In L.A., his own wall of China

The boy gave it a try, slowly.

"Wo . . . xiang . . . mai . . . xigua." "I want to buy watermelon."

When class was over, a boy carrying a guitar thanked Zhao and said he would try to visit Chinatown during winter vacation. Zhao gave him his cell number and told him to call if he wanted a tour of the neighborhood.

At the end of the next period, a student used his cellphone to record digital video of Zhao explaining the meaning of characters he'd written on the white board.

Antonio picked up his skateboard and asked Zhao what he planned to do over the break.

"Just hang out," Zhao said. "I need more rest."

Antonio jotted down Zhao's e-mail so that he could continue to practice the language while he visited family in Mexico. Then the two said goodbye.

"Zaijian."

Zhao and his students returned to class last month. Maria Hernandez rattled off all the Chinese nouns she could remember for the class to hear. The 15-year-old, wearing hoop earrings the size of coasters, said the words so fast that Zhao couldn't keep up recording them on the white board. At the back of the room, three boys played cards below their desks, oblivious to the lesson.

During the next period, some students participated in a spirited vocabulary review. But they were distracted by another student who was loudly chatting with other classmates. Twice, Zhao took her into the hallway, telling her to stop.

It had become his routine: limit the damage done by the unruly students and continue to reach the interested ones.

It's not the dream of teaching in America that Zhao had when he arrived, but for now it's the best he can do.

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david.pierson@latimes.com