To know that I miss you

so much when you leave;

to know that I need you

like the air I breathe.

To know that I want you

With a passion so blind

is to know that I love you--

with no doubt in my mind.

- Lang Leav

When I come into work on Monday, July is in full swing and the humidity has to be at an all-time high. My hair is a frizzy halo around my head and I've already sweated through my first layer of deodorant by the time Chloe and I enter the front doors of the Post.

I've spent the entire weekend--outside of work--researching for the article Mr. Fitzpatrick described in our meeting last week. I found out that literacy rates for adults in the Columbus area are significantly lower than the national averages and even worse among recent immigrants, like the Somali women Hina worked with. Assuming the sources Halle gives me are helpful, I'm convinced that this article is going to be my big break.

I race past Alaina and head for my desk, ignoring her chipper greeting and Quentin's glowering stare. I can't afford to be distracted, not when I have this one huge chance to impress Griffin. I have to make this count. I pull up my inbox and find Halle's e-mail.

The subject line reads: National Literacy Council Source.

The e-mail gives me no real information except for a name, Teresa Ortiz, a phone number, and an address. I google the address and find it's for a summer camp, "Round Two Ranch," which hosts the National Literacy Council's new adult literacy education program. I call Ms. Ortiz and let her know that I'll be stopping by this afternoon and spend the rest of the morning scrutinizing the website and learning everything I can about their work. This is the story I've been waiting for.

After a lunch spent in front of my desk, I gather my copious notes and head for the car. Miss Ortiz has agreed to let me sit in on one of their training sessions with the volunteer tutors so I can get an idea of what the tutoring program will look like, and I've even packed a spare camera to grab a few shots in case by some miracle my article gets featured.

Round Two Ranch is situated in an old park that was sold to the private sector a few years ago, and as I get off of the interstate and head towards it, I see a huge grove of trees along the Scioto River. It's amazing that such a picturesque window to the outdoors exists in the middle of the booming metropolis of Columbus, but it's perfectly situated for a literacy program like this.

I see a big wooden sign that reads "Round Two Ranch" and I pull into the packed parking lot, giggling a little at the name. The parking lot is filled with preteens and their parents unloading bags full of outdoor paraphernalia--water bottles, bandanas, sleeping bags, and way too many pairs of cargo shorts. It takes me back to my freshman year of college when I embarked on a similar adventure, the first time I met Josh.

I climb out of my car, feeling self-conscious in my business casual attire, and follow the flow of people towards a huge stone edifice at the end of the parking lot. I can see the rest of the camp behind it: a small lake, ropes course, sports fields, barns, all carefully packed into the space of the old park and shaded by ancient hemlocks. I breathe a little easier already in the clear, wild air; Columbus feels crowded and musty, but this little ranch reminds me of happier days.

Inside the lodge, I am nearly run over by the preteens rushing to meet their counselors and find their bunkhouses. It takes me five minutes to find an employee who can direct me to Miss Ortiz.

The girl, probably college-aged, blinks at me cluelessly for a second. "Teresa Ortiz? Who's that?"

I laugh. "I was hoping you could tell me. I'm from the Columbus Post and I'm here to interview her about a literacy program she's launching." I flash my press badge at the wide-eyed girl.

"Uh, okay. I'm not sure. I'll get my boss."

She scuttles away and I feel a little guilty for inconveniencing her. Obviously, I came at a terrible time with all of the campers arriving for what has to be one of the busiest weeks of the summer. I scan the inside of the building which probably dates back to the 1800s and admire the fine stonework, the homey, wood hewn furniture, and the eager smiles of the counselors. The ceiling of the log building ascends to a peak far above our heads and despite the heat of summer, a fire crackles beneath the chimney. The campers are of all ages, classes, and backgrounds, some with brand-new sleeping bags and supplies and others carrying little more than a dingy duffel bag. I wonder what else this strange little ranch does for the people of Columbus.

"Hello, Miss? You're from the Post?"

I freeze in my observations, anxiety racing up my bones. I know that voice--I'd know it anywhere. What are the chances? I turn around and find Josh Hunter staring at me. His friendly, ambivalent expression fades into disbelief when he sees me. My eyes devour his features, the cool blue of his eyes, the laugh lines, the single dimple hidden by his beard. The last time we saw each other was 37 days ago at the summer street fair and still I find that I can't get enough of him. I want to spend hours gazing into his eyes.

"Rach?" he says, forcing me back into the present. The sounds around me replace the beating of my heart in my ears. "What...what are you doing here?"

"Uh, Josh. What...um, I'm here with the Post," I stutter, squeezing my press badge between my fingers. "I work there. Here. I'm here for a story."

"A story," he repeats and his fingers unfurl and then curl into fists.

"Yeah." I swallow, my eyes caught up in his. "Is this...do you work here?"

The words incite a soft smile, turning his eyes into familiar crescent moons. "Yeah, you could say that. Actually, I--"

Our conversation is cut short when a middle-aged Latina woman runs over and grabs me by the hand. I'm so caught up in Josh that I don't even see her approach and I'm startled when she pumps my arm up and down.

