ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Chapter 1

       I try to keep my voice encouraging, even though I’m yelling at the top of my lungs. “Okay, guys, let’s take it from the top! ”

       That thing they say about herding cats? Try herding eighteen five-year-olds into practicing a vocal finale for vacation bible school Parent Night when they’re intent on the swimming pool time they’ve been promised for good behavior.

       “Miss Dori? ” I feel a tug on the side of my denim capris. It’s Rosalinda, from whom I hear Miss Doooooriiiii? at least a dozen times a day.

       “Yes, Rosa? ” I say, and before the words leave my mouth, seventeen five-year-olds are springing out of their seats and shouldering each other aside at the window to stare longingly at the pool shimmering just outside under a brilliant, haze-free June sky.

       “I need to go. ” Again? This kid has a bladder the size of a quarter.

       “Can you hold it another minute, sweetie? We’re almost done—” A squeal sounds from across the room. Jonathan has scissors in one hand and Keisha’s braid in the other. “Jonathan, drop it. ” I bite my lip at the startled look on his face. Must not laugh. It’s not funny. Not funny.

       He blinks, eyes shifting from scissors to braid. “Which one? ”

       I narrow my eyes. “Let’s start with Keisha’s hair. ” He releases the braid and she runs to her friends, who gather around her while glaring at him. I’ve never had a group of girlfriends like that—a protective clique, a guardian posse.

       “Miss Dori, ” Rosa whines, tugging harder. I take her hand to keep her from pulling my pants down. I’d never restore order if that were to happen.

       “Just a minute, Rosa. ” I squeeze her hand gently. “Jonathan, ” I say more sternly. “Bring me those scissors. ” Eyes on his untied sneakers, he shuffles over as slowly as is humanly possible. “Where’d you get them? ”

       He holds the scissors out with both hands as though presenting a gift to royalty. Not falling for his fake contrition, I arch an eyebrow.

       He chances a peek at my face. “Mrs. K’s desk, ” he mumbles, scowling at his feet again.

       Our church secretary, Filomena Kowalczyk, speaks with a heavy Polish accent despite having immigrated to the US about a hundred years ago. She keeps a huge jar of candy on her desk and wears creaky orthopedic shoes which have the same effect as a bell on a cat’s collar. The kids hear her coming down the hall five minutes before she arrives. Judging by the smear of chocolate on Jonathan’s mouth, I’d say he sampled a Hershey Kiss or two before making off with her scissors.

       “Do we take Mrs. K’s things without permission? ” I fix a disappointed look on him.

       He shakes his head.

       “Is taking things that don’t belong to you what Pastor Doug means by good behavior? ”

       His wide, dark eyes snap up to mine. Bingo, kid. Pool time is in jeopardy.

       “But Miss Dori! ” he says. “I didn’t cut it! ”

       “We aren’t talking about Keisha’s braid yet. We’re discussing you taking Mrs. K’s scissors—”

       “I’ll put them back! ” Tears fill his eyes. “I’m s-s-sorry! ”

       “You’re sorry because you got caught, ” I say, and he bursts into tears. Oh, dear Lord.

       “Miss Dori! ” Rosa wails, cupping herself, one leg raised and pressing against the other.

       I sigh in defeat, giving up on the program rehearsal for today. “All right, everyone line up for the bathroom! ”

       “Me first! Me first! ” Rosa says, keeping her death grip on my hand. As I walk to the head of the line, she hops lightly behind me on one foot.

       “Jonathan, come stand by me. ” Rubbing tears away with his fist, he takes my other hand, and I leave the classroom with eighteen ducklings trailing behind.

       In a few weeks, I’ll be on a mission trip to Ecuador. As exotic as that sounds, I’ll be doing much the same thing I’m doing now—I’ll just be doing it in Spanish.