this because Leti interviewed his mom for her research paper.
“Start with her letter. Include letters you wrote. Make up her responses.”
“How does that fit the myth criteria?” Leti is genuinely confused.
After he stirs the macaroni, he counts on his fingers. “She lost her child, you. Letter
mailed to Mexico crosses Rio Grande. She’s crying, no doubt.”
Leti hugs him. For listening. And for not running out the door whenever she was
frustrated by life. Despite the parking ticket fiasco, he’s a great guy. Just human, she reminds
herself. They eat dinner from the pot with a wooden spoon like they did their first night together.
She finishes the draft of her epistolary project just before midnight. She takes Yiska to
bed and he makes her love him all over again. This time she tells him.
“Me too,” he says.
~~~
Graciela is so busy with the demand for her new breakfast empanadas, she doesn’t see
Tiffany walk into The Coffeehouse, but she’s grateful her friend slips behind the counter to take
student payments and fill simple drink orders so Graciela can concentrate on her Gourmet
Mexican treats. After the 30-minute morning rush, they both sit down.
“Alone today? Unusual.”
“The other student called in sick and Talia couldn’t cover her today. If I’d known early
enough, I could’ve made empanadas ahead of time.” Graciela gets up to pour them both iced
teas. “You saved my ass. Need a job?”
Tiffany says, “I’m not sure if I want to stay at Beta Theta Chi anymore.” She sips and
stares at the new artwork on The Coffeehouse walls. “I’m afraid of the sisters’ reactions.”
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“I’m proud of you for speaking up.”
“Dr. Alas is helping me with my psychological trauma. She’s quoted in the article.”
Graciela serves a few late morning arrivals then shares her own greek battle. “They
wanted the Bethany issue publicized to discredit the Students First campaign.”
“I shouldn’t have taken their side.”
“Carmen says they were bluffing to see if we’d back down.” Graciela picks up trash
students left on their tables.
“They clearly haven’t met you,” Tiffany says. “You’re the bravest person I know.”
Graciela returns to the counter to serve a few coffees and the last four empanadas.
Tiffany asks, “Why isn’t Carmen running for president?”
“She’s taking this semester off. Work but no classes. So I don’t see her very much.”
Graciela wipes the tables and public condiments.
“Can you date other people?”
“I’m not sure how dating women works. What if lesbians have different rules?” Graciela
shrugs. “But I don’t want to date anyone else. Carmen is the person I want to be with.”
“I wish someone felt that way about me.” She leans in to whisper, “What if I can’t have
sex ever again without being afraid?”
Graciela doesn’t know what to say, so she sits close to Tiffany and lets her cry.

Tiffany calls Graciela the next weekend. She has packed her belongings and waits for her
angry parents to move her out of the sorority house.
“After, my mom’s taking me shopping for apartment stuff. She’s pissed about me leaving
Beta Theta Chi, but she still wants me to have a bed and towels.”
417

“Did you tell your parents why?” Graciela asks softly.
“Not exactly. I said I have conflicts with some of the sisters. House mother backed me
up. Apparently, she’s not happy about that guy hanging around.” Tiffany never says his name.
Graciela wonders if she does in the article or if he’s named by the other victims who
came forward. “You told her?”
“A little. Enough. And about the article. She’ll probably warn the council, so they can
find a way to blame me. He’s a legacy.”
“Like they did me.” Graciela picks at her nails.
“I’m glad they haven’t pursued it.”
But Graciela will remain vigilant until the election is over.
“My new place has a pool. Didn’t you say you need one for your film project?”
“Yes!” Graciela yelps into the phone. “Sunset Rec Center charges rental fees. They
wouldn’t waive it for a student project. Can you believe it?”
“I won’t charge you, but maybe I can eat with you after.” Tiffany already sounds lonely.
Graciela understands that kind of loneliness. “We can have Sunday dinner there,” she
offers without worrying the others will refuse.
~~~
Leti ignores what might be someone calling her name and sprints up the hill when she
sees the parking enforcement guy stop a few cars away from hers. She gasps for breath and her
calves burn by the time she reaches her door. She’s relieved not to find a gift from the officer
under her windshield wiper.
“Damn, girl! I yelled your name a million times,” Stefán says. “Demons chasing you?”
