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Could I dare to hope for something like that?
    Before I could reply, my dad appeared again, standing in front of us in the hallway. I wasn’t concerned about whether he’d overheard Liz squealing or understood what she’d said -- he did not speak or understand English well, despite having lived in California for over ten years. He didn’t need to speak English for work, and had stubbornly refused to adapt to his new homeland’s culture, despite my mother’s pleas. He didn’t know what Liz had said, or what had passed between Mr. Stevens and me. His face was stern as he asked to speak to me in private, though, and I wondered what he thought. Liz glanced at me and quickly scurried off to my bedroom.
    When Liz was gone, my father asked bluntly who that man was. I explained that he was my swim coach from school, and that he had stopped by to drop off the jewelry that I had forgotten at practice.
    My father didn’t seem moved by the explanation.
    “I don’t like him,” he told me in Spanish, his tone deadly serious. “I don’t want you spending time alone with him. Do you understand me?”
    My mouth dropped open in surprise. I couldn’t believe that my father would pass judgment on Mr. Stevens so hastily, and with so little reason. He hadn’t even been introduced to the man, and this was one of my coaches! I began to defend Mr. Stevens, telling my father that he this was my swim coach, that he was a good man, and that he’d just given other swimmers a ride home from practice. Why was my father being so unreasonable?
    “I know what I’m talking about,” was my father’s sharp reply. “Be careful, Isabel.”
    I paused, trying to decide what to do; in my family, an order from my father was law, and it was difficult to get around it. My father took my silence for agreement and turned away. I stood where I was and watched him go, my heart and mind racing.

Chapter Four
    Sowing the Seeds of Love
    B y the middle of the term, I was surreptitiously stalking Mr. Stevens. I arrived at school early each morning to sneak a peek into his classroom. If he was there, and the door was open, I sat across the hall, pretending to read, and watched him through my lashes. If he wasn’t, I went to another area of the school, where everyone would have to pass me to enter. If I hadn’t seen him by first or second period, I did everything I could think of to track him throughout the lunch period. Sometimes I saw him standing outside his classroom, looking my way as I walked toward my faded brown locker between periods. Sometimes I saw him standing in the hallway across from the locker itself. Sometimes I even saw him standing outside one of my classrooms.
    I began to think that he was tracking my whereabouts as well.
    I fell behind in my studies, because I spent most of class time daydreaming, creating lengthy and vivid scenarios where Mr. Stevens’ desire for me was so intense that he was willing to risk everything – including his career and his marriage – to be with me.
    These scenarios became progressively more intense, and signified a progression in my imaginary relationship. Today, I knew that I would find my way into a deeper and more taboo sort of daydream. Several days earlier, I had dreamt that Mr. Stevens finally confessed his attraction to me. On the next day my fantasy involved him whisking me off my feet in a deep, passionate kiss. Today, I knew, would be no different. I hadn’t seen him since arriving at school, and it was now third period. I was missing him terribly, and couldn’t wait to sit down and start thinking about what we would be doing if we were together. I spent most of Algebra II class fantasizing about what might come after the kiss. Would he decide that he could no longer live without me?
    After third period, I made my way to my locker alone. Liz and I had third period together, and she usually walked with me to our fourth-period class, but she was out sick today. I walked quickly toward my locker