The burly 12th-grader spent the semester in the front row, usually with his skateboard at his feet. Sitting there meant avoiding the distractions at the back of the room.
Antonio cringed any time his classmates mocked Zhao's English. It wasn't fair, he thought. His own parents struggled with English when they moved to L.A. from Mexico. He felt no one had the right to disrespect others for their accents.
Antonio and other students distinguished themselves by asking questions and staying after class to chat with Zhao. They came alive when he discussed Chinese culture. He showed pictures of modern Shanghai and once played a video about haute Chinese cuisine. They shrieked when they saw a photo of a whole fish with its tail and head hanging out of a bowl of soup. The students quizzed Zhao on everything from "Are there Wal-Marts in China?" to "Do you know martial arts?"
On the last day of school before a three-week winter break, Zhao reviewed the last few weeks of work.
On the white board were intricately drawn objects: a watch, a hand, a watermelon, maps of America and China. Zhao was so detailed that he drew the folds of skin on the knuckles of the hand and the stripes and seeds on the watermelon.
He drew two columns -- one for the boys, one for the girls. They would have to compete against each other, pointing at the objects he named in Chinese.
Slowly, volunteers started coming to the front of the class.
"Xigua," Zhao said, prompting a girl to push her male counterpart aside and stab her finger at the watermelon.
"Meiguo."
The girl pointed at the outline of America.
"Excellent job," Zhao said. "Oh, my God, all correct. Excellent, excellent."
More students began raising their hands to come to the front. They cheered and argued over who had pointed first. Students in the front did a dance every time they scored correctly.
When a usually uncooperative boy in the back of the room interrupted to ask Zhao if he could go to the bathroom, two-thirds of the class shouted, "No!" In recent weeks, students had been taking matters into their own hands. They'd sometimes snap, "Bu yao shuo hua. Qing anjing." "Stop talking. Be quiet."
Zhao zeroed in on a boy near the middle, his eyes half-closed.
"Ni xiang mai shenmo?" "What do you want to buy?"
The boy looked bewildered. "What?"
A classmate next to him explained the question in Spanish.
"Que quieres comprar?"
