Page 13 of Her Passionate Hero

Aliana had already read his paper, Glenda had shown it to her before submitting it.

He paused, clearly uncomfortable. He looked behind him, making sure no one was outside her door who could overhear him.

“Do you want to shut the door?”

He stood up straight. “No,” he said, all bravado.

“So, tell me about your paper. I’m excited to hear about,” her emphasis hear. She was dying to hear his take on why he had written it.

He leaned in. “Animal Farm talks about how fear is used to make people conform. It’s kind of what Los Demonios does. There are a lot of the same dynamics. You know?”

Boy, did she know. She nodded her head.

“You have to shake off the shackles. I want to be like Snowball.”

“What do you mean? You want to be like the pig who started the revolution on the farm?”

“Exactly. A lot of the kids who join the gang do it because they want to be part of something, they do it for a sense of brotherhood. They don’t realize just how evil it is before it’s too late. That’s exactly like what happens in the book.” She knew she had never been this zealous about anything, not even her poetry or music.

She took out voice Number Thirteen, the Kind, Firm and Fair voice. “Nicolas, you can’t start a revolution. Your only task is to be a kid, do well in school, and get the hell out of the gang. Got it?”

“Snowball was scared too, but he had to do it, Ms. Novak. You do the right thing all the time. Everybody heard what you did in the music room. You were righteous. I’m doing the same thing. With some help.”

“Nicolas, what you’re suggesting is too dangerous.”

“Don’t worry,” he gave her a pitying look, “I was born into it Ms. Novak.”

“But you’re not part of it.”

“Of course, I am. My family is. It’s all around me. I’m one of them.”

“What do you mean your family? I thought it was just your brother?”

“Never mind. I just try to keep my head down. I hope you’re right, and I get to leave and go to college.”

If it took her dying breath, he’d get out of here, she swore to herself.

“With your abilities, of course, you will, Nicolas.”

“Do you think this contest will help?”

“It helped me. Did I tell you I went to school in Boyle Heights?”

“No way!” he exclaimed. “I thought you were all that. You were one of us? A homegirl?”

“Not exactly a homegirl,” she smiled. “I talked with an accent, was overweight, and dressed funny, I hardly fit in.”

“You sure came a long way,” he said with admiration.

“Thank you.”

“Was it tough for you?” he asked. Smart and perceptive.

“It wasn’t easy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. Still―” She waved her hand. “We’re talking about you. I just wanted you to know there is a way out. I won a national contest in poetry. People noticed me, and I got a scholarship. It’s possible, Nicolas. Never give up on your dreams. Okay?”