Defining Love

New Friends

From the moment I met Gemma, I knew things would be different. For one, she wasn't your typical older Hispanic aunt who loved coddling you to death. Not that I'd know what that felt like, but growing up in East Los Angeles, I'd met plenty of kids my age who actually complained about their well-meaning but overbearing families. Something I could only secretly dream of.

Gemma was as blunt as they came. My whole life both my sister and I had often been asked politely about our nationality. Like most people in the East Los Angeles area, we were Hispanic, but we'd inherited the slant in our mother's eyes, which she called catlike and exotic and said one day we'd be grateful for. Though I didn't remember, according to my sister, one of the few things my mother ever tried to teach her was how to apply her eyeliner over the edge of her lids, adding a wisp at the corners, to accentuate the exotic look even further. It was a lesson my sister had passed on to me. Though at sixteen I wore a much thinner version of the sexy liner my sister had been wearing for years now.

It was the first thing Gemma had commented on when we were left alone for the first time. And she'd done so in a very Gemma-like fashion.

“So, what's the deal with your eyes? Was your mom Italian or somethin'?"

Italian? I'd been asked if I was Filipino or even an Islander before, but this was a first.

“No," I shook my head, confused, but at the same time amused by her pronunciation of Italian with the I as in eye. “Why would you think she was Italian because of my eyes?"

“You have eyes like that old-time movie starlet. What's her face?" She snapped her fingers in front of her, trying to remember. “Sofia Loren. The young version, not the old Botox puffed up one. She's Italian, ain't she?"

I'd heard of the actress. But she was older, and for the life of me, I couldn't visualize her at all. Of course, I looked her up first chance I got and understood why Gemma might think my mom was Italian based on this woman's eyes. But I explained that, nope, I was plain ole Mexican American, to which she quickly replied, “Ain't nothin' plain about being Latina and don't you forget it."

Another thing about Gemma she let me in on right away was that I wasn't allowed to call her Tia or even Auntie.

“It's Gemma." She'd corrected me the first time I referred to her as Auntie. “And just so you know, I had no idea I had nieces until your social worker hunted me down. I've been on the outs with anyone in the family for over twenty years. But I've been living alone just as long, so if I'd known about you two, I would've taken you both in a long time ago."

I hardly slept those first few nights, thinking how unfair it was that Celia and I had gone through so much over the years and all the while we could've been living with our own blood, in a home with our own bedrooms, since Gemma's house was a four-bedroom home!

When I finally got over the bitterness, I was grateful that at least I'd be spending my last two years here—possibly longer since Gemma did mention I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted but once the foster care checks stopped arriving when I turned eighteen I'd need to get a job or something.

That worked for me.

Another thing that had come as a huge and welcome surprise was that Gemma owned two vehicles: a midsize crossover she called her every day car and a small pickup truck she used for all her trips to the Home Depot. She was retired and was a gardening fanatic. Obsessed might be better word for her love of gardening. When she wasn't inside cooking, she spent the rest of her time out there planting, pruning, and pulling weeds. Both vehicles were kept in tip-top shape, and she gave me free rein of the pickup truck to get me to and from school, except for the days she was planning a trip to the Home Depot, on which, of course, I'd then have the crossover for the day. Either way I wouldn't have to walk up and down the treacherously steep and narrow roads in the Silver Lake community of Los Angeles Gemma lived in to get to the bus stop.

Starting a brand new school might've been hard for some, but not for me. I was so used it by then that it was no big deal. I was used to the staring faces as I entered each room. I'd been through it enough that I knew in a few days the novelty of the new girl would wear off. I focused on my classes, making sure I was enrolled in the dual-credit courses for college. As a junior, I was way ahead of most of the other students my age, sitting in mostly senior classes.

The day I met Edi I was pulling the trashcans out from the side of the house to place on the curb. Gemma was busy cleaning up the flowerbeds in her front yard. That wasn't the first time I'd seen Edi this close up. But like the first time I had at school, I felt star struck. She was one of if not the most popular girl in school. Only unlike most of the popular girls in my previous schools, she seemed very down-to-earth, approachable, and not conceited at all. She was always surrounded by a bunch of her girlfriends or girls who appeared desperate to be her friend. It was almost weird to see her alone.

Edi stopped on the sidewalk as she made her way home from school. I'd been home for hours, but judging by Edi's volleyball uniform, she'd just gotten off practice or a game. Glancing at her long firm legs, I secretly envied that my awkward ass would never be a part of any athletic team, let alone one that required wearing these kinds of uniforms. A girl practically had to be model material to look halfway decent in them. Edi looked far more than halfway decent. She didn't just have a body to die for; she was beautiful too. I was sure every guy in school was probably daydreaming of going out with her. And girls like me were daydreaming of being her.

