She was getting them out late, again, and wondered if Castro would punish her for being too soft on the little ones. She didn’t blame the kids for wanting to stay, couldn’t bring herself to snap and shout at them like the other teachers. They crave learning, she thought, trying to justify the daily lingering that occurred after class was over. They’re just little sponges, wanting so badly to soak up knowledge. At least, that’s what she wanted to believe. Deep down inside, April knew that her justification wasn’t entirely truthful. Demanding chores, wretched quarters, and hard labor waited at the end of every school day. The older the child, the more that was expected of him. Some of the larger boys were already reporting to the fields. Turning to find the one student left, she sighed deeply and approached Julio. “We need to have a word about your grammar, young man,”
