A Flower for Angela (4 page)

Even the school buildings were worlds apart. His school had been an ancient brick structure covered with graffiti and sporting broken windows. Schools like the one where Angela taught were brand new with landscaped gardens. Constructed in the Southwestern desert style, the low buildings of Angela’s school campus wrapped around an inner courtyard. Yet they hadn't always been like that. Only five years ago, they'd been condemned by the fire marshal. Getting the community to vote for the construction of new schools had been one of the accomplishments that he was most proud of.

The whimpers of a baby interrupted his thoughts. He hadn't noticed the infant sleeping on the other side of Mariana.

"¡Mira!
" Angela exclaimed, and leaning over, picked up the little boy. His tiny arms and legs stretched out with delight at being held. Angela pressed him close against her breast.

"Isn't he precious?" she cooed and the mother beamed with pride.

The baby's black curly hair stood out against the yellow dress Angela wore. He pressed his little face and hands into her curves. The sight touched a tender chord within Ricardo. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with such feelings.

The woman was doing it to him again. In spite of all the professional reservations he had about her, personally, she intrigued him.

Fifteen minutes later they returned to the car. "I could use that drink you offered now."

"You've got it,” he assured her. "Do you make a lot of home visits?"

"When I need to."

"Most teachers don't bother."

"Most teachers don't have the time.”

"But you find time," he pointed out.

"I don't have a husband and children at home waiting for their supper, either.” Was there a wistful tone in her voice?

Ricardo changed the subject. "Aren't you frightened, coming into this neighborhood by yourself?"

She glanced over at him and then laughed. The sound of it wafted through him like a pleasant melody.

"I'm safer in this neighborhood than in my own.”

"How's that?"

"Everyone knows me, and, besides, most of these people are from Mexico. Teachers are held in high esteem there."

"Is that why you teach in the
barrio
?" He sensed that her reasons for being here went deeper than the higher salary the inner-city district offered.

"Partly." She cast him an accusing stare. "Teachers don't always get much respect in this country, especially after news specials like the one your station did."

Dangerous ground
. Recalling the special that aired last month, he grimaced. In the program's analysis of Arizona's education system, teachers hadn't fared well. "They only showed the facts."

"As
the reporters
saw them.”

"Let's be fair. I'm spending several days in your class." He shrugged and downshifted for the red light. He wasn't going to apologize, so he attempted to change the subject again, "You said `partly'. What are your other reasons for teaching here?"

Her brow furrowed in concentration, and he wondered why she hesitated. Finally, she spoke. "It's complicated and involved."

"I'm interested.”

"The main reason I'm at this particular district is because of Dr. Wheeler. She and the others wanted to prove their theory that present day educators are using the wrong methods and—"

"Why use the Valley of the Sun District to prove that theory?"

"Five years ago, our school had the lowest test scores in the state. You should know that."

He was surprised at how bitter he still felt about those scores. He glanced at her. "And now?"

"They're up quite a bit."

Why hadn't he heard
that
before? He'd do some more checking—soon.

He knew she was waiting for a reaction. "I'm impressed." He paused for a moment. "It doesn't seem to bother you to work with these kids." The statement was loaded and he knew she knew it.

"Should it bother me?"

Ricardo shrugged. "Being in the
barrio
upsets some." Several unpleasant experiences of his youth flashed through his mind.

"If we're speaking about prejudice,” her glance reflected earnest conviction, "then you must know that the only way to fight it is to build the students’ confidence and self worth."

He couldn't fault her there. Her students had exhibited a pride in themselves.

"You're confident and self-assured. How did you develop such strength of character?"

Her question took him by surprise. His father's love and understanding had instilled an unwavering sense of self-esteem in him—a pride that healed the wounds of youthful hurt and anger. Ricardo wasn't ready to talk about his past. He didn't want her penetrating his reserve and besides, it was too painful to recall the memories of his deceased father. "It's a long story. One you wouldn't want to hear."

"Sorry." She didn't press him but began to rub her aching temples. "It's nice of you to give me a ride. I'm exhausted."

"I know just the place for you." He turned off of Central Avenue and into the parking lot of a popular restaurant. It was time to ease up and relax.

CHAPTER 3

ANGELA SCOWLED
at herself in the ladies' room mirror, then blotted her lipstick and ran a comb through her hair. What was she doing here—at a restaurant—with a man who had the power to threaten her job? This craziness was against all her rules.

They’d already ordered dinner so she couldn’t do anything about it now.
Stop worrying
.
Nothing will happen. After all, having dinner doesn’t mean anything. Does it?

Walking back to the table, Angela carefully observed Ricardo. His eyes were alert, taking in every detail around him. His hair, windblown from the convertible, looked as if someone had run lazy fingers through it. He'd removed his jacket. His blue shirt stretched across his shoulders, outlining a well-muscled build.

"How do you do it?" he asked after he got up and seated her across from him.

"What's that?"

"I've seen you at school looking cool and efficient. Then, at that student’s home, you seemed maternal and sweet with a baby in your arms." He gestured at their surroundings. "And now you sit across from me, so sophisticated, fitting right in with this place. All of these different faces of you in the space of one hour. It boggles the mind."