Leti can’t respond. She’s still out of breath, so she points.
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“When Marv and them get elected, they’ll have to do something about parking.”
“Nothing’s gonna change these rich folks’ minds about us parking in their neighborhood.
They’d tow our cars if they could.” She unlocks the passenger door for Stefán to get in.
“Nelly Negativa. Isn’t that what we do? Fight injustice. Beat the system. Speaking of all
that, I need you to run the publications meeting tonight.”
Leti drinks the dregs of her morning coffee, now cold, and almost gags. “I have to move
to another spot first. Preferably one without a time limit. Why won’t you be there?”
“Last minute election crap. And I’ve heard a lot of new people want to join the staff next
semester because they loved our Affirmative Action series. The next issues need to pop!”
They drive around to the other side of campus where the streets have been swept, and
Leti can park for as long as she needs.
“I also heard Bethany the accuser volunteered to be the rapist’s last-minute replacement.
They hope female students will rally behind her.”
“The former candidate for vice-president has more victims than Tiffany and the other
three who came forward for the Third Wave article. A dozen more students filed similar
complaints.” Leti smiles proudly. “You were right. We can fight the system.”
“I’m gonna quote you.”
“Bethany must be grateful now her attempt to scandalize Graciela never did become part
of any permanent record.”
At Midvale and Ashton, Leti waits a long time for a pedestrian before she turns right.
“You drive like an old lady. No wonder you can’t find a decent parking spot.”
She points to the old copy of West LA News folded next to him on the seat. “Guess I’m
overly cautious now.”
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He reads it and cringes. “Their families must be–”
“I pissed off a powerful woman with my article.” Leti is proud of her work. “I wish
Keysha was here for all this. She was the first person I heard speak up about injustice.”
“She was always mad about something,” Stefán says, “or at somebody.”
Leti tries to smile but her mouth only goes straight across her face.

At the Ethnic Publications office Talia waves at Leti from the X desk where she and the
Ohana editor conspire about a piece that involves a map of the city. They have different areas
circled in different colored highlighters. “We’ll join y’all over there in a minute.”
Jocelyn sneaks up behind her. “Do you already have something for the next issue of
Third Wave about the new cross-listed courses?”
Leti takes a minute to process her question. “Like La Llorona and Chicana Feminism?
I’m taking those, but no.”
“And Chicana Lesbians.”
“Graciela talked about that class. It sounds cool. Something about marginalizing
Chicanas and Latinas in the women’s movement.” She looks at her ladder. “I have space for
something, but I don’t have time to write it.”
Jocelyn hands her a typed page. “We have it, but since you publish first, I thought it
would be better for you to run it. We can create a follow up in our issue with some reactions and
quotes from students. Maybe even you.”
Leti exhales relief. “I was worried about that empty space. This is perfect. And of course,
I’ll help with the one for La Raza.”
“I wish we had photos.”
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“I miss Keysha more every day.”
Talia fumbles with the camera, tries to snap a candid of Leti and Jocelyn. “We all do.”
Leti puts Prince on the boom box and they dance near the framed picture of Keysha.
~~~
Graciela walks into Dolores’s office nervous. “I thought for sure I’d see you lurking
around during spring break to boss the mural painters around.”
“You can’t drop any classes without losing your financial aid,” Dolores announces. A
response to Graciela’s unanswered question.
“Which I can’t afford to do.”
“You’d also have to reapply for fall.”
“And we know how that’ll end.”
“I was on vacation.” Dolores imitates Graciela’s shocked face then scowls and gulps her
Fresca. “Clearly you’ve been on one from class the past few weeks.”
“Since midterms. I’ve been preoccupied with the campaign and more responsibilities at
work.” Graciela avoids eye contact. “But the election is the end of this week. After, I’ll only
work at The Coffeehouse to earn what I absolutely need for rent.”
“Might be too late,” Dolores interjects.
“So you called me in to discourage me? I should’ve expected that.” Graciela stands up,
angry, but knows she needs Dolores to figure this mess out.
“Running away from reality won’t make it any better.” Dolores finishes her soda and
pushes a form across her desk toward Graciela. “You can only request an incomplete for Poli
Sci. The two pass/fail classes, you need to pass. Make sure screenwriting is an A. Your Chicana
Studies classes are taught by visiting professors who aren’t likely to be around this summer and
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there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to take them any other semester.”
