board five years ago." He looked at her then continued. "It's especially high for Hispanics, you know."
"Over fifty percent." She shook her head in sorrow. "It's a shame."
Yes , he silently agreed. He had been a dropout himself, a cholo hanging around with a street gang. He'd bought into the role of a failure, at first. But he'd overcome his low self-esteem and wanted to help others do the same. It wasn't easy, but he was committed to devoting time and energy to improve the educational system in the barrio . Just as Angela was, in her own way.
"You really care,” he commented—more to himself than to her. "You stood up to me over your cause today." He knelt in front of her and grasped her hands to emphasize his words. As he did so, he tried not to think about how much he wanted to kiss her. "You showed me, Angela. You opened my eyes to the fact that you may really have hit on something here."
"Do you understand what it is?" she asked, hopefully.
"I'm trying to." His look willed her to believe him. "I want you to show me—make me understand the validity of your program."
Angela sat up, searching his eyes. Sincerity—and something more—radiated from their depths.
“I'll teach you, Ricardo,"
"Will it be that difficult? The way you're looking at me, I’d say you think the task is impossible."
Couldn't he tell the look she was giving him was not one of skepticism but of relief—and joy? "No. It won't be that hard."
He smiled and her heart melted. Reaching up, he smoothed the crease between her eyebrows.
"You looked as if you weren't sure you could pull it off.”
"I'm not certain. You have to admit, you can be hard-headed at times."
"Me?" He rocked back on his heels.
"You." She jabbed a finger at his chest.
He grabbed her hand and brought her palm to his lips. "I may be difficult to teach, but I'm easy to love."
Yes . He teased about making love, but she imagined loving Ricardo would be altogether too easy for her own good. "I doubt I could teach you anything about that."
"I have a feeling you could teach me too much."
"You're probably right. I am an expert.”
"I want to kiss you, but I suppose we should wait until all this is over."
My job . She didn't want to think about it now. In truth, she had forgotten all about her position. Ricardo could make her forget everything.
"We have one more session, and then the following Friday is our conference with the professors. After that…" He shrugged, but there was promise in his eyes. Another trait she had discovered he possessed today—he had nerves of steel. Hers, on the other hand, felt like Jell-O pudding.
"You have a one-track mind,” she accused as she leaned back from his embrace. A resigned expression settled across her features.
He laughed. "Guilty, I'm afraid. And, around you, it definitely tracks in the wrong direction." A wry smile creased his cheek as he reached for his glass of iced tea. "So much for getting you to relax."
"Maybe we should watch TV.” She pointed to the remote control on the table behind him.
He picked it up and pressed the “On” button. The television, located against the far wall in a black lacquered cabinet, came on. The jingle of a pop com-mercial blared into the room. She grimaced.
"You'd better sit over there,” she said, gesturing to a swivel chair several feet from the couch. His nearness would make any concentration on the screen impossible.
"Do you think it’ll do any good?"
She smiled and shook her head. "No. But it'll help."
He sat in the chair and raised his glass in a toast. "One week to go, querida ."
CHAPTER 7
QUERIDA . The Spanish word for "dear one" echoed over and over in her mind. The term was used by Hispanics among close friends but was also an endearment for lovers, and she could all too easily envision Ricardo whispering it in her ear as such.
She mustn't think about that. It might never happen. But what of his toast? One week to go . He might as well have said that he was
"Over fifty percent." She shook her head in sorrow. "It's a shame."
Yes , he silently agreed. He had been a dropout himself, a cholo hanging around with a street gang. He'd bought into the role of a failure, at first. But he'd overcome his low self-esteem and wanted to help others do the same. It wasn't easy, but he was committed to devoting time and energy to improve the educational system in the barrio . Just as Angela was, in her own way.
"You really care,” he commented—more to himself than to her. "You stood up to me over your cause today." He knelt in front of her and grasped her hands to emphasize his words. As he did so, he tried not to think about how much he wanted to kiss her. "You showed me, Angela. You opened my eyes to the fact that you may really have hit on something here."
"Do you understand what it is?" she asked, hopefully.
"I'm trying to." His look willed her to believe him. "I want you to show me—make me understand the validity of your program."
Angela sat up, searching his eyes. Sincerity—and something more—radiated from their depths.
“I'll teach you, Ricardo,"
"Will it be that difficult? The way you're looking at me, I’d say you think the task is impossible."
Couldn't he tell the look she was giving him was not one of skepticism but of relief—and joy? "No. It won't be that hard."
He smiled and her heart melted. Reaching up, he smoothed the crease between her eyebrows.
"You looked as if you weren't sure you could pull it off.”
"I'm not certain. You have to admit, you can be hard-headed at times."
"Me?" He rocked back on his heels.
"You." She jabbed a finger at his chest.
He grabbed her hand and brought her palm to his lips. "I may be difficult to teach, but I'm easy to love."
Yes . He teased about making love, but she imagined loving Ricardo would be altogether too easy for her own good. "I doubt I could teach you anything about that."
"I have a feeling you could teach me too much."
"You're probably right. I am an expert.”
"I want to kiss you, but I suppose we should wait until all this is over."
My job . She didn't want to think about it now. In truth, she had forgotten all about her position. Ricardo could make her forget everything.
"We have one more session, and then the following Friday is our conference with the professors. After that…" He shrugged, but there was promise in his eyes. Another trait she had discovered he possessed today—he had nerves of steel. Hers, on the other hand, felt like Jell-O pudding.
"You have a one-track mind,” she accused as she leaned back from his embrace. A resigned expression settled across her features.
He laughed. "Guilty, I'm afraid. And, around you, it definitely tracks in the wrong direction." A wry smile creased his cheek as he reached for his glass of iced tea. "So much for getting you to relax."
"Maybe we should watch TV.” She pointed to the remote control on the table behind him.
He picked it up and pressed the “On” button. The television, located against the far wall in a black lacquered cabinet, came on. The jingle of a pop com-mercial blared into the room. She grimaced.
"You'd better sit over there,” she said, gesturing to a swivel chair several feet from the couch. His nearness would make any concentration on the screen impossible.
"Do you think it’ll do any good?"
She smiled and shook her head. "No. But it'll help."
He sat in the chair and raised his glass in a toast. "One week to go, querida ."
CHAPTER 7
QUERIDA . The Spanish word for "dear one" echoed over and over in her mind. The term was used by Hispanics among close friends but was also an endearment for lovers, and she could all too easily envision Ricardo whispering it in her ear as such.
She mustn't think about that. It might never happen. But what of his toast? One week to go . He might as well have said that he was
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