Flattered, she lifted her glass of wine "Here's to the many facets of life.”

"Here's to you.” Ricardo clinked his glass to hers.

Pleased by the compliments, she smiled before sipping the chilled wine. Its smooth taste blended with the scents of exotic foods and spices in the room. The muted glow of the candlelight and the quiet dinner music soothed her.

Until he spoke.

"Angela, when I come in next Monday," his tone was serious now, "I want to bring my cameraman and videotape your class."

Her grip on the wineglass tightened. "Why?"

"For one thing, we can observe your techniques afterward, and you can explain to me the theory behind your methods."

"You need your television crew to do that?"

"It wouldn't be for the station. My cameraman owes me a favor. I put in a lot of extra research hours for a photo-journal piece that won Ken an award, so he owes me some time. We can come over on our days off and tape."

"And will this be used for another television special?" She could picture it now. Broadcast headlines. "I don't think so."

"Look, you've got a lot going for you. You relate to your students. That's more than most teachers do."

"How generous." Angela bit her tongue to keep from telling him where he could stuff his compliments.

"Stop taking this so negatively," he advised, reaching across the table to cover her fingers with his.

Angela snatched her hand away.

His eyes narrowed."I only want to help you."

"And you think, by videotaping my classroom, you can give me advice on how to teach?"

"We can work on it together."

"So you’re an expert on education?" she asked him with a touch of sarcasm.

"No, but when we look…"

"Mr. de la Cruz," she sat up straight and stared him in the eye, "I have spent the past five years developing the whole-language approach that I'm practicing now."

"All the studying in the world doesn't show up in practice. I've seen—”

"I said
developing
, Mr. de la Cruz. I’ve been working with professors from Arizona State University who are experts in the field—Ph.D.s with national recognition for their theories on whole language and holistic teaching.
Whole
language means learning all aspects of language at one time—learning to talk and write and read about a subject that's relevant and interesting to the children at a specific time. We try to show how reading and writing are tools they can use to learn about the world—and also that they're tools for expressing their feelings about what’s important to them.

"That's just it. Theories don't always work in the real world."

"Which is exactly my part in the university’s research," Angela continued, undaunted by his biased response. "I'm putting whole language theories about how children learn—especially about how they become literate—into practice. And they're working."

"I didn't see learning. I saw a noisy, chaotic classroom. There were students scribbling on paper, they were talking all the time, and they rarely sat down."

His earnest concern stilled some of the defensiveness rising within her. He really cared, and instead of antagonizing him, she should use that to her advantage.

"You mentioned you have nieces and nephews," she said forcing herself to sound calm.

He nodded, obviously puzzled by her change of subject.

"Remember when they learned to talk? Did their parents sit them down and force them to be quiet while they drilled them on the different sounds? Did they flash cards in their faces to teach them the words?"

"Don't be ridiculous, we're talking about—"

"The way children learn." She ignored the annoyance that crept over his features.

"Did someone make them practice the sound
m, m, m
, so they'd be able to say Mama?" Angela leaned forward, excited about the point she was making. "Of course not. We talk to a baby as if he or she already understands. The baby relates what he hears to the world around him.

"Children need that same interaction to learn to read. They need to attach the written word to what's going on in their world. That's why you need a classroom that allows risk-taking and the freedom to explore."

"That makes sense," he conceded. "But I don't understand how it works. Can’t you see how the videos will be a tool to help explain the process?"

"No. We've worked too long and hard to have our efforts made into a sham."

"Now, just a minute! I have no intention of turning this into a ‘sham.’ Did you consider that the tapes might just prove me wrong?"

Anger glinted in his dark eyes and Angela matched it with her own. She vowed to show this arrogant know-it-all.

"Your wine, sir," the waiter interrupted. Frustrated, she watched the waiter pour more wine and leave.

Ricardo reached across the table to place a rough finger against her mouth. In spite of her ire, she tingled with pleasure at his touch.

"Enough. I want us to enjoy our meal together."

Before Angela could protest, he lightly caressed her lips.

All thoughts of their discussion vanished and Angela suddenly couldn't see the other diners. The room receded until there were only the two of them.

Ricardo lowered his head, shaking it as he did so. "I shouldn't have done—" he started to apologize but Angela mutely covered his finger with her own.

She wanted to tell him not to regret such a moment, but words failed her. Seconds passed before she tried to take her hand away.

Ricardo had captured her wrist and started to bring her fingers to his lips when the aroma of chicken and herbs brought them back to reality. Angela looked over Ricardo's shoulder to see the waiter holding two steaming plates.

Ricardo followed her gaze and straightened, releasing her hand. A reckless grin lit his features.

"I’m glad you convinced me to order dinner.” She eyed the plate of chicken-and-cashew embedded in a hollowed-out pineapple.

"I'm glad you're hungry," he told her after thanking the waiter. "My last meal was breakfast."

"Don't tell me you work through lunches, too," she teased.

"When necessary. But enough about work. What are some of your interests outside of school?" Ricardo deftly changed the subject.

"I like to read." The chicken tasted sweet and tangy.

"What? No television?"

"Only the news," she admitted, but didn't dare mention she watched Channel Four just to see him. Often, she had no idea what anyone else had reported.