Graciela sits back down, defeated. She has screwed herself again. Most people don’t get
the second chance she’s already been given. A third is not likely.
Dolores squints at Graciela’s schedule and snatches the form out of her hand. She adds
Chicana Lesbians to the request for incomplete. “If you can’t get your shit together, take this
form to the registrar before final exams. I’ll talk to the new department chair about working with
you to finish. If,” she hands the form back, “you need it.”
“Hopefully I won’t. But I like your back up plan. That’s why I keep you around.”
Graciela imitates Dolores’s laugh all the way out the building.
She turns around to admire the brightly painted faces that frame the door. “Students
First!” she yells. And the passers-by cheer and clap in support. She only lingers a moment,
determined to one day wear the black robe like the ones in the mural.

Graciela sets up her camera for the talk show. While they wait for Red, Leti interviews
random people who walk by. The first group of girls thanks her for the Third Wave article. They
offer an earful about their own experiences. A victory for Students First will be justice.
Red arrives and hugs Yanaha. He says loudly, “No one likes that asshole Derek.”
Yanaha reprimands him. “Don’t. We aren’t like them.” Her calm, melodic voice, in
contrast to his, attracts an audience.
Leti positions herself in front of Red. “Tell us about your concerns.”
“The whole greek ticket should’ve been disqualified for associating with the rapist.”
“Accused rapist,” Yanaha adds, careful not to use slanderous speech.
Leti asks, “What about his fraternity’s affiliation with ‘Lupe the Mexican whore’ song?”
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Saying it out loud makes her ill. Her name could totally replace Lupe’s.
“Keysha was so heated about those songs when I first met her,” Red says softly. “She
said her parents didn’t want her to come here. Her friends told her everyone here is racist.” He
looks directly at the camera. “But we’re not. And if you’re in a fraternity or sorority and you’re
not either, then you need to vote for my friend Marvin Foster for President.” He puts his arm
around Yanaha. “And fellow athlete, my teammate’s sister, for Vice President. Students First
deserves this victory.”
Yanaha adds, “We will do what’s right for all students, especially those who never felt
like they were put first at this institute of higher education.”
“It will be for Keysha, too,” Red says. His eyes glisten with tears.

The roaster Eduardo sent with the most recent bag of chiles is fired up. Carmen and
Jocelyn take turns on the handle and the sweet, spicy smell fills the air. Students fill the staircase,
flow down the steps to the first floor, and pour out the front door. Graciela focuses her camera on
the Students First team. They gather outside the publications office, watch the doorway down the
hall, and wait for the election results to be announced.
Leti and Yiska spent hours chopping cheese to stuff inside the hot chiles for roasted
rellenos. Eduardo included the Gonzalez family secret recipe in his last care package. Next door
at The Coffeehouse, Talia mixes the batter and prepares the fryer.
At the other end of the hall, only a few supporters wait with the greek candidates.
Graciela zooms in to capture each face. They look worn out. Scandal has that effect.
The university clock chimes and the election commissioner steps out with the media
advisor and a university dean at her sides. “I am pleased to announce the results of this year’s
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student elections.” She speaks slowly into the microphone and broadcasts the news all over
campus. Her pauses seem longer than necessary. “The 1993-1994 student body president is
Marvin William Foster, Vice-President Yanaha…”
But Graciela can’t hear the rest of what she says because their cheers are louder than an
entire football stadium at halftime. The media advisor walks over to shake hands with Marv and
Yanaha. He hands them the results. Students First completely obliterated its competition.
Graciela runs down the stairs, two at a time to join Leti at The Coffeehouse. “Go!” she
says to Talia. “Go congratulate your man.” She and Leti stuff cheese chunks inside each roasted
chile, dip them in the batter and drop them in hot manteca. “Like old times, huh prima?”
“Except Tio Lalo isn’t yelling at me about my greñas.” She wipes her hair out of her face
with the back of her non-dipping hand.
“Home cooking so far from home.” Graciela turns up the familiar staticky music and
sings along in Spanish.
Leti dances with her. “We’re home now.”

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