can't speak English, they can barely read, even in Spanish, they can't hope for anything better than a job as a night watchman or a cook.
“And then there are the gangs. You have to stick with your own kind, otherwise you're dead. They'll find you alone somewhere and cut you up. I was ten years old when they started carrying knives and talking tough. Junior high is worse. By the time I got to high school, it was a war.
“I quit high school after the first time I was stabbed, walking to classes one morning. I wanted to go back, but Carlos made me quit then. He said that they knew I was his brother, and he couldn't protect me at the school. Next time, he said, they'd kill me.
“But one of my teachers visited me in the hospital.” Ramon's eyes were distant as he smiled, remembering. “Mrs. Webster. Mrs. Jennifer Webster. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and blue eyes. Such pretty blue eyes, like I'd never seen ­before.
“She knew I wanted to go to college, and she said to me: `Ramie, you're bright enough, but you need to learn so much. You need to learn how to learn.' She convinced me to go back to high school. She'd spend an hour with me every day after her other classes, working with me, teaching me, helping me prepare for the SATs. She said that if I scored high enough, it wouldn't matter that I couldn't afford even the community college fees, that there would be scholarships to pay for my education.
“She was young and beautiful, and she cared about me. I think I was a little in love with her.” His voice fell to a whisper. “But then one of the Bloods attacked her in the hallway early one morning. He cut her face . . . here.” Ramon's finger traced a line down Kayla's cheek. “She had the most beautiful face, with those pretty blue eyes.
“I wanted to visit her in the hospital, but they wouldn't let me into her room because they thought I was a homeboy. Mrs. Webster never came back to the high school after that, not even to say goodbye.”
He shrugged. “Carlos needed my help, especially when the T‑Men started coming after us. So I quit high school again, to work with my brother and hang with the homeboys. What else is there for me?”
He stood up suddenly and walked to the window, looking out at the street. “I need to go take care of other business,” he said. “Fernando will stay here and watch over you. Don't leave the apartment, it's not safe. You look very tired, querida,” he added. “Do you want to rest?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I think that's a good idea.”
She