Rico’s right hand struck like a rattler. He gripped the wrist of Sanchez’s knife hand.
Rico’s left hand wrenched the knife from Sanchez’s grip. It could have been over then, but Rico’s blood was up, and he slashed Sanchez’s neck and then again across his stomach.
Now, Sanchez lay on the ground, his life’s blood spurting out with each heartbeat.
Rico turned and ran for home.
Rico’s father had been the farm foreman for nearly fifteen years. Rico’s life was good because of his father’s hard work and fairness to the farmhands. But as Rico headed home, he was sure that he had just destroyed everything his father had worked so hard to build.
“Ricardo, Ricardo! What degree did you get?” Rico’s father questioned him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. What did you ask?”
“What degree did you earn?”
“Poppa, yo