“Hey, Gemma!"

Gemma, who was bent over, kneeling, turned around, lifting her head to get a better view from under her sun hat. Her smile was big and instant. She sat back on her feet. “Hey! How'd we do?"

“How do you think?" Edi winked.

On top of it all, the girl had dimples. Yep, life just wasn't fair. I thought for sure the next thing I'd hear was that she had a 4.0 GPA and was already headed to one of the Ivy League colleges with a full-blown scholarship.

They talked sports and technique for a bit before Gemma turned to me and then back at Edi. “This is my niece I told you about: Ms. Henri Magaña." Edi turned to me with a smile. “She'll be staying with me from now on. Henri, this is Edi."

“My real name is Erendida," Edi explained with a smile. “But I prefer the shorter version."

I could relate. I never really felt like a Henrietta, though I suspected when I got older I'd be leaning toward the more professional sounding name, especially since I planned to pursue a career in social work.

I smiled, fidgeting with the bottom of my blouse.

“I've known Edi since before she was born," Gemma explained with a big smile. “Heck, I watched as her newly married, still wet-behind-the-ears parents moved into that house up the street. Ever since, I've watched them fill the nest, and now it's almost empty again. She's the last of the birdies left to fly."

Edi's eyes were very friendly and inviting. She'd never come across as snobby or full of herself when I'd seen her at school. But as pretty and popular as she seemed to be, it was still naturally what I assumed. Not fair I know, but up until then, it had been my experience with girls like Edi—the ones destined to be prom queen and marry the star football player.

“You should've told me she was here already," Edi said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, and addressed me this time. “I saw you around school and heard you were the new girl, but I didn't put two and two together." She turned back to Gemma. “I could've showed her around. Made her first day a little less painless."

Gemma shrugged. “I figured you two would meet eventually."

I stared at Gemma, trying not to appear as annoyed as that made me feel. All that week I'd been a loner during breakfast and lunch breaks, sitting on the bleachers with my nose in a book. Even though I was used to that, it would've been nice for a change to have someone like Edi with so many friends to introduce me to people. Being part of the popular crowd was not something I aspired to be. Still, as Edi said, it would've made my life those first few days much less painful.

“I can still introduce you to my friends and stuff." Edi's grin was full of genuine enthusiasm. “I take the bus to school in the morning. Do you?"

I shook my head, for once regretting that I didn't take the dreaded bus. “I ride my aunt's . . . uh, Gemma's pickup truck."

Edi's brows lifted before smiling big. “Lucky you. I have to hike it up and down Alvarado every morning and afternoon."

“You should be grateful for that walk," Gemma said, turning back to her flowerbed. “Look at those legs for Christ's sake. No one is born with legs like that."

Edi laughed, rolling her eyes. “You don't think my years of volleyball and soccer have anything to do with it?"

Conjuring up more courage than I ever had my entire life, I swallowed hard before offering. “You can ride with me if you ever want to."

Gemma turned to peer at me before Edi could respond to that. “Just be careful. Technically, you're underage and still not supposed to be riding with anyone but an adult. If you take Edi, it's only Edi. I don't want you picking up a bunch of other kids."

I bit my lower lip and waited for Edi to respond. At least Gemma's warning wasn't a “no you can't," and starting off slowly with only one new friend riding with me seemed safer. I wasn't used to having friends, let alone popular ones like Edi and lots of them at once.

“What time do you leave?"

“Seven thirty," I said, my heart pounding a little faster.

Was I actually going to know someone at this school? Did her driving in with me mean she'd actually let me hang out with her and her friends during lunch?

Her eyes brightened and her mouth fell open. “Oh my God, are you kidding me? I get to sleep in and not have to be at the bus stop at six? Hell yeah, I'll ride in with you!"

And so it began.

The next morning she was on Gemma's front porch at seven thirty on the dot. We spoke of our classes, and she let me in on some of the need-to-know stuff about some of my teachers. She asked a little about my previous school, but I got the feeling Gemma had filled her in a little about my past, so it seemed she was playing it very safe about what and how she asked.

That first day she introduced me to Daphne and Audrey, two of her best friends since grade school. Right off, I realized Audrey wasn't as friendly as Daphne and Edi.

“So you won't be on the bus anymore in the mornings?" Audrey asked, her brow lifting.

“Hell no," Edi said with a giggle. “Why would I continue to wake up at that ungodly hour and take the stupid bus when I can sleep in and ride with Henri way later."

Audrey's eyes had swept over me more than once that first introduction. Months later I still couldn't put my finger on it, but obviously taking her bus buddy from her had not been appreciated.