He stands at an angle so he can see both the courtyard’s picnic benches and the outdoor patio where most Evans students eat lunch. He chats with a student.

Then he darts across the patio, soundless, sniffing the air.

Eddie has a nose for trouble – be it marijuana or a brewing fight. He can smell is coming a mile away.

It’s a survival instinct he picked up as a scrappy kid in Miami. His mama used to grow pot at home, and deal it, too.

He earned money by pocketing the rolled up dollars he’d find cleaning up the morning after her all-night drug parties. Sometimes, he’d pick the pockets of those passed out on the floor, too.

His mother made her way to Winter Park, where Eddie attended high school. She died of AIDS-related complications in 1996; his sister, a toddler, later died, as well.

Eddie had to make it on his own.

For awhile, he wanted to study medicine. But at UCF, he found a different calling: teaching.

He shares the story of his own horrific childhood with the teenagers in his schools. He hopes to inspire them, to show that the darkness can be lifted in a lifetime.

But never before has he connected with any teenager the way he has at Evans. Students at Timbercreek -- where he once was an assistant principal -- would nod politely, like "yeah, man, that's a nice story."

But Evans kids get it, he said. They live the same types of lives.

If his background still gets him down, you never see it. He is perpetually sunny, talking a mile-a-minute, juggling lord knows how many projects at once: accreditation, senior programs, finding a kid a new home. You have to move fast if you want to keep up with Eddie Ruiz.

He high-fives the kids as they pass him in the courtyard. They get a kick out of it. He adopts some students to check on through the year. He has fronted some kids so much cash that one day he said: If my wife finds out, she'll kill me.

The day he went sniffing across the campus, he found the typical stench coming from the cafeteria air ducts. No big deal that day.

Ruiz seems to have connected with the kids. Junior Matthew Manuel credits him among the few men on campus for turning his life around. One girl brought her best friend to his office midmorning to report a crisis. When they left, the best friend said: See, I told you that you can talk to him.

Here is an excerpt of my last conversation with David Christiansen, when I spoke with him last week.

You'll see more of him, assistant principal Eddie Ruiz, and other students in the blog in the paper this week.

One note: the blog will be silent for several days because I will be on vacation.

Here are his comments:

About what he has learned at Evans this year: "I think you learn how a  stigma affects a school and its kids. It's much different here [than at a place like University, where he came from ]. There is so much oversight -- the 'I want to help.' ...but there is so much managing, too. People want to help, but I am doing the job I need to do. Sometimes there aren't answers, just questions. [People want you to] simplify it. It's not so easy.  The affects of poverty on a community is complicated and complex."

"I feel much more connected to these kids. There difference you make here is profound more here than anywhere else."

About Evans: "Evans is not as bad as people think it is. It should be a lot better. I think we have what it takes to get it to a point where it is a lot better."

About the effect having more clubs and activities has on students (Evans went from 6 to 37 clubs this year), coupled with the school's changes:"There is momentum, a feeling of hope -- 'here is where we can go.' It definitely makes a difference.  Stuff is happening that is getting kids more connected and that will make a dent in things like graduation rates. We want to make this a place of optimism. That's why I am in high schools -- high schools are supposed to be fun. This feels to me more like a high school now."

About plans for next year: "We've ramped up AVID and out goal is to have 100 9th graders there. Out goal is to have 100 in IB. We have 60 to 70 right now. We're keeping kids we didn't keep in the past, kids who would have transfered out. "

Other thoughts on state oversight of F schools: "Accountability has to be there. I believe in accountability. Calling a school and F school -- does that help a school? It doesn't help. Saying 'Can I help you?' that helps. I live here. I know what needs to be done."

They wandered, eyes glazed, taking pictures, hugging, begging for pens to fill out mail-order cards for the Herff-Jones photographer.

They have no idea what's in store for them.

Jacqoui Chandler, the football player I've written about, said it: "It hasn't hit me yet."

And Eveline Joachim, teetering in 4-inch white heels, said: "I'll be ok. I just hope I don't fall."

Lousena Joseph stood wide-eyed. "You don't even know how to feel," she said.

"It was weird on the last day of school," she added. "We were so excited to leave, but we all sort of stood in the parking lot like 'I want to go back in.'"

Then the band began to play. A hush fell in the hallway. When the line began to move into the auditorium, the squeals began.

The Evans graduation was not the staid affair I saw at Edgewater's when I covered it last year.

Men with rasta braids waved Jamaican flags and flags with Bob Marley on them.

The graduates couldn't contain themselves. They whooped when favorite teachers' names were called. They stood and waved their hands in the air when a quartet and trio sang. And then -- it wasn't clear why -- a group of boys in the front jumped up and chanted "PARTY."

But it was all in fun, and everyone took it in stride. In a year of hardship and transition, these kids finally got to let loose a little.

Then, after the tassels were moved, the showstopper:

Boom. Boom.

Most everybody ducked.

Columns of smoke shot from the stage. Green-and-white streamers fell from the ceiling.

We laughed.

We were still laughing back in the administrator's lounge when it was all over.

No one knew the "fireworks special" was coming.  "It almost gave me a heart attack," one assistant principal said.

Ditto for me and photographer Hilda Perez.

I copied what was by far the best speech of the night, written by Jennifer Bohn. She is the OCPS teacher of the year, and a finalist for the state's top spot:

Incredible evening…….congratulations accomplished Trojans! I consider it an honor to share some words of encouragement and express my deep faith in your abilities tonight. Recently, a graduate was in my classroom talking about what tomorrow will bring….and she asked, “Where do I go from here?” The question has stayed with me and I am sure many of you wonder the same thing. Therefore I suggest….

Where do you go from here?

• You go to a place where achievement and personal success is imminent.
• You create a world of justice, and peace, and joy.
• You inspire others to take part in change.
• You remain steadfast in perseverance and commitment and heart.
• You march steadily towards your dreams and goals.
• From here graduates, you go to a phenomenally bright tomorrow that awaits your brilliance.

This day is bittersweet…..it represents a goodbye but more importantly a hello. While we are thankful for the time shared, it is our greatest desire to know that you will continue to achieve. Our encouragement, although quiet from now on, will never cease. I am so very proud of you and trust that, deep down, you know exactly where to go from here.

We miss you already……congratulations again!

1. I already corrected the yearbook issue. Evans has had other yearbooks. I may have been spun there -- even the principal said in his graduation speech last night that Evans "published its first yearbook in two years." I still am trying to get my hands on the CD version to post some excerpts, if I can.
2. the best information I have is that some pageants and the senior farewell are new, or are new for this year. That includes the "new performing arts group," which is new for this year with a new leader.
3. the performing arts center may have been renovated,but the lights didn't work. That doesn't change their age or state of disrepair.
4. the foundations for AP and IB were laid in earlier years -- as I have reported in news stories -- but AP offerings are new and expanded this year. IB is expanded and certified this year. A new emphasis, as I have reported in news stories, has been placed on both.
5. Evans certainly has a rich history, and celebrates its 50th anniversary next year. However, I am writing about this year's efforts to turn around a failing school.

Speakers include Principal David Christiansen and Orange County Teacher of the Year Jennifer Bohn.

Sen. Gary Siplin, too, will be in attendance.

I'll write more about it later.

She turns heads with her striking leonine eyes. He sports a street look and cornrows.

He does the talking. She keeps him in line.

Julian Morales, 18, and Shameeza Ali,17, shared their stories with me at prom.

They live alone and plan to marry next summer. He made sure she would graduate from Evans, even if his time there was so bad officials wouldn't let him step foot on the Pine Hills campus.

I caught them in the hallway at the Wyndham, where they were chatting with Julian's former teacher. They didn't like the music much -- he wanted "real" music, something he could dance to, something with a Latin flavor.

He was thanking the teacher for keeping him and his brother out of trouble -- well, as much as the teacher could. Julian did his own thing -- which wasn't always a good thing -- and is now trying to get his life back together.

Later, one of his teachers told me: You don't know how bad he was.

The couple were bored, I guess, so they indulged my questions.

She transfered from Hungerford Prep, in part to move to a new place with Julian. Her parents didn't like him much.

Evans, she said, gets an undeserved bad rap. "People take care of you here," she said.

He dropped out in 10th grade. "I learned the hard way."

He's from New York, spent time on the streets, and did a little time. He didn't say for what.

He left his father's house when the time came that one would kill the other to survive. Julian is a fighter. He wanted to survive.

And then he met Shameeza and his life changed. She's a good girl with good grades, and she straightens him out. He might still party hard, but no more street life for him.

Julian works construction to take care of her. He takes her to school and gets her home. And when they walk, he escorts her, arm in arm.

She gives him a reason to live, and a reason to do it the right way.