how many ghosts I was going to encounter. That Serra guy had to have a bunch of Native Americans mad at him--particularly considering that corporal punishment thing--and I hadn't any doubt I was going to encounter all of them. And yet, when my mom and I walked through the school's wide front archway into the courtyard around which the Mission had been constructed, I didn't see a single person who looked as if he or she didn't belong there. There were a few tourists snapping pictures of the impressive fountain, a gardener working diligently at the base of a palm tree--even at my new school there were palm trees--a priest walking in silent contemplation down the airy breezeway. It was a beautiful, restful place--especially for a building that was so old and had to have seen so much death. I couldn't understand it. Where were all the ghosts? Maybe they were afraid to hang around the place. I was a little afraid, looking up at that crucifix.