"Miss Evans, I'm so sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you arrived!" It takes me a few painful seconds to draw my gaze from Josh to the curly haired woman who must be Ms. Ortiz.

"Uh, good afternoon. You must be Miss Ortiz?"

She pats me on the shoulder with a wide grin. "Please, call me Teresa. I see you've already met Mr. Hunter?" Before I can react, she grabs me by the arm and tugs me away. "Let me show you our project. Right this way."

I follow her but train my eyes after Josh. He works here? Mr. Hunter? I have a thousand questions but no courage to ask them as Teresa drags me out of the main lodge. Josh smiles at me as I go and offers a sorrowful half-wave, and I feel myself torn in two--half of me with my source for the paper, and half of me drawn to Josh like a moth to the flame even after it's been burnt.

Teresa chatters at me as we walk but I feel like I'm in a trance. Josh. Josh is here. All of my resolutions about putting him in the past faded as soon as I saw him with his sad, hesitant smile. Instead, his very presence made me want to know everything about him, study the ways his soul has evolved. Why is he in Columbus? What is he doing at this ranch? Why isn't he dating or married?

Mr. Fitzpatrick's words ring in my ears: "I suggest you impress me." I can't afford to spend this interview lost in a Josh-induced haze, so I force myself to retrieve my notebook and jot down Teresa's high-speed soliloquy.

"This adult literacy education program is the perfect opportunity to connect volunteers in the community with other community members who are struggling with English proficiency or literacy."

She leads us down a shaded path towards an old bunkhouse of some sort. She pushes through the swinging screen door to a sweltering classroom filled with desks and an old-fashioned chalkboard. A handful of volunteers awaits us as Teresa bustles to the front of the room. I take a seat, squeezing into the old fashioned desk chair, and prepare to jot down notes.

"Thank you so much for joining me here at the first location in Columbus for the National Literacy Council's national initiative for adult literacy education." I jot down the string of nearly illegible jargon and plan to decode it later. "We at the NLC are eager to improve literacy rates across the U.S. by connecting community members with each other and support literacy development at all ages. We have been expanding out of Washington D.C. and plan to establish literacy education programs in every major city in the United States. This program does more than just adult education; it includes family literacy programs, pre-literacy programs for pre-school aged children, and refugee-centered literacy programs."

I raise my hand at this point. "Excuse me, Teresa? Have you considered targeting the growing Somali population in Columbus? I understand there are a large number of refugees here and a Somali refugee committee dedicated to similar ESL programs."

Teresa raises a thick set of eyebrows. "I wasn't aware of that, no. Unfortunately, I work out of D.C., so I am eager to hear any of your suggestions about the specific needs of the Columbus area." She jots a note on her clipboard. "I'll make sure to contact the committee and see what we can do."

Teresa spends the rest of the afternoon going into more detail about what the literacy program will look like and I find myself filling my notebook and lapping up her every word until she dismisses the volunteers, leaving the two of us.

"I must say, Rachel, you show a lot of passion about this project for a journalist."

I smile at her. "What can I say? Passion is contagious. If you don't mind me asking," I glance down at my scribbled questions, "How did you get started with the National Literacy Council?"

Teresa leans one hand on the desk. "My abuela moved to Buffalo from Puerto Rico when my mother was a baby. When I was growing up, I watched her struggle to learn English. It kept her from really thriving here, and I decided I wanted to provide resources for adults like my grandmother to acquire the skills they need to succeed. Plus, our program also has components of a culture-exchange, allowing the tutors and students to learn about each other's cultures. It's really an invaluable experience for everyone involved."

"Do you mind if I quote that? And if I include your contact information for anyone who might read the article and be interested in tutoring?"

"Of course, please do!"

"Great." I jot down a few more notes, a smile growing across my face. "And if there's anything I can do to help, either as a journalist or just an interested citizen, please tell me. I think it's incredible what you're doing here."

Teresa's dark eyes are warm as she smiles at me. "I really appreciate that, Rachel. It's been a pleasure meeting you and I hope we cross paths again soon. If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call me."

I thank her for her time and head back towards the parking lot, my head lost in thought. This article could be one of my best yet, and it could even help Teresa's project here at the ranch. If just a few concerned community members contact her to volunteer for the program thanks to my article, I'll consider my job well done.

As I walk along the shaded path, my eyes focus on the ground beneath my feet while I concentrate on how I'll write the hook of my article. When Alondra Rodriguez brought her daughter to Buffalo, New York from Puerto Rico over forty years ago, she had no idea that her granddaughter would be responsible for starting a nation-wide literacy program, but that's exactly what Teresa Ortiz is working on here in Columbus, Ohio.

"Rach?"

My eyes fly up from the path and search my surroundings. Did I seriously get lost? I'm drawn back to reality by the boy who used to be my reality.  

~~~~~

Surprise! Josh again! Did anyone see him coming this time? What did you think of the literacy program Rachel sat in on?

In other exciting news, this story will now be updated twice weekly on Mondays and Fridays, so make sure to add it to your library for updates!