should have in a ... in someone ... uhhh!" Words escaped me. He kept smiling at me. Gently. Disarmingly. When I have finally gotten my rant and rave out (and he had patiently listened) he said nothing except, "Meet me after school, okay?" then he walked off. Candace gave me one of those looks. "Did you really have to do that?" I looked down, totally ashamed. "It was stupid, but lets see what he says". "Tell me what happens, please?" Candace asked as she climbed into her truck. "Sure, I'll come over", I promised. I got home but it wasn't long before the door rang. I knew who it would be. "Hey! I have something I wanna show you ... well, thats half of it anyway", Zane said grinning. I blushed. "Suree..." "You might wanna like dress more comfortably", he gently suggested. "Okay, I'll be right back." I changed into some denim shorts and a tank top and finished it all of with some flip flops. "Hows this?" "Perfect." He opened the passenger door for me to get in. He drove out of town; the scenery we passed was beautiful as we cruzed along. The California afternoon breeze sailed through my hair as we drove with the windows down. He drove for about an hour and a half out of the city until we reached a beach. He jumped out and ran around to open my door. "Whoa...", I said softly coming out. It was one of the most beautiful beaches I had seen. "My parents own this beach, ten miles that way and ten miles that way", he said gesturing to the left and right. "We come here whenever we wanna get away", he continued to explain. I nodded wondering how much it cost. "Let's sit down", he said gesturing toward a rock. He climbed up and then gave me a hand. We sat in silence for a while just enjoying the sun and the tide. "My mom was Mexican", he suddenly began, "and I'm really not sure what my dad was, but I guess he was White or something like that. I know I didn't get hazel eyes from my mom! My mom was 14 when she had me. A kid raising a kid, really. We lived in one of the worst parts of LA, and she did her best to try and shield me from the evil around me but she couldn't keep me from seeing all of it. I got into drugs and selling drugs really young. I got into a lot of really bad stuff really young. It was just bad news. I'll spare you the worst parts. My mom tried her hardest to give me away to a good home, but they always brought me back because of my bad behavior. When I was 13 a group of White kids showed up in my neighborhood. They were all older, like young 20s I guess. There was this one girl in there that seemed to make me her special project. When they came around with their books and stuff for the little kids, she would always seek me out and find me and ask me how I had been and stuff. I found out her name was Amanda. They came every Saturday. As she kept coming I began to believe that someone actually a