Her name was Reina. I didn’t expect the Spanish to come from her, with her skin as dark and weathered as an espresso bean. Some people on the bus snickered. Reina was used to it, but she was Puerto Rican and Cuban and proud to speak her language. Over the course of our bus ride, I listened as she cursed out a woman in Spanish. I watched as she bonded with two 13 year old boys who were Puerto Rican but barely spoke the language. Reina didn’t care. “Go straight home. Be safe.,” she told them. “Get home safe,” they responded.