Her name was Angel Lona Coray, but everyone called her Lona. They said she looked nothing like an angel so why call her that. I must confess she didn't look like an Angel. Her hair that almost touched her knees was always a mess, the fact that she wore long colonial dresses didn't help either. Although I must give her credit she could have looked kind of good if she ever bothered to fix her hair (and her wardrobe).But her house on the other hand looked beyond hope. It had vines growing up the sides and shutters that hung at precarious angles. Though I do think that people would've liked her had they taken the time to get to know her. She spoke only Ladino, which is why no one knew her but me. My name is Corniean Soho. I met Angel on the first day of 7th grade. Our principal who I will not name called me into his office he had wanted to know if I spoke Ladino. I asked what that had to do with anything and he informed me that we had a transfer student that spoke only Ladino. When I admitted that I indeed spoke Ladino he asked if I would translate for the girl. "Of course you will meet her first." He said.

My first impression of Angel was that she needed a brush. I was also wondering how she paid for school, that was how ragged her clothes were. But she started the conversation by greeting me. I soon relised that under all that dirt and all those rags was a working brain.

We got alone fine and so for the next month we took classes together. Then one day she invited me to her house for tea. I went and was accepted by her family. I was leaving when I heard her crying. I turned around and found her sitting on her steps face in her hands.

"Angel what's the matter?" I asked walking over to her. I sat down next to her, slipping my arm around her thin waist, hoping she was not hurt.

"You have been so good to me. You gave me my freedom of speech. For this I thank you." She said quietly.

"But Angel why do you cry?" I did not understand why that would make her cry.

Her next words, I remember clearly.

"I'm moving to Chile. Father can not afford this house."

"But…But why Chile. Surely you could move to somewhere closer." She shook her head. "Mother's ill, and I have family there. She might die, if she does she wants to be near family. I'm sorry Coriean."

She then stood and walked up the steps to her bedroom and slammed the door. I took that as my sign to leave. I never saw the ragged Angel again.

But I learned one thing from her, rags can hide